Moving Pictures

The wing of Rookwood Manor which belonged to Raghnall’s bastard son was set at the back of the house, overlooking the wild tumult of the Celtic Sea. In the grounds there, no fertile land could be ploughed for crops but instead, lush gardens had been cultivated under the watchful eye of the late Cordelia Rookwood. Out into the waters, a boardwalk and pier reached, beckoning small vessels from England and France to dock and trade what they carried in their bellies.

It was to the smell of the salty spray, freshly mown grass and the fragrance of winter flowers that Athena returned, landing lithely upon the stone patio at the base of the steps that spilt down from the hem of the bolted conservatory doors. The wind rustled at her curls, tickling them into life about her head, and as she tore her gaze around the passage of land that Augustus had been allotted, she found herself wondering after her sense, every fear playing on the question of whether she was right to do this.

The sound of the doors being undone and thrown open stole the woman from her thoughts and she lifted her eyes to see Theodore, divested of his suit in favour of jeans and a tracksuit top. Leaning down, Athena ridded her feet of her shoes and hurried up the steps into the relative heat of the conservatory. Theodore took the shoes from her, tossing them out of the conservatory before closing the doors behind them. Athena’s expression contorted into one of regret but the look she was greeted with in response warned her against going to fetch them.

The pair hurried through the rooms, their feet pattering on the chilled floorboards until they arrived in the nursery where the House Elves were readying the children. The boys, having just learned to take their first steps, were making it exceedingly difficult for the Elves who had to chase them and pick them up every few minutes or so when they broke rank only to tumble onto the rug. Cecilia was much happier but it was Aurelia who Athena went to first, wrapping her arms around her eldest girl tightly. She felt Aurelia’s arms stretch around her but the little girl said nothing, instead remaining silent as she seemed to try and fathom what was about to take place.

“There’s nothing left now. It’s shrunk, boxed up and already on its way.” Theodore directed swiftly, moving to pick up Archie who had tumbled yet again. Where the Elves had failed, Theodore succeeded, holding the boy tightly with one arm as he used his spare hand to tug his trousers on. Theodore held out his hand for the shirt and once that was over the boy’s head he set Archie back down and let the Elves deal with trying to get the socks and shoes onto his feet.

“Get changed,” Theodore added, his fingers nudging at Athena’s elbow. “This has to happen now. You made your bed this morning. Now you have to lay in it. You want this Athena. Don’t try and tell yourself otherwise.”

When the young woman emerged from the bathroom, the look on Theodore’s face was a picture as he glared openly at the House Elves, complaining that he’d asked for something casual – not a two-hundred pound dress. The Elves merely stared back at Theodore as they fixed a pair of earrings onto Athena’s lobes before setting her off into her shoes which were, thankfully, not as high as they usually were but that still meant Theodore could rest his arm on Athena’s head.

“Where are we going?” Cecilia asked, tugging on Athena’s hand. Athena leaned down and picked up the child, cuddling her close for a moment while Theodore chuntered away in the background. Money had become an object very much in Theodore’s way, Athena realised gradually, and she was determined to pay him back for his kindness but it, too, was a problem for her, also. Her little job had slowly begun to give her something in the way of money, though, so she wasn’t that bad off.

“Somewhere fantastic,” Theodore called out to Cecilia, picking up the twins to save the Elves from anymore horror. The boys immediately reached for Theodore’s hair but to the man’s credit he didn’t scold them. Athena took Aurelia’s hand tightly in her own, keeping hold of Cecilia before fixing her gaze with Theo’s.

“Off we go then.” He grinned, disapperating, Athena and some of the Elves not that far behind.

The boxes appeared first, landing in the drawing room one on top of the other. Then Collie and Brew who, along with their little ones, landed on the top of the boxes. Finally, Athena and Theodore arrived with the children. The former set down Cecilia and let go of Aurelia’s hand to take one of the boys from Theodore who readily gave up Archie, preferring the sudden sleepiness of his brother instead of the insatiable good mood and mischief the other boy was giving.

“We’re at Mr Albus’ home!” Ceci deduced brightly.

Athena and Theodore both wore dutifully puzzled expressions at her words and the Elves hopped down happily from the boxes to take coats, scarves, gloves and shoes from the children before hurrying off to wherever they were going to find a home for the things – clearly already desiring to make themselves useful.

“Are we going to stay?” The little girl asked, turning on her heels to look pointedly at her mother and her cousin.

Athena could only nod.

Down by the cement paved road, probably in one of those little, caffeine-scented, cozy little cafes.....music was playing. A bright, peppy, almost familiar tune. He had heard it many a time, on some Muggle radio- cabbie nodding his head away at the beat; or in some elevator in the three storied departmental store two blocks away. In the distinct absence of the usual noises of London traffic, pedestrians laughing, women bargaining with hawkers at the curb, horns blaring....it was very late in the morning for those noises...in their absence, this light tune trailing in through the gap under the door separating Albus' world from the outside- it reminded him that people existed.

It was easy to forget, otherwise. That people laughed and cried and smiled outside this little.....sphere, that he had structured for himself. That there were women in the world apart from Jack and du Hunt and his long-dead mother. Troubles other than Ministry politics and Rebel plans and potentially joining the Death Eaters and people who refused to stay and care and need. Did everyone face this.....odd...disconnect, at times? Find it difficult to imagine any other way to be....simply because this was how it had always been. This was how he had always been.

But there were other people in the world. And they had bigger troubles, larger difficulties. Different mindsets. And they got over everything, in the end. Not all. Some. And they searched for happiness and contentment, and ended up finding it.

So Albus Potter thought on all this as he sat, back pressed against his couch, listening to the sprightly little tune that was drifting out from the foggy window of the cafe down the road, waiting for the people who were going to inhabit his house in the very near future. He sat there, thinking, before coming to the natural realisation that he was being, in James Potter's eloquent words, an utter ponce.

So he got to his feet, stretched his arms above his head, and got to work.

Most people would tidy up their home before visitors arrived. Most people were not Albus Potter, who possessed a well-known aversion for inhabiting the space that he was paying a rather decent-sized monthly rent for. The entire place was spic and span, and better yet, looked downright deserted. He threw open the door and all the windows of the upper room for air; running a discerning eye over the walls. Plain white and completely bland. Definitely not suitable for young girls, unless Cecilia liked to draw. Which, in all likelihood, she did. Probably best to consult the girls for the choice of colour before redecorating, then.

The image of Ceci with paint-stained hands and a blob of pink on her nose flashed past his mind. Albus smiled, and ducked out of the doorway.

His powers of memory and retention were still remarkable, thank Merlin. The Latin chants for space extension were rather unwieldy, and tricky on the tongue. After three failed attempts, Albus dusted off his hands and shoulders of imaginary lint, completely ignoring the fact that he hadn't really done physical labour, and surveyed the downstairs room with satisfaction. Three times its original size, with a partition and a small twin bed to the left. It would take a carpenter's keen eye to discern that the wood was actually not extremely expensive mahogany, but simply a Conjured product of magic. Would last three weeks too, if his calculations and estimates of his own power were accurate- long enough for them to get additional furniture if or when, required. The running beads of sweat cradled on the sides of his jawline, and the white shirt, now almost transparent, sticking to his back belied the lack of physical work. Enchanting was hard on the stamina.

Then he heard almost inaudible pops from the drawing room, and elves ran amok in the place his cousin had once called a graveyard.

The urge to glance furtively at the window to see if Aunt Hermione's Howler was winging through the skies, somehow magically aware of the absolute torture that magical beings were undergoing in his house, and ready to give him a good whacking for it; was almost overpowering. The little creatures scuttled around his feet, some tutting reprehensibly at the state of the walls, flicking their knobbly fingers and conjuring brooms and pans and other implements of household cleaning from thin air; most propping boxes and trunks and other little knickknacks on their large, round heads and then dropping them off to a random corner of the room. Three minutes later, the graveyard had been converted to a veritable storeroom. Albus could hardly even glimpse the walls any more, behind the stacks of......things. Important things to be sure. But still things.

Did there have to be so many things?

He didn't have too long to ponder on that. "We're at Mr. Albus' home!" A voice said from beyond the door, rather brilliantly if he said so himself. "Are we going to stay?"

He took three steps towards the doorway, feet intent on navigating a way through the maze of.....well, things. Carefully avoiding what looked like a pile of books (useful), a stack of sandals (no comment) and what looked like a ming vase (definitely no comment); Albus made it to the doorway leading to the drawing room- narrowly preventing the untimely destruction of what was surely priceless Rookwood possessions and the death of three house-elves under his feet (they seemed to come in even more miniature versions these days). The: "Astute observation," which passed from his lips could definitely be less dry. The: "Of course you are," which exited them next sounded as perfect as it could get.

Talking to Cecilia then, would definitely be the safest thing to do, but also the most cowardly. Fixating his attention on Archie or Gus seemed unadvisable unless he wanted to get his hair pulled, or alternatively drooled on. Aurelia was pretty much out of the question, if those unreadable eyes were any sign. Athena didn't even come into it.

On to the elephant then.

Albus took two more steps, unhampered- thankfully the floor of this room was still quite unobstructed. The hand rose of its own volition, outstretched and unwavering. The calm stare back into Theodore Rookwood's cool eyes betrayed nothing. "Thank you."

A Potter offering a Rookwood his hand. Unprecedented, might be a word for it.

Precedents really counted for shit these days. The last name of the six people currently under his roof was an outstanding example. After what seemed like years, Albus absently thought what his family members might say if they witnessed the scene.

Didn't matter anyway.

There was a certain element of injustice perpetrating the actions taken by the condemned who had seated themselves opposite the family that had been their benefactors for so long. Confined no longer by those who had claimed to be friends, they had been released as foes, penniless and finally with clarity they saw the world. For, they were free. Standing in the slight dim of the drawing room, they were free. Abject poverty could not move Theodore Rookwood into acting in the interests in anyone else but those he cared for. Athena Rookwood, no, Goyle. Goyle again. Children in hand, Goyle again. They were all safe, all of them free.

The rumble of boxes nearby caught the attention of one of the returning House Elves who hesitantly went to discover what it was that was making such a racket, Cecilia hot on her heels. Together, the pair carefully pulled back one side of the boxes and were suddenly thrown back onto their bottoms and five carpets flew out from the darkness, darting around the room quickly before tumbling out through the door one after the other. Absurdly, Cecilia found humour in the situation and giggled heartily in tandem with Archibald and Augustus who had begun to clap enthusiastically – no doubt at the expense of the Elf and Cecilia being hurt.

“For goodness sake!” Athena burst. “Who packed the flying carpets?!”

Theodore had the grace to look somewhat sheepish but before there could be any comment about the miscreant rugs or the House Elves hurrying after them in vain with carpet beaters in hand, Albus entered the room, dispelling all feelings of irritation within Athena immediately, said feelings being replaced with acute shame as she realised that the carpets having their fun wouldn’t have at all been possible without his charity and generosity. That said, she would make sure that said offending rugs would be stoic and behaved once again, even if they did have a penchant for nipping toes.

“Is that blasted ottoman in there as well?” Athena asked out of the corner of her mouth as another rumble could be heard within the boxes. She didn’t need the answer to her question either as, not a moment later, the multi-coloured ottoman that Elijah had gifted her a few years ago galloped out, yipping briefly before darting out in search of the kitchen.

Cecilia quickly climbed up onto her feet at Albus’ words and shone with pride, her intuition still baffling Athena somewhat. Yet, indeed, it was astute of her and it was curious as to what had given it away but, not forgetting her rapidly established loyalties, Cecilia scrambled to Albus’ side. She seemed to fit there, Athena realised with a start. She was candid, happy. Beside her father, awkward was the barest adjective that could be used to describe the way she conducted herself.

Theodore blinked briefly as Albus extended his hand to him. He adjusted his hold on Augustus who had reached out, seemingly understanding the formality, and Theodore chuckled a little before throwing his hand into Albus’, shaking the other man’s hand firmly.

“It’s nothing, mate. I should be thanking you, really.”

Theodore released Albus’ hand and set Augustus down on his little legs, popping a kiss on the little boy’s head before helping him over to grab at Albus’ trousers. Augustus cast a smile over his shoulder after Theodore, revealing a few teeth, before beginning to cast his eyes around the room. Theodore pressed a kiss on Cerelia and Aurelia’s foreheads before stealing one from Archibald and then pecking Athena on the cheek. Once that was done, Theodore apparated out of the drawing room, leaving the children and the two parental figures.

It was up to them now.

The ottoman’s yipping grew nearer and Athena looked up from setting Archie down to see the ottoman hurry in, three carpets hot on his heels and the House Elves not far behind.

“I am so sorry, Albus.” Athena winced.

When flying carpets entered the equation, there was very little, if anything at all, left to be said.

What were you expecting? A voice mocked from some corner of his head. Probably in the room where the real Albus Potter was still locked up. That they would materialise, in true English novel style, with two threadbare trunks and barely a penny in their pockets? They're the Rookwoods; not a homeless March family.

Absolute truth. There was a vast difference between mentally acknowledging the differences between the lifestyles of him and Athena- and actually seeing the innumerable, probably handed-down-six-generations articles scattered across his apartment.

Naturally, the only thing to be done was his mouth to open, move soundlessly at first- then voice witlessly, "I thought flying carpets were illegal."

The silence that greeted the room at that pronouncement, would have been rather impressive- had the ottoman not chosen to grace them with its presence at that precise moment.

Theodore Rookwood called him mate, disappeared with a pop, and Ceci's head popped up by his side, beaming brightly; all the while Albus, putting it lightly, tried rather in vain to find his bearings. In my flat. In my flat with three flying carpets and a barking mad ottoman- no, literally barking ottoman, and four kids and a married woman. And house elves. It was a mark of how well Aunt Hermione had trained and terrified this generation of Potter-Weasleys that only the last member of that list truly troubled him.

And with that observation, the humour of the situation sneaked up on him all at once, and a chuckle escaped his lips. It was a small, quiet sound, probably inaudible in all this ruckus, but it sounded surprised to his own ears. As if surprised to hear its own sound, the nature of which was dangerously close to happy.

His fingers ruffled through the hair on the little head level to his waist, and Ceci darted a look up at him, with widened, surprise-happy eyes. It was a good combination, Albus decided. Bloody excellent.

So his fingers curled around her shoulder, while the words came out, as casual and offhand as you please. "The place is tiny, but will take positively ages to see. Anyone- or thing," He amended, with a nod to the ottoman, "-interested, is free to follow me." He trekked across the floor, hand secure and guiding, and halted at the foot of the staircase leading to the upper landing. Glanced back, once, at Athena: with a light curl of the lips. "One house-elf, to take care of the boys. No more. Non-negotiable." A good humoured, almost teasing tone. Almost. "Please understand."

His feet navigated the way up, while calling out without turning: "Make yourself at home." The solid oak staircase hardly creaked, whether to be attributed to quality or lack of wear, that was undecided. The door at the extreme end of the hallway of the landing was thrown open, pressed flat against the wall, hinges stretched- revealing glimpses of a white-walled, airy structure that was to be the girls' future domain. Would look better once it had some actual life dwelling within its walls, but otherwise had little to redeem itself from being a hotel room- apart from one wall, which was pure glass. It had been installed the month he had moved in, on Aunt Fleur's insistence. Or had it been Aunt Audrey?

He would have to remember to charm it Unbreakable.

Albus approached the door directly opposite to where the staircase emerged, fastened his hand around the doorknob, and with a click, the lock yielded and the door creaked open. Pale walls, a large, expansive, high wooden bed, a solitary, tall wardrobe to the corner, a small glass door leading to the balcony, a dark, leather-bound book lying on the bedside table, alongside the ornate bedside lamp that looked out of place in the simplistic surrounds. That was all there was to Albus' room, and nothing to write home about. It looked like someone had taken painstaking effort to keep personal touches and belongings out of the room, but little things unintentionally strayed in here and there- like the pale green pillows peeking out from beneath the stark white sheets, or the small, framed, moving photograph of seven children in silver-and-green, holding broomsticks and waving at the camera, propped on the bedside table; or the most obvious- the worn poster of the Falcons on the wall above the bed, showing massive grins. Two in that poster were the most prominent: a messy-haired, hazel-eyed man winking cheekily at the lens, broad arm flung around the neck of a red-haired, alternately scowling and smiling witch.

If Albus had even the slightest tendency to dramatics, like his older brother and cousin, he would have thrown his arms out and taken a bow. Regardless, an unreadable quirk of the lips would have to suffice. "Welcome to my realm."

(OOC: Sorry this took so long!)

Of course, it was natural that something ugly rose within Athena Goyle at the prospect of having to dismiss all but one House Elf. They had raised her. She was more Elf than she was Witch at times. Yet of course, there was the old, Blood Traitor desire to free everything that the Pureblood way of life enslaved, supposedly. Their prejudices were borne out of ignorance: just as they claimed the Death Eaters’ were. Really, the Mudbloods and the Blood Traitors were dangerous whether they liked it or not. They weren’t real Wizards. They were a threat to the way of life that they had all coveted for generations. There was a reason they hid from Muggles. However, arguably that was not an excuse to enslave a species of slightly neurotic Elves from Scandinavia or the North Pole or wherever they hailed from. Athena would add that to the list of things she did not feel any guilt for.

There was a small smidgen of the woman that demanded an escape route. A poisonous part of her purported that her father was right: even the good were no good. Rookwood oppression came with a bank account. One House Elf existed with a roof, space and little else. There was no concept of safety, regardless of the liberty. Hobbes’ Leviathan could bring her the safety she sought in exchange for her freedom but it was the freedom she wanted and the safety would come in time, in theory. But, if the Rookwoods wanted their children back, paper walls would not stop them from blowing the house down. Perhaps it was wrong of her to hide there. Perhaps she should have paved her own path.

Knowing that this was a silent fit of irritation over the loss of small constants in her life, Athena felt positively ridiculous. Yet, as she slipped the little coats off of her sons’ shoulders she could not help but wonder after the sensibility in one House Elf. One House Elf was better than one but she detested the idea of a melancholy Brew or Collie pining after one or the other and the children that will have inevitably gone with the one Athena chose to let roam wherever he or she saw fit. It was not her place to confine one and one would not linger while the others did not. Her eager mistake as a child which saw the two Elves freed with a pair of gloves would see their own liberty. They stayed out of loyalty. Dismissing some of them would throw that all back in their faces.

“None then,” she bit out coldly as she set down the folded coats.

With echoing cracks, the Elves were gone and Athena was, regardless of what and who she was keen to fool herself with, alone. The children, while consoling, were too young to grasp that their lives were becoming markedly different with every moment that passed and while she felt no guilt when it came to having House Elves, she did feel guilt when it came to taking the girls away from the father and the same for her boys, even if both were absent to the point of neither pair recognising those who they would have to come to call ‘father.’

Augustus was a man to whom Athena owed a debt. She felt that in some small way he would understand when another House Elf or staff member or family member or whoever saw fit to inform him exactly what had happened. Kendall, however, would have a more irrational reaction if he took a moment to breathe, let alone linger long enough to glance at a letter or listen to a few telling words. She bitterly resented him, both of them, for leaving her alone, forcing her into a corner. She still loved Kendall though, ultimately. Whether time and space would change that or not would depend on everything. But they’d deserted her. She’d merely made it final.

The ottoman took off first, by far the most excited. The flying carpets had seemingly done their worst, coming to settle on the floor, spreading out across the boards, before falling silent. Athena gestured for Aurelia to go on and the girl did not spare the elder woman a disparaging look before following along. Seemingly, the girl had been at peace with the isolation of the Rookwood Manor, content with her sister and the Elves. The big wide world, even just within Albus’ home, demanded quite a bit more from her than her home did. It wasn’t a welcome change.

When Athena finally caught up, the boys balanced, as ever, on each hip, a stoic silence had stretched out. Words had left Cecilia, excitement filling every pore. It wasn’t unlike Aurelia to be quiet but she didn’t seem to brighten with the tour. Augustus and Archibald were happy enough, if not somewhat befuddled by the lack of art and delightfully breakable vases from the Ming Dynasty. There were no flowers, no particular assault of colours, but there was light. That they seemed to be completely contented by. It was better than all the vases in the world to break. Well, nearly. Sort of. No, not at all, really. Bring on the vases.

The ottoman yipped, rushing around, hopping onto the bed and then off again before hurrying around Athena’s legs, earning a not-so-subtle kick for its trouble. Cecilia opened her mouth to protest as the ottoman whined but was stilled by a look from Athena that explained well enough that the little girl could coo over the ottoman as much as she liked later but Athena was in no mood for her to begin at that very moment.

“You have a lovely home, Albus,” Athena complimented. “I hope our presence doesn’t hinder any of your work.”

And just as the shadow of guilt had just strayed from his side: there it was again; lapping at his heels, twining tendrils up his ankles, seeking to pull him down.

“You have a lovely home, Albus. I hope our presence doesn’t hinder any of your work.”

F*ck.

Albus had heard enough of immaculately polite, amiable voices to fill a lifetime. His own, most prominently. He knew how hard you had to mince your words, how to perfectly round your syllables, how to smoothen any lines and rough edges lingering about your voice and manner- topped by a neutral smile and blank eyes. And how hard your stomach roiled, muscles twisting and turning, syllables catching in the throat before they could be perfectly spewed, how your very being seemed to be made of lines and rough edges, how the smile was as fabricated as they came.

Questions flickered in his mind though- why would Athena have to resort to that method of defense now? Realisation clicked, and eyelids fell shut in a single second of mute self-reprimand. Of course. The house elves.

The happiness that had just seemed to be peeking by the corner of the door, as if to see if its presence was welcomed; slunk away just as quietly as it had came. Now, when his eyes opened again, the rose-tinted glasses were gone, and his utterly human, fallible gaze could see only the imperfections. Aurelia's stony silence, the twins' befuddled expressions- as if wondering when the trip would be over and they would be ferried back home- Athena's tight smile. And how long it would be before Cecilia's excitement too at being someplace strange and new, would fade, and she would begin thinking of manors and fathers.

And some part of Albus' mind, the part that had landed him in Slytherin, narrowed its eyes. Why should he care if they were happy in his home or not? He offered assistance, a roof to stay, in return for Athena's favour (and the sensible part of him rebelled at that word), and that was pretty much it. Why should he care if they were dying to go home or not? He wasn't holding them captive; they....she was master of herself. She was free to go back to her married home whenever she pleased.

But it wasn't the Slytherin part of him at all. It was the Albus part of him, at thirteen, seventeen and twenty-one, that still resented the name 'Potter'. It was the child who longed, but never stretched out his hand to take; the boy who lingered at the edge of crowds, because he feared once he reached the centre, the crowd would care to stay no more. It was a part that had tainted his every happiness from the second that his mind had matured enough to think- and overthink- and he'd be damned if he let it taint this one.

Because when had he ever given a flying f*ck for house-elves, dammit? And Athena was just at sea as he was, actually more, stranded in a man's home with children hoisted upon her hip and her own world closing behind her. She needed all the help she could get. It was just that.....he stayed alone, and had always stayed alone, and wasn't a natural at coping with having other people in his space; any more than that boy was who had fallen off the first, second, and third times he had mounted a broom. The boy had still gone on to be Slytherin's Chaser, so Albus just had to make peace with not being naturally brilliant at anything new he tried, be it sharing a house with someone else. No one was stopping him from practicing. And perfect he would get.

But before all this could run through his mind, and he could turn, mouth half-opening to declare that Athena was free to flood the place with house-elves if she chose, the mother and children were already gone, proceeding to examine the room at the end of the corridor.

Albus scuffed his shoe against the tile. Being a true Potter was so much hard work.

Ceci already had her palms pressed flat against the glass wall, nose white and flattened, staring at the cars fleeting by below; on the brink of a new world. The rest of her family were also within the unfurnished room, but several paces back. Nothing however, could stop the sounds of vehicle horns and cafe music blaring and the distinct.....Muggleness, from filtering into the air of the room. And that conspicuously awkward bunk bed, the lone piece of furniture, still stood in one corner of the room.

"This one's for you and your sister." His voice murmured, his eyes scanning over the view of Muggle London, memorised and loved. Was it obvious, the way they so consciously chose to avoid fixing on the only other adult in the room? "I haven't painted or furnished it yet....I didn't know what you would like. Maybe you can tell me that over dinner."

Yes. Maybe it was very obvious. "Speaking of which, I need to set the lower floor to rights. Clear the kitchen. Have a dinner to prepare."

Which was...what? Six hours later, perhaps? When he could dish it up in less than ten minutes. Maybe obvious wasn't obvious a word enough.

"You can see the Tower of London from here, by the way. If you squint really hard." His voice called over his shoulder, while he started walking towards the doorway. Sidestepping Athena was really easy. The words dropped by her side, quiet and vague enough to ignore, were not. "I don't have much more practice at this than you do."

No. Not obvious at all.

~

Darkness had fallen, and the Muggle tubelight shone bright and flickering over the table, casting light and shadow over the faces of at least three, who had never seen it before. The flickering quality of the light wasn't quite his fault- he kept things well maintained. But it had taken almost physical violence to coerce Ceci away from the switches, and surely being switched on and off a minimum of fifty times must have taken its toll on the appliance.

Maybe the flickering was a good thing. It could almost be taken as the flickering of candle flame. Good old Hogwarts, non-Muggle candles.

Except Archie wouldn't gape at a candle in such a way.

He had just managed to slide off from a seated Athena's knees, giving even that experienced, careful mother the slip, and begun crawling underneath the dinner table. Albus, who had just emerged from the kitchenette doorway, dishes and trays levitating behind him, bent without blinking an eye and scooped the kicking, squirming boy up from the other side. With his other hand, he plopped a shiny, metallic Coke can on the empty space of table just opposite to Aurelia, pretending it wasn't a peace offering at all. Then he cleared his throat and sat down.

The mutual staring among the table's occupants, was sure to get more funny, and less awkward with time. It was just dinner, for Merlin's sake.

But then again, he had never been one for optimism.

The imposition of quiet, interim hours had provided for the young woman a flurry of activity whose menial laboriousness set in her hands the beginnings of rubbing callouses. Boxes were unpacked and flattened to be stored. Dressings were made upon the beds and the windows and shrunken little trinkets were brought back up to size and set in places for the girls to admire. Pillows that had been embroidered by toiling fingertips were set, smelling of a home a world away from the universe that they had found themselves in, kind enough to their sensitive noses to provide a sense of security in the event of their waking during the small hours. Bears were sourced and other little bits and pieces were found places for until the little room, regardless of the sparse walls, had begun to look more like a home. Clothes were set away, shoes stacked neatly, and room had even been found for books.

As the smells that accompanied the full belly of a stove drifted upstairs, a strange anxiety had begun to worm its way into Athena’s gut. When supper had been called upon her in the past, the need had been to extricate herself from her day’s uniform regardless of its cleanliness. Her anger had dissipated with the light shower in the middle of the day and the insatiable optimism of the girls. Without her Elves, four children were a nightmare to keep all eyes on and for the first time she found that she actually desired a change of clothing. The boys were giggly and mischievous, highly interested in the boxes and everything else involved but the chance to slip away was one they took each time and when the time came for dinner, Athena found herself gladly extracting herself from her dress and seeking out something more comfortable.

In a box of her own clothes which had been blacklisted at the bottom of the pile, Athena found a pair of stiff jeans that had never been worn, seemingly. A t-shirt followed the jeans an equally brand new cardigan, with its labels still attached, took after it. A pair of socks was found and then Athena found herself. In the mirror, she was a different woman entirely. She was warm looking, a heat in her cheeks left over from her exertion. Her hair had frizzed into its genuine curliness, buzzing about her head in excessive waves. The appearance seemed to favour the woman in the mirror with her toes wriggling in her stripy socks. With her daughters, taking after their father, standing already at her hips, their grins toothless and rampant.

Said girls took off in front of their mother, bounding down the stairs with all sense of propriety having flung itself out of the window not long after they reached the house. Despite her stoic, strained nature Athena found that she didn’t mind though she did take to wondering after whether Albus would. After fetching her boys from their little hidey-hole under the girls’ bunk bed, Athena herself carefully trod downstairs, finding the world somewhat towering now that she was rather cut down to size in more ways than in just the physical sense.

In the dining room, the girls had left their mark in the light bulb and no matter how Athena looked at it and the guilty parties (or party if one considered the way Aurelia openly chose to glare at her sister) she could not fathom out quite why there was such a profound interest in the light. In part she understood the marked difference between centuries old candles that had melted their successors onto the mantles they had been set on by recent and long departed ancestors. There was something ever so slightly cold about the bright, harsh light. If anything, the spattering of slight darkness between each flicker was brightly reassuring.

At first, the prior proverbial shots that had been fired over the equally proverbial border had shamed Athena into hesitance and thus she lingered in the doorway, watching as her girls found their seats. The boys, wriggling unhelpfully in her arms, spurred her forward and resultantly she took a place for herself, albeit gingerly as she wasn’t entirely sure which was Albus favoured point of vantage – though, granted, Athena could not imagine that the man made much use of his dining table. In fact, she could see in her mind’s eye a man who, if he ate at all at home, whisked it away into his little nook where he could continue his work between mouthfuls.

Aurelia’s mood had preciously lightened. The furnishing of her new sanctuary had settled her somewhat and while she had stolen away, finding her own little spot in the early afternoon, with a book in hand she returned to Athena’s side with a tranquillity which suited her. She, too, had lived in fear, it seemed. The ability to sit and do so without disturbance or argument brewing up around her seemed to soothe her war-torn heart. The subtle, cold war that would rage betwixt the adults in the home once tensions rose would not affect her nearly as much, it appeared. Perhaps she sensed something ephemeral in their skirmishes whereas there was little that was fleeting about the roar of the occupants of Rookwood Manor.

Athena’s thoughts were disturbed by the feeling of her son slide out of her lap and land easily on oddly steady feet. The young mother gathered the other closer to her reflexively, determined that she was not going to let them wander, but failed to grasp after Archie who sank to his hands and knees, scarpering off as fast as he could career himself forward. Before Athena rose, however, the little boy was scooped off of the floor and up into the air despite the kicking and flailing of arms which told of his dismay. He gave a cry of frustration but seemed content enough to have been captured by Albus. Athena was sure that, having chased both boys around the upper story of the house for most of the day, being thwarted once more by his mother would have sent Archibald into the early conception of a scheme to keep everyone up that night for revenge. Not letting him roam apparently appeared to be a capital offence.

“Can we go to the Tower of London again?” Ceci burst, bouncing eagerly in her seat as her expression lighted up with a broad smile. Athena suspected the little girl had been waiting all day to express her desire and while the woman was not entirely opposed to the idea, having enjoyed it herself if not slightly disturbed by the macabre Muggles.

“Go on then, off you go,” Athena teased in response, bouncing Augustus idly on her knee. “Don’t forget to wear a coat.”

Cecilia pouted, visibly unimpressed by Athena. “Not now,” she complained. “Tomorrow? Or the next day?”

Athena laughed a little and shook her head. Cecilia’s pout increased and Athena looked up, her eyebrows rising in question to the girl’s expression.

“The next day!” Cecilia persisted.

There was a part of Athena that wanted to point out that while autonomy was something she had been building towards, that liberty did not come with the sprawling bank accounts that marriage had done. She was still without any substantial finances barring what she earned in the bookshop and without N.E.W.Ts or any viable skills that existed beyond a fine eye for art and all things pretty and of worth, Athena could not afford to throw her money away on an expedition that was more expensive than she dared to consider and acknowledge. Still, she was not going to begrudge Cecilia or Aurelia an experience that they needed to make them rounded and intelligent – money be damned.

“The next day, then.” Athena agreed, mentally portioning off a bit of her income to fund the day. She knew that there would come a time when she would need to confide her concern over work versus childcare. The House Elves had been practical. She’d sent them away. She wouldn’t be getting them back out principle. Now she had to find a way to balance the children and a steady flow of money. Therein lay the skills issue. Nevertheless, she’d endeavour to make it work.

When Albus took to his chair, a put-out looking Archie in his lap, Athena turned and drew her fingers across the mop of dark curls that grew like a weed atop his head. Archie grinned in response and Athena shook her head, her eyes glancing up at Albus for a moment. In her gaze she tried to show her apology for she could not quite rise to utter one aloud lest she open up and spill a little too much. She had been childish, this she knew and it was something she wanted to repent for, at least in his better books.

Being forced to stand on her own two feet was not something she had willingly put her name down for but she understood, barely, an aversion to House Elves. She could make Albus her crutch in the sense that Collie and Brew had been. That was certainly the idea and purpose of taking up space in his home – for the sake of all of those reasons people tried to live their lives together in the first place? She was a mother – the mother of her children. Her House Elves weren’t. That would be yet another, difficult learning curve. She had to open herself and spill out what she didn’t want to, regardless of her aversion, for Albus had opened up his home, regardless of what peace and quiet he stood to lose.

“Can we have ice cream, too?” Ceci asked, stealing back the attention of the adults as Aurelia sang her thanks and reached for her drink. “And pancakes?”

“Do galleons grow on trees, little pigeon?” Athena inquired with a mock glare.

Aurelia wrinkled her nose. “Of course not,” she said tartly. “They’re pieces of metal – they come out of the ground.”

Upon that point, Athena could not argue. Thus, when Cecilia turned the question once more to Albus: “can we have ice cream and pancakes, Mr Albus, oh please?” Athena remained stoically silent, watching with a slight smile to her lips, wondering whether sense had truly left the man beside her or whether he had been a Gryffindor all along. His role had been mapped out for him. They were to play little families – or rather, not play but be. A little family. She the mother. He the father. The children, the children.

Was that what he had planned upon, Athena wondered to herself, or had they been an unscripted yet no less pleasant addition that neither he nor she had counted upon?

They were a family. Eating dinner by a flickering electric light.

(( OOC: Completely idiotic, not to mention late response. All owing to lack of time. Forgive me ))

Every day went the same.

Morning.....he'd wake, to sunlight streaming in through the windows thrown wide open, transparent curtains fluttering in the wind. Rise, close-eyed, and feel about with his feet for his slippers. Trudge to the bathroom, push the door open with his left hand, and watch himself brush in the mirror. Splash his face with water.....rivulets sliding down his cheek and jaw, then rub them off in a single swipe of the towel- a cleansing ritual. Allow his juice to grow warm in the sun, safe in its worn spot on the table in the study, until he let his writing hand still; and drain the cup dry while the ink dried on the parchment before him.

Then he'd escape the house, feet pattering down three flights of stairs. It'd be a shirt, a sweater thrown on top if it was chilly, hands buried somewhere in the depths of the pant pockets. Then work.......the flurry of work.....with going here, and travelling there, and meeting the publisher and maybe du Hunt, and arranging plans; a quick take-away lunch, with training and spell-casting between bites. Then the walk back home. Wordless, breathing in air. Regardless of the transport used in the morning. He always walked back home.

He cooked at night. He always cooked one meal in the day, and it was always dinner. He'd unearth a recipe book, buried somewhere underneath Arcane Arts and The Necromancer's Tome and An Anthology of Poems; and begin- or mostly just make something on his own- scents steaming up from the pans, drifting off through the air, mingling seamlessly with the city air, getting lost somewhere amidst the smoke and fog. It was the only time of day when there were actual sounds in the house. He made enough to fill one plate- then balanced it carefully on one hand, books in the other, stray stacks levitating behind him- then finished it mouthful by mouthful while his eyes burned from the strain of researching under candlelight. He'd only dab at them from time to time- the golden glow caressing faded parchment reminded him of Hogwarts. Then, at a time when the night crickets started chirping, he'd lean his head back to rest the weight on shoulders, relieving strained muscles. Then, earphones in ear, he'd polish off three glasses of water and trudge to bed. His head would rest on the pillow for an hour, before sleep claimed him.

Then the sunlight woke him the next day again.

Today, he hadn’t even done one thing. One thing from his usual routine. The Rookwoods were slowly, part by part, dismantling and taking down every part of his ‘always’.

Today’s food wasn’t from a recipe book- he would be taken by surprise if he could even glimpse something of his own under the six inch thick layer of Rookwood shine. Books and trinkets and clothes……he half-wondered what they did with all of them. Put them up on a wall and sit back to admire, in all probability. Augustus was barely a year old and he laid claim to more possessions than Albus could hope to own in all his lifetime. The walls still remotely resembled his own- the same, chalky beige colour, the roof was still the same height, the windows still the same size……but the house was nigh unrecognizable. He had walked into Lily’s room, and it had taken him two tries to correctly recall which door led to the hallway- the various articles adorning the corners and walls had robbed him of even his sure sense of direction. It was like pushing open a familiar door, and happening upon a whole new world. A world where his flat looked less like a flat and more like a home.

Or maybe it was just his eyes that were seeing it differently. Because the stairs were still the same, dark wood, barely creaking at all- but now they seemed…..lighter. The light seemed to caress them differently, even though the banisters weren’t polished, but had handprints littered all over, and the steps imprinted with the pattering, joyous feet of children. The curtains didn’t seem to rest so heavy- maybe just because Aurelia’s dark head, bobbing on the cold drink can, dark liquid seeping from the corners of her cherub-like lips; obscured the view of most of them- the seats at the table looked inviting- maybe just because they were occupied by people now.

But certain things didn’t change. Albus lifted the spoon to his lips from time to time, drained a mouthful or so of water, left hand unconsciously stroking Archie’s hip. A morsel or so of fresh vegetable, or succulent meat would find its way to the toddler’s mouth too, swallowed eagerly and zestfully looked forward too; even as soft, meaningless conversation comfortably seeped into Albus’ ears. Through all those years of sitting at a long table, listening to his family and relatives talk and laugh and chitter amongst themselves: he never thought he’d miss it. Miss the childish piping, the pleading, the reprimanding, the teasing. He was always so preoccupied with the thought of being left out- that he’d deserted the dinner table and forgotten what careless, unimportant human conversation sounded like. Or maybe not forgotten, simply hadn’t realised. Because never before had talk of towers and pancakes seemed so comforting. So peaceful to the soul.

“Can we have ice cream, too?”  Albus pushed around the remainder portion on his plate, searching for softer pieces. It wouldn’t do for something to get stuck down Archie’s throat.

“Do galleons grow on trees, little pigeon?”

Something sneaked out of his throat, peeping from between his lips. A snicker. James and he would have committed suicide before ever being called ‘little pigeon’. Yes, even at four.

Archie raised his chin suddenly, as if startled by the sound. His bright, blue eyes fixated on Albus’s green, shining brilliantly; little mouth pursing up at the edges as if sharing in Albus’ amusement- I know.

“Of course not. They’re pieces of metal – they come out of the ground.”

Albus sent him a wink in return.

“Can we have ice cream and pancakes, Mr Albus, oh please?

Archie bared a wide, toothless grin. They’re calling you.

It took several blinks for Albus to register it. He raised his eyes from the toddler’s, only to find everyone else’s resting on him.

They were addressing him. Him. At the dinner table.

A strange, debilitating dryness seemed to be working its way up his throat- growing tighter by the second. His tongue coasted over the roof of his mouth, searching for moisture. His fingers slipped against the glass of water, even as his other hand searched for purchase, for anchorage, tightening reflexively on Archie’s hip; even as he pressed the cool rim to his lips.

He was wrong. Everything changed.

Except cold, hard facts. Facts like no matter how much he’d like to join them in pretend…..he wasn’t really their father. Father……the very word sent queer little tingles down his spine, sparking off danger alerts. He had only just learned to think, for Merlin’s sake. To see, and accept things as they were. And no matter how throwaway a gesture it may seem…..but appealing to another person when their mother refused to relent to something…..it was a danger alert. Didn’t matter even if a second back, pale fingers had carded through thick, dark, child curls and clear eyes had stared at him, asking apologies. He……he wasn’t the authority here. He wasn’t anyone. He couldn’t afford to forget that.

“I’m afraid that’s your mother’s prerogative, Ceci.” He refused to look at the disappointment in the girl’s eyes. Or even her sister’s.

What of the mother, then? Was she possessive of her children, like she had been the first time, and gleeful at the fact that he had finally learned to recognize his lines? Or did she too feel disappointment at the sudden display of sensibility and reserve?

Archie fidgeted restlessly, pulling at his caretaker’s sleeve cuff with unease that seemed out of place, and strangely appropriate for the situation. Albus watched him play with a stray thread in his shirt sleeve, closed his eyes, and watched himself take one among the very first steps into the deep, dark abyss. The one that seemed to be inexorably drawing him in no matter how much he tried to summon up the masks.

The corner of Archie’s tongue peeked from between his lips, absorbed in the engrossing task of coaxing the thread out. Resistance is futile.

“I usually eat pancakes in the morning. Cook them up. Very mean pancakes, those.” Lies. The chilled juice glass, that was hardly drunk in that condition and grew warm every morning, might as well have been screaming at him in rebellion. “There’s vanilla ice cream. That could serve as a topping.” Yes, there was vanilla ice cream. Not in the fridge though- but somewhere in the world or hopefully in one of the shops down in the streets, which he could get Mrs Grubbs to pick up for him in the morning. “We need to get our energies up for painting your and Aurelia’s room. I could do it by magic…..but I didn’t know what colour you’d like. I could Conjure Muggle paint too, and we’d do it by ha-“ Yep, and that was his cue to stop talking.

Albus swivelled in his seat completely, Athena’s wide eyes coming into view, and sent up a mindless wish to the heavens that he didn’t seem as bloody imbecilic as he sounded. “So. I heard you’ve gotten a job?”

Archie kicked up his legs in his lap, socked feet swinging merrily, laughter bubbling out of his throat.

The accusatory eye that was fixed upon the matriarch was one that would have seen flowers wilt and a pack of ravenous dogs scared off. It appeared to be the incorrect answer and like that all avenues had been exhausted as with the acceptance of a day out came the last of the allowance. The ice cream was designed by its very nature to appeal to the man’s sweet tooth in contrast to the woman’s lack of one. The children desired an outing in equal parts information and entertainment. They weren’t going to get that by only having Athena with them who was, at best, dull and skittish. Albus provided the fun and if ice cream proved to not bait him like the elusive carp he was then the girls were fighting an uphill battle.

Though the disappointment registered openly on the faces of the children old enough to care about the event at hand, Athena’s remained somewhat fixed though she masked all evidence of a reaction with the speedy lifting of her glass from the table to her mouth. When she set it down again, her features were immaculate as ever – without any indication of dismay on her face which was rattling around in her stomach. The sheer fact that she was disappointed, possibly more so than the girls but who knows, registered as odd with her. Doubly, it registered as odd that she should find it odd that it was there at all. Certain changes of fixture meant a certain adjustment of feeling. What hers was, however, needed looking into.

“Pancakes and ice cream for breakfast?” Ceci shrieked. Thus, the battle was won – a victory that rivalled that of Agincourt. There would be no dissuading the youngest Rookwood now. As the rout went on in the background, victory horns blaring out in all their ears, Athena found that the idea of spoiling her girls wasn’t one that she was wholly opposed to – at least for a while. In time, no doubt, order would have to resume but they all had to find their footing in their new setting and as Queen of their little corner of England, Cecilia needed to figure out what she could get away with and what she couldn’t. As Queen, naturally she could get away with bloody murder – she was anointed by the highest power, after all.

“Seems that’s the plan,” Athena commented dryly with a wry smile. Ceci bounced happily in her seat and, as if in anticipation of breakfast, began to plough into her dinner because as per her logic: if dinner was over then it was nearly time for a bath and if it was nearly bath time it was nearly bedtime which meant a new day was near which meant pancakes and ice cream for breakfast was one step closer. Athena shook her head, amazed by the child’s guile but certainly dismayed that she’d allowed Cecilia to get away it. She supposed that the girl was always going to regardless of whether Athena had stood her ground or not. If ‘no’ was to be the option she served then she was sure there would still be ice cream on the plates come the morning.

An agreement about painting the room was being made as Athena disappeared into her thoughts. Aurelia took up the gauntlet her sister had left behind. She asserted that the Muggle way seemed much more exciting than merely changing the colours with magic. As charming as magic was sometimes, the convenience lost much of the enjoyment. Thus it was decided that they’d summon the paint pots – perhaps even go out and get it, an option Ceci described after swallowing a mouthful of veggies – and whilst the details were squabbled over later, the first doctrine was set in stone: all painting should be done by hand.

Athena looked up from Augustus as her mind registered a question directed at her from Albus. Augustus took that opportunity to steal a green bean from the plate. Said bean disappeared into his mouth immediately and Athena could only do but watch as he chewed brightly and swallowed dramatically, looking up at his mother with an expression that demanded that she give him more – or else. Thus, as Athena mulled over her job, considering all of the bizarre angles it could be viewed from, she fed the beans to her son who eagerly gobbled them away.

“Flourish and Blotts,” Athena expressed with a warm smile. “The owner has been unnecessarily kind to me and it’s been wonderful to get to work there. I would like to trade up if it proved to be more lucrative but for now I believe the bookshop will do. It’s not as if-” Athena stifled herself before she could vocalise what had been playing on her mind since she’d taken the job at the bookshop. Whilst she loved it, she did yearn for something better that she could utilise to pay her way in life separate from dependency. But, as ever, her lack of qualifications let her down and though she’d come to be something of an expert on the dewy decimal system and the different types of book bindings – that wouldn’t get her a better-paid job.

“Have you got a new book in the works?” She inquired gently, trying to foist some of the spotlight off of herself albeit staying within a similar vein so as not to seem utterly out of place.

((OOC: Does groveling and prostating oneself abjectly at the Amy's feet save one from the fact that this post is coming after more than a month? Probably not. But you did spring that James bomb on me so I consider us slightly less than even XP
Also, this post consists of godmode of the children, but I've done a lot of that already till now, so I'm guessing its alright XD ))


Flourish and Blotts, she said; and it took several minutes of quiet clinking of forks and spoons against ceramic, ordinary plates, eating on a medium-sized, ordinary dining table, for Albus to realise that the vaguely warm sensation washing about his insides was pride.

Eyelashes blinked quickly, light darting in and out through them into his vision, throat struggled for a second to swallow past a stray morsel, clearing past rather loudly, his knuckles drew up to rub off the remainder crumbs clinging to the corner of his lips. But it could not be denied, even if it was unbelievable and more than a little ridiculous that he should be proud of a woman whose acquaintance he had made not a month ago; who was still a bloody Rookwood for Merlin’s sake, who had seen vast estates and king’s halls under her command, whose vaults probably still overflowed with gold that could feed an entire city for a year.

But that was it, wasn’t it. She was all that. And apparently also now, a humble book-keeper at the most common store in Diagon. And that light hitch, a slight pause over her words that told far much more than it hid to those who knew how to see, said that maybe the gold wasn’t so bountiful after all; and the warmth magnified to a full on flare, blazing a hot trail of pride across his chest, and Archie’s stubby fingers squeezed his own underneath the table.

“I do not.” He said, silencing the multitude of words that could have sprung from his lips with unbelievable ease; but Albus wished for the first time, unselfishly, that someone could see past the words not being spoken and read his eyes, for these, these kind of people deserved to know that their labours weren’t going unmarked, unwatched, in vain. “Writing should be done only when you have something worth.....giving to the world. I haven’t, for some time.”

Because spitting out another volume filled to the brim with complaints, and plans for the world to change, and caustic criticisms would feel.......false. Pointless, not worth the effort. And anything else would require an investment of feelings, something to draw on- and all of a sudden, under that tubelight casting flickering shadows on the wall, all his emotional upheavals till now felt trite. Too self-indulgent, too trivial for all the pain that they caused, too impure to be cast with quill and parchment into something worth reading. And yes, he’d acquiece to being a victim of idiotic idealism in this, but books that had made his childhood worth living, books that were worth being called the name, should not just be written for the sake of vindicating the writer’s feelings in print; but because somewhere in the world, someone needed to read those words and use them to make their days a little brighter. A little more meaningful. And he had no shining place, no brightness inside his heart to share with anybody.

Then Ceci chose to interrupt the silence with a massive yawn, and Albus felt his lips cracking into a smile, and something give way inside his chest. Yes, maybe there was no brightness- and something in his mind recoiled at the very idea of these people catching a glimpse of the cloying, rotting black which occupied its place. But tonight. Tonight his inkpot might need to be dusted, the quill sharpened anew. Tonight he felt in the mood to try.

His fork hunted down the remainder bits and scraps on his plate while Archie burped against his fingertips, thoughts drifting carelessly for what felt like the first time in weeks. “What are your hours?” His mouth said thoughtlessly, then realised it wasn’t exactly its place to ask, so amended quickly by- “I mean, if you have shifts in the morning or evening....my working times are adjustable so....” So we can compromise and the children don’t have to stay in a strange, new place alone. But of course, that would imply that Athena would trust her precious children to his care, which was laughable; she probably had arrangements already, a friend, an elite babysitter, anything other than a man she may have provided solace to on a bridge, rescued from a prison, accepted an offer of a roof from.......but otherwise barely knew.

And Ceci yawned again, dainty fingers barely covering a stretching mouth, and Albus seized the opportunity to divert from the awkward pause, quirking a brow, “Looks like someone’s in dire need of a bed,” because diversions from conversations seemed to be all that they were doing lately, but of course Aurelia took it as a prime chance to shoot to her feet and primly thank him for dinner; and it was marvelously ridiculous because it hadn’t even been a day and he wished they’d just stop listening so much to him already because it really wasn’t doing wonders to the impression that he wasn’t their father. He pushed himself up to his feet, feet slightly unsteady but hands secure around Archie’s waist, wondering absently if a flux of largely contradicting feelings within the span of a few minutes was a sign of bipolarity- or simply a bonus with this family package.

“I’d better start clearing up.”