Clash of the Titans.

The grounds of Rookwood Manor was a far more cheery sight, basking in a rare English sunshine. The skies were clear, the trees swayed mildly in the comfortable breeze, and the singing of the birds complemented the joyful day. Ironically, but certainly not to any surprise to the ones familiar to the Rookwood household, the Manor was just a pretty shell. It was really a sort of castle wall to fend off unwanted attention from prying eyes and the noise of gossip. After all, the Rookwoods have always prided themselves for their united front. It didn’t matter that the front was a mere performance. Generations of Rookwoods were taught and convicted of the need for appearances. The simple philosophy had managed to hold up the reputation of the family name, and that was sufficient. That was especially important, given the never-dying, never-ending scandals that would rock the household, to the point that damage control had become the norm. Clearly, then, Rookwood Manor was nothing but a pretty shell containing the nightmares and the secrets of generations of Rookwoods, conveniently swept under the carpet, and easily buried in the dungeons.

Raghnall Rookwood sat at the end of a long table in the library. Above his grey mop of hair hung an antique frame with a portrait of the first important male of a successful line of Wizards - Charles Rookwood. Well, it would have been Charles, once he returns. Raghnall sat scowling. The Scotch was left untouched. Flanked by Emelia and Kaeleigh, he waited in silence and fury. The women, both subjected to his wrath the night before, didn’t so much as raise their eyes to search for his. Instead, they sat in a kind of silence that was expected of them, as women subjected to the patriarchal hand of Rookwood. Raghnall exhaled sharply, and then a loud bang on the table, as his fist slammed against it in another show of anger. It was ludicrous, to think that Kendall should fail to show up for a meeting that his grandfather was certainly counting on him for. Laurent Wenger, an esteemed acquaintance from France, was barely impressed, what with Raghnall’s promise of marriage with his grandson – the most eligible bachelor of all England. Outrageously embarrassed, Raghnall have had to apologised to man and daughter. He, Raghnall Rookwood … apologise!

With his eyes now in an angry squint, the old man finally lifted the glass and poured all of the contents down his throat. Almost immediately, Emelia reached for the bottle located at the centre of the table, before filling her husband’s glass with more Scotch. Kaeleigh sat and watch, before lowering her hands to the hands that were clenched tightly together, as if fearing that if she let them go loose, Raghnall would too. Once again, the old man ignored the glass, distracted by concerns now that the Howlers might have failed to reach his son and grandson. Imbeciles, he thought. Then, with an eye that shot to look at the mammoth Grandfather’s Clock at the other end of the library, he attempted to compose himself at the conclusion that it wasn’t time yet.

When Augustus burst through the massive oak doors, his mother stood up in reflexive response. “SIT.” And with that command, she eyed Raghnall fearfully and fell back down to her chair. Alarmed, Augustus paused and eyed Kaeleigh, before passing his eyes to the commanding presence of his father. The Howler was every bit as humiliating as if he was back at Hogwarts again as a teenage boy, receiving it in the middle of a meal, in front of hundreds of eyes. But that never happened in those younger days. Augustus had always been dutiful, to say the least. Somehow, he had managed to still enjoy the atrocities of his mind, even as he had to meet the expectations of a male Rookwood. He had, too, expected to enjoy more of his Mediterranean holiday for the Summer. What with the recent acquiring of Maia, too, the presence of a Howler couldn’t have come at a worser time. Fortunately for Raghnall, then, Augustus shared the same contempt for the one Rookwood male that had yet to show up. His clean record, soiled by the stupidity of a son, who had not only missed an important event set up by the oldest living Rookwood, but also failed to reply to any of the owls sent by the older Rookwoods.

“Father,” he began, only to be shown a hand immediately. Without an explanation, though, Raghnall simply reached for his glass and emptied its contents again. Kaeleigh attempted to beat Emelia to the task of topping the Scotch up again, but failed. Smirking, Emelia did the job yet again; unfortunately, without any show of neither appreciation nor acknowledgement from her husband. Augustus swallowed and nodded, understanding that his father wanted to wait for Kendall’s attendance before speaking. The fuming that threatened to be an explosion was unmistakeable, though, and Augustus himself feared for his son’s position with the most important Rookwood man. Swearing under his breath, Augustus waved for a House Elf, who promptly brought him a glass of his usual Absinthe. Only then did the man seem to notice his new company, someone of whom Raghnall had too just begun to notice. Ignoring the glare of confusion from his father, Augustus smirked and smiled at the young lady, before gesturing for her to take her seat next to him.

“Who. Is. This.” It wasn’t a question.

“A little gift from Shabaam. Nothing to worry-“

“Only Rookwoods are allowed in here at this present time.”

“But F-“

“DO NOT!” The old man clenched in fists, as if ready to strike the table again. Then, turning to Augustus now, “I’ve had enough of this circus from you and your son, August. Do not question my authority around here. Have you forgotten how you were brought up, or have you lost all of your mind in Egypt?”

The Egyptian morning had come two hours earlier than it had in England so while those in Augustus’ home country were still content in their beds, he and Maia were forced to rise from the bed they’d shared for the night. The girl was certainly less eager than her counterpart. She felt the bed move not long after the sun had danced teasingly into the sky, draping its light across Alexandria. The breeze was warm and relieving already but the sun was enough to hurt the eyes that had been in darkness for hours, content to rest, disturbed and dismayed when blistered by the gold. Augustus left the bed first, Maia taking the opportunity to drag the covers around her, roll over into the middle of the bed where she had more room and bury her face into the endlessly soft pillows. It was all Egyptian cotton – she could tell from the way it felt against her skin – but never had she experienced such luxury using the material. Even Aaron’s bed had not been as comfortable as this.

Breakfast came an hour later and it was only then that Maia elected to rise from the bed, dragging a sheet around her so as to maintain some sort form of modesty – something Augustus clearly did not believe in. They sat out on the balcony in the wicker chairs where they dined on a breakfast that was clearly more European than it was African. Maia picked her way through it, hesitant and unsure as to how much and what she could have. Mostly she just stuck to drinking the orange juice which Augustus did not seem to be at all interested in. Maia had never really been a big coffee or tea drinker – probably something to do with the fact that technically she was still a child – and so kept with the sweet amber-coloured juice that was steadily rehydrating her body after having drunk very little the day before. She, in the end, went for a piece of toast and slathered on a hearty layer of jam that she immediately regretted though managed to mask her dismay upon eating it by gulping down the rest of her juice.

It was only after breakfast cleared away that Augustus decided what they were going to do for the day. He wanted to go to see something – that much she understood – but whether it was the flea market in town or the pyramids – which they had no way of conveniently getting to until next week thanks to the Nile cruises taking over the river – she did not know. Thankfully she managed to point out, though in what she was sure was dreadful English, that she had very little in the way of clothes. Augustus, seemingly only just noticing the sheet around her body, agreed and decided that he too needed something to wear; as if he’d failed to recall he had at least two days worth of clothes in the wardrobe. So they called a seamstress and a tailor, shocking Maia who didn’t actually believe Alexandria had either – though one must bear in mind she is a rather sheltered young girl in many respects.

The seamstress was a middle-aged woman called Aliyya who worked with her husband, the tailor, who was a man of considerable age in comparison to his wife called Haaroon. They were friendly enough but only spoke Arabic and therein lay the problem for Augustus communicating with them. Their English was broken, with only minor phrases in their vocabulary so it was Maia that had to communicate with them, telling them as best she could from her understanding what it was Augustus wanted. In the end, Aliyya disappeared for quarter of an hour, returning with a man who worked in one of the department stores who, in tow, brought in people carrying boxes containing an array of branded items. Augustus immediately began to leaf through that while Maia was lifted up onto a podium of sorts that was surrounded by mirrors. She was then shrouded in material that was pinned, cut and finally sewed into shape to create a beautiful end product.

Once the people had been piled out of the door, they were plunged into relative silence and Maia took that time to study the map, mumbling to herself in a mix of Arabic and Greek as to where they could go and which routes would be the quickest and safest. She stole a look in Augustus’ direction as she studied the map, concluding that he’d probably be mugged. Maia decided open, large roads were the best routes to take and thought maybe some time on a boat, fishing would be better spent than pealing through a flea market or attempting to visit the pyramids. She decided they could probably get a cab to the port and from there Augustus could rent one of the yachts or something so he could amuse himself for the day. Maia didn’t honestly know what she was doing but she figured he might as well enjoy the remaining days he planned to spend in Egypt – and hopefully, if she was helpful enough, he’d keep her instead of turning her out somewhere. She didn’t want to return to Aaron and she knew full well she couldn’t go anywhere else. He was the best bet she had.

Maia lifted herself away from the map and straightened up, opening her mouth to speak to Augustus. A hoot broke through the silence and a quizzical look turned Maia’s face. She turned a little and her eyes widened at the sight of an owl that was perched on the rail of the balcony. In its beak, a blood red letter was caught and there was something unmistakably sinister about it. Maia looked back at Augustus who, too, seemed captivated by the owl. Maia had never seen an owl before in Egypt – let alone in broad daylight – but to Augustus it seemed to be the most natural thing in the world – as if it happened all the time. Maia struggled for words as the man crossed the room, taking the letter roughly from the bird’s beak. The bird bit him in response before taking off again, flying into the distance, in the direction of Europe; though really, it could have gone anywhere.

Maia crossed the room, out onto the balcony to watch the bird go but when she looked, it was already nowhere to be seen. A voice filled the room, a great big booming baritone that made goose flesh spring up all over Maia’s skin. She turned hesitantly, the blood draining from her face upon setting eyes on the letter that was floating in the air having screwed itself up to look like...was that a face? Maia managed to stifle her shriek but she was sure Augustus wouldn’t have heard it anyway – the voice was simply too loud. Maia’s hands found her ears in an effort to block the sound out – her attempt mostly in vain. But then, as quickly as the sound came, it died. Maia brought her hands down away from her ears and simply stared at Augustus, utterly lost for words – pun unintended.

“What was-”

The subsequent actions of Augustus left her immensely dizzy. He crossed the room, his wide gait bringing him to her in a handful of steps, and grabbed hold of her upper arms. The air was then knocked out of Maia’s lungs as she was forced through what felt like a tunnel built comfortably for one but most definitely not for two. Her hands found Augustus’ shirt and clung to the material, for fear that if she let go she’d end up hurt or worse. But, thankfully, just like the letter, as soon as it began, it ended and air returned back to her screaming, thankful lungs.

When Maia opened her eyes she found herself standing on a concrete path before a building that she could have only dreamed of. It was classic of what people expected from the English. It was a tall, brooding structure that still seemed open and fair. Ivy climbed the side facing the pair and as Maia fought to get her breath back, she took the time to look at the scenery around her. How he’d brought her there, she did not know. They definitely did not take a boat or aeroplane. Maia’s eyes found Augustus and she tried to communicate her confusion to him. He seemed preoccupied though and she felt it best to leave her questions for later. She’d heard what the letter had said. It had been from Augustus’ father and from the sound of it, he was less than pleased.

Maia hurried after Augustus when he broke away from her, his legs carrying him towards the house at a pace Maia had to match by jogging. She lifted the skirt of the dress up as she did so, wanting to keep from tripping and to keep it clean. She lowered it to the floor again when they entered the house and for a moment, Maia was stunned by the architecture – the grandeur of it all. But before she had a chance to really take it in, Augustus had bolted and she was forced to jog after him again.

When the man reached a pair of double doors, Maia slowed, her chest heaving and her breath coming out in short bursts. She glanced at herself in one of the mirrors that was mounted on the wall, pleased to find that she still looked somewhat presentable. Maia followed close behind Augustus as he entered the room but stopped short of him as she was once again taken aback by the beauty of the room. Maia’s eyes snapped to the man speaking to Augustus when she felt he was speaking in reference to her. She stepped forward a little so that she was just behind but to the side of Augustus, determined to make herself seem as if she were paying attention rather in a school-girl stupor at the architecture.

Maia blinked at Augustus before lifting her eyes to his father, unsure as to whether sitting was a good idea or not. But in the end she took a hesitant seat beside the more familiar of the two men and eyed the drink in the former’s hand with obvious distaste but plastered a small smile on her lips regardless. With her body angled towards Augustus, she felt marginally safer. It was a small declaration of her allegiance that was really only a result of circumstance. Augustus hadn’t exactly given her a reason to trust him yet but she found herself doing so simply because if she didn’t, her chance of survival would be miniscule.

While sat there, Maia took a moment to take in the faces of the women either side of Augustus’ father. They were rather pretty, both in their own right, but they seemed to bear the wear and tear of the household, their faces marked with lines of both laughter and stress. Maia managed a small smile for both of them before the booming voice of the man between them broke through Maia’s consciousness. She blinked up at him and then tossed her eyes to Augustus, shrinking back into the chair, unsure how it was she was supposed to conduct herself. She opened her mouth, hoping to convey some sort of desire to leave them to whatever it was they were doing but then she quickly snapped it shut, remembering what her mother had always hissed at her: do not speak unless you’re spoken to.

“Grandfather!” The exclamation was immediate, so that the bursting through of the large oak doors wasn’t even noticed by the occupants of the library. The young man seemingly responsible for the circus that was too much for Raghnall to take entered with such flamboyance, that it made Augustus cringe inside. Kendall might indeed have been his pride and joy ………. Yesterday. Today, though, that was hardly the case. Father and grandfather glared at the audacity of the young man, who, despite the horrors of receiving a Howler in the presence of the woman he had, over time, decided was the only one he was going to marry, looked unfazed. In fact, Raghnall summoned all of the strength left of his old age to keep his composure, to keep from rushing over to put both hands around the neck of the young lad.

“Father!” He exclaimed without hesitation after his first, genuinely surprise to see his father in this solemnity too, given knowledge of the latter’s holiday plans. “Back so soon? Pity, really. I should think that the sun in Egypt would still outshine the one kissing the walls of this Manor outside now. Shame, too, that we’re not all outside in the garden in this sunshine! How’s your summer been so far, grandfather?” The boy made a face. Raghnall was clearly at his boiling point now, clenching both fists, his cheeks both red, unable to speak.

“Kendall Kaeden Rookwood,” Augustus began. Only then did he notice the presence of Athena Goyle, much later then his father did. Raghnall was now alternating his piercing stare between the young couple, awaiting a sort of explanation.

“Quit fooling around, Kendall.”

“It’s summer! YOLO.”

“You have a lot of explaining to do, Kendall.” Augustus cleared his throat and stole a glance at the red-faced Raghnall, who looked on the verge of murder.

“Your grandfather would like to know wh-“

“WHAT. What are you doing with Miss Goyle?” It was, however, not a question, again. Rather, it was a challenge for the boy to speak, and straight to the point at that.

“See, we were just enjoying breakfast, really. Make no mistake; we wanted you there with us. After all, the Hawaiian breeze is second to none. But then, of course, you hate the sun. Didn’t think it was quite your cup of tea then, grandfather.” Kendall’s grin was wider than what would have signalled his typical composure. “But, really, interrupting breakfast? Now, grandfather, mind you, there was bacon. I mean, you know how I can never start a day without that. And, mind you, I had plans to take Athena up on to Haleakala. The volcano’s come alive again! Lava was supposed to be the highlight of th-“

“SHUTUP!” And with a loud slam of his fist against the table, Raghnall had stood up, wand pointed without wavering, at his youngest grandson. Alarmed, Kendall froze and kept his eyes now on the tip of the wand. The glass of Scotch had toppled at the impact of the old man. Both women knew better than to dry the part of the table that was now wet with the alcohol. At this point, it was better to not have one’s movements catch the eyes of Raghnall. Kendall considered reaching for his wand. He was almost at the end of patience with the old, bitter man. Sure, he had been taught to never mock the authority of Raghnall. Yet, the boy never could learn when was it that desperately required him to not make a joke out of something. Raghnall was critically testing his patience. Still, Kendall deliberated and hesitated in his next move.

“You utter inbred,” the old man began. Augustus winced. “Made a fool out of me in the presence of one of our most important family acquaintances. As if that wasn’t enough, you thought, with that bird-brain of yours, that it was wise to ignore all of my owls. HAVE YOU LOST ALL SENSE OF LIVING?!” The wand vibrated in the furious hand of Raghnall.

“Had Thaddeus not had one of the House Elves spy on you, you would have continued to make a cuckold of the Rookwood family with your frolicking with an illegitimate girl!” Augustus shot a look of accusing betrayal at his father. Kendall, however, had stood up at Raghnall’s insult of Athena.

“SIT. DOWN.” The wand still pointed at the boy.

“Kendall!” Augustus demanded urgently, having watched the boy’s face twist into the first burst of temper, almost speaking. “Do as your grandfather says.” Kendall parted his lips and made to protest. “Sit down.” The quieter and firmer repetition came. This time, imploring, too.

“Miss Athena Goyle,” Raghnall now directed his attention to the girl. “Has my dim-witted grandson … what a shame to even be called my grandson … not expressed our family’s opinions about your union?” He didn’t wait for a reply. Kendall had begun to clench in fists as his anger grew from the incessant insults that his grandfather looked determined to humiliate him with. “I’m sure Azkaban was a nasty experience. But, the Rookwood family is not a charity shelter.” Kendall stood up now, suddenly. His wand pointing at his grandfather. Raghnall smirked at the words that continue to spill from his lips. “We cannot risk association with a dishonourable marriage union, let alone with a dishonoured name.” Then, with deliberate performance of patience, the old man turned to the boy. “Is this the result of your years of work, Augustus?” Augustus looked down, away from the scene, as if it was too much for him to take. The old man began to chuckle. “Rebelling against me for a girl without any worth. Sha-”

“Enough!” Kendall refused to lower his wand. Raghnall raised an eyebrow now, his face set to threaten the younger Rookwood further. He turned his body and faced the boy, letting one wand meet the other in direction. It was a stance of challenge.

Athena Goyle was not entirely sure why she’d agreed to coming with him to face his family members but she was sure it was not a selfish reason. If she had been in any other position: if her father had been alive, if he’d married her mother and made her legitimate by marriage then perhaps she would not have gone. One might have perceived her reasons for going as a form of desperation because she simply had no other choice, that she had to stand by Kendall to ensure her survival and that of their son. Circumstances had changed, though. She was still a bastard and her father was dead and buried, a funeral she honestly wished she could have attended, so really, her reasoning for attending was for Kendall’s benefit. She’d heard the Howler just as anyone within a one hundred meter radius had. What he was walking into was the eye of a storm that she had helped him create. She felt obligated, guilty, but she also did not want him to go there alone. She didn’t want to leave him to that. She wasn’t entirely sure what the outcome of it would be but she knew she’d feel a million times better if she was there with him and she prayed that, if it came to it, their son would have enough sense to not corrupt her magic. Unforgivable Curses, as documented by her Azkaban file, were not out of her capabilities.

The manor house that the Rookwoods called home was as grand and as beautiful as Athena remembered it to be. Yet, it seemed wrought with darkness that bright morning. The sun was high in the sky, baking the land below it, but there was a certain amount of darkness about the manor. Perhaps it was the fear brewing within Athena’s stomach, gnawing at her insides, that was making her see something sinister in such a handsome facade. But perhaps it had always been there, just bubbling beneath the surface, something she’d never really seen because it had never been directed towards her. Athena believed she was being irrational but that did not stop her from sticking close to Kendall, feeling truly unsettled by the place in a way that she had never before experienced. Yet she felt significantly safer by his side. She knew that of the two of them she was more willing to take risks in a duel, no longer having any qualms or problems with the spells she desired to use but even so, he still had a calming, protective effect over her. She had a feeling though that he was going to be next to absolutely useless when it came to getting them out to the situation they were to find themselves in and she certainly wasn’t disappointed.

Kendall entered the library with a flourish that immediately made Athena wish she could curl up and die – he was hardly subtle. She was slightly behind him, having fallen back to coolly observe the room. Raghnall was seated at the head of the table, two women either side of him that Athena couldn’t place. They weren’t familiar but Athena could guess their uses. The only thing she couldn’t pinpoint was which one was the wife and which one was the mistress. The elder one, she supposed, for the former. Athena also noticed Augustus with a woman seated beside him that she knew not to be Kendall’s mother. Athena came up quietly behind Kendall and placed a hand on his shoulderblade, a gentle alert as to her presence. He wasn’t helping their case but she knew better than to involve herself in such matters. He was meant to know what he was doing but unlike some of the dozy women he’d been with previously, she knew him. She could not just go blindly into a situation believing he’d get them out of it. No, she knew for a fact he’d exacerbate everything and so she had thought to prepare a way to get them out of it.

There was originally a grand total of eight people that knew Athena was still alive. Of course now there was an added five to that, making it thirteen, but originally it was eight and one particular person was Athena’s grandmother: Penelope Goyle. She was the matriarch of their family, the one who controlled much of what went on and she had once held a great deal of affection for her middle son, and so by extension, his daughter. Now Athena was not immediately someone Penelope wanted her son to have around but upon meeting the child at a rather late stage, she’d become enamoured with the charismatic young thing, declaring immediately that she would be of help to Athena should she ever need it. Now this was not something Athena recalled on her own, having been only one year old at the time but it was something Apolline had later reiterated to her and it was knowledge that Athena had held onto, knowing that one day it would come in handy.

Today was most certainly that day.

Athena had written a quick note to her grandmother before they’d departed from the villa while Kendall was hurriedly changing into something more appropriate. Though she was sure he would have gladly gone in the shorts and t-shirt he’d intended to wear to wherever they were supposed to be going that day, it wouldn’t have gone down well with his family and so Athena had taken the opportunity to ask for the woman’s aid should they need it. She’d gotten a response almost immediately, written on the same bit of parchment in her grandfather’s scraggily handwriting. Dark blue ink that promised that their presence would fill the house should she need it and that Penelope would be keeping tabs on Athena and Kendall so that, should the moment arise, their appearance would be instantaneous. They’d left later than she would have wanted, both of them having to change before they could present themselves to the Rookwoods. Honestly, Athena wished she hadn’t bothered, the pair of them, because nothing could save them now. Kendall had been far, far from tactful. In fact she was beginning to honestly doubt if he had a tactful bone in his body.

It was all well and good letting Kendall waffle but, really, Raghnall vocalised what Athena had been thinking. That didn’t, however, make him any less terrifying. Athena took a step back, her lip coming between her teeth, and she glanced over at Kendall hesitantly to find that he had fallen silent. Athena’s eyes widened at the sight of the wand and she suddenly became acutely aware of the wand strap around her thigh. Her eyes narrowed at Raghnall and her eyebrow quirked challengingly as if daring for him to use it against them. Athena seemed to handle his following words rather well though, to be fair, she wasn’t really paying attention, her eyes fixed on the tip of the wand as her other hand felt for the tip of her own pressing against her thigh. Her fingers pressed against the wand, feeling confident about the speed at which she could produce it and fire a, hopefully, non-deadly hex in Raghnall’s direction.

Athena’s eyes snapped to Raghnall upon hearing the slur against her and her eyes narrowed, her lips curling into a sneer at his audacity to refer to her as such. Illegitimate or not, she was still a Goyle woman and a proud one at that. She was not prepared to be spoken to in such a manner but she could not form a retort fast enough. She merely glared at him, as if it was her only ammunition against him. Athena was grateful when Kendall returned to his seat and she wished she could have sat also but her simmering temper was beginning to get the better of her, the wand fizzling against her leg as if desperate to be used with the intent a darker part of her mind was imagining.

Upon Raghnall’s address of her person, Athena’s eyes returned to the man. An elegant eyebrow climbed high above her right eye and a small smirk played at her lips, the desire to press the man in a less blasé fashion Kendall had becoming more and more likely for her to slip into. But her countenance was lost upon him opening his mouth for the second time. Her face drained of all colour at his words. Azkaban. Dishonour. Bastard. Words that were doomed to haunt Athena for the rest of her days. She didn’t have a name, that was lost upon Apolline’s regrettable announcement just before her demise. Athena Goyle was nothing, no longer her father’s daughter because her questionable blood made it difficult for anybody to believe she was even his let alone the child of Cassandra Holloway.

Athena’s eyes flicked to Kendall at the sound of the chair scraping across the floor. Her left hand found his back and the other his forearm as she tried to still him from doing anything rash. It was her that had the questionable sanity, the drive to do things that were morally ambiguous. She flinched a little at the sound of Kendall’s voice ringing out across the room and her grip on his forearm tightened.

“Stay your wand, Kendall.” She murmured gently to him. “He’s your grandfather. Do not do anything you will later regret.” Athena turned her gaze to Raghnall and found herself unable to remove the disdain from her face. “Forgive me, sir, but have you ever been to Azkaban? Have you heard the screams that don’t stop even for their source to catch his or her breath? Have you ever heard the sounds of a soul being forcibly removed from its host? Have you felt the touch of the Dementors? Their caress? The feel of their lips against your skin, searching for every happy memory to feed off of? Ask your son, I am sure he would fill you in. So to call it a ‘nasty experience’ is a bit flippant don’t you think? May I add that I do not ask charity of your grandson or your family? I care about your grandson very much and it is because of that that I ask you to be far more civil than you are being now because I assure you, imbecilic though he has the capability of being, he is not as stupid as you care to paint him to be. You are also in the presence of ladies. Did your own parents forget to inform you how to correctly converse with others while in their presence, or to converse with one at all? I have worth, Mr. Rookwood, make no mistake of that. Regardless of my origins I am still a Goyle woman, a Pureblood, a person of social standing so I request you treat me as such.”

Athena angled her jaw, lifting her head in an act of defiance and stared at Raghnall with misplaced confidence, her expression daring him to tell her anything that countered her words. She was an immensely proud woman, that much was clear, and despite his formidable presence, no man, especially not Raghnall Rookwood, was going to shake Athena down.

Augustus gawked at his son. The sneer that Raghnall directed at him dug into the surface of his skin. Tormented by the twin attacks of humiliation and incredulity, the middle-aged Rookwood man began to shake his head ever so subtly, as if the nuanced movement could convey his warning to the boy that he had rather trusted his hopes and dreams on. After all, Augustus had grown tired. He was barely near Raghnall's age, being the youngest of his sons. Yet, Azkaban had taken something from him that couldn't be replaced again. He had, instead, channelled his energies to the boy, expecting to extend his bragging rights (especially since he was the only one of Raghnall's that had taken on the Dark Lord's tasks and had Azkaban to prove for his atrocities) in the form of the young lad that was far too pretty even for his father's liking. Cordelia's looks would have been better placed in her daughters. Instead, it was her son that reaped most of the benefits in that department.

Augustus shut his eyes, willing this nightmare of a family affair to pass into one of the many deceptive dimensions that made up his mind. Unfortunately, Kendall was still standing, and directing his wand at his grandfather, when the man decided it was time to face the reality of the library again. Momentarily, he was distracted, watching Athena speak, remembering how he had once took great delight in the charm of the girl. At that, the man let slip a chuckle before holding it back as quickly as it came. How tricky did the universe desire to be? He had, after countless attempts of setting his son up with a respectable match, been beaten at his own game. Kendall's choice had never looked better to his father. It was a wonder that Augustus himself never considered to look for a match among the Goyles.

Certainly, it was proof of the father never really knowing the son. After all, Athena was the only consistent female in Kendall's life. Yet, Augustus had failed to pick that up. The man, however, had assumed that his job was done with the eldest, the only boy, and the only one who really mattered to him. After all, it was an important trophy in the never-ending competition with his brothers. The situation, however, could not have turned out any worse. Truth be told, the man was hardly bothered by rumours of Athena's illegitimacy after her sentence to Azkaban. He was, instead, more perturbed by the fact that his soon-to-be daughter-in-law was going to suffer the atrocities of that place. What condition was that going to leave her in, regarding the affairs of child-bearing? Besides, if she never made it out alive, how was Kendall going to deal with it?

It was true that Augustus never genuinely made to know his son. Yet, he did invest his time and effort into ensuring that Kendall turned out to be a respectable Rookwood; or at least, like himself. And with what he knew of the boy's displayed behaviour, the affection that the young lad held for the girl was hard to miss. The boy had, upon agreement of the potential union, attempted to throw his father in doubts by his constantly annoying questions regarding his disdain for marriage. However, Augustus merely concluded it all as the typical commitment phobia that he assumed most men possessed.

While Augustus was rather blasé about Athena's authentic background history, preferring to bask in the girl's proven current talents, Raghnall sat at the other end of the spectrum. A woman's, in the older Rookwood's mind, lay in all the external stories surrounding herself. Her family, her legitimacy, her fortune ... that was all that mattered. What the girl could perform with her natural abilities was never an issue, unless one was to discuss the prospect of reproduction. In fact, Raghnall had taken care to ensure that all of the living Rookwood women, including the wives of his sons, came from respectable Pureblood families, but were barely excellent in anything apart from obedience. The case of Athena was, therefore, unimpressive to the old man, to say the least.

Augustus had to suppress a smirk that was threatening to form, when Athena finally spoke in response to the cruel words of the bitter old man. He had felt the pangs of old memories when the girl mentioned Azkaban. And in that moment, he warmed to her. After all, she was the only one in the place who could relate to his memories. With that, he couldn't fight his support for her. Yet, unfortunately, the priority still lay with his allegiance to his father. Bearing that in mind, he breathed deeply, stole a glance at Maia, before exhaling. He had been careless with her. Admittedly, the man could have left the strange little exotic girl in the foyer; anywhere but here. Instead, he had let slip some of his common sense, and allowed her presence in the midst of Rookwood scandals. This, he regretted. After all, what happens in Rookwood Manor always had to stay at the Manor.

Suddenly, though, and of the utmost misfortune, the heavy doors to the library was banged against, before they flung open to reveal a tall, blonde woman, that was unmistakeably the face was replicated on Kendall's. Cordelia rushed in, face set in utter worry, followed by the man who had planned the eruption of the latest family scandal. The oldest of Raghnall's son rushed in along with Cordelia, catching her elbow before she could arrive at the table, almost as if he was attempting to stop her approach to the highly-strung meeting that was already taking place. The woman began to struggle, desiring to wring free from the force of the much stronger and bigger man.

"Thaddeus!" Raghnall exclaimed. The old man's delight was barely disguised at the entrance of his favourite son.

"Let go of her!" Augustus demanded, disgusted at his father's blatant favouritism. Even after his sacrifices and efforts, his ever so crafty oldest brother was still the unshakeable heir to the Rookwood title head. Augustus abhorred the man.

"If you had kept the lid on your woman, August, I wouldn't have to so much as touch her." The implication in his tone at that last part was disgusting. Augustus stood up just as Cordelia continued to struggle to get away from the older man's grasp.

"Let go of my wife, Teddy." Thaddeus winced at the emasculating nickname directed by Augustus. "Then maybe I'll stop banging yours."

"ENOUGH!" Before the brothers could utter hexes at each other, Raghnall bellowed. The wands froze in action, but were still pointed firmly at each other.

"We're here to discipline the boy for his rebellion, not to indulge him with your immaturity." The old man sneered. "Wipe that stupid smirk of your face!" Kendall adjusted his face. The men lowered their wands. Kendall had his tuck back in, satisfied with the distraction that his uncle and father were providing to his anger. Raghnall had tucked his back within his suit.

"Please, please, Raghnall." Cordelia began, kneeling dramatically, overwrought with fear for her son. "Kendall is still a boy. He's the youngest after all. Please!" Before Raghnall could sneer in disrespectable retort to the woman, Kendall interrupted, "I'm not a child!" Then, with a softened expression that clearly indicated his soft spot for his mother, he turned to look at her. "Please, mother. Stop kneeling. Don't beg." There was an urgent insistence in his tone, and embarrassment decorated his voice. Cordelia began to use her fingers to desperately rid of the tears that looked almost as if they could drown her face in them. It was only when she stood up and made to approach her husband, that she noticed a girl that she didn't recognise. Almost naturally, she turned to Kendall again.

"And this ... ?"

"Dunno. She's with dad." Augustus shut his eyes, as if a block wad slammed against his head. In pain at his son's possibly ignorant betrayal, he opened his eyes again to find the questioning and increasingly accusing face of his wife.

"Business," he began to explain, not finding the words. Sure, it was barely the first time he had had the company of other women. It was not as if he was the only one anyway. Rookwood men were barely known for their loyalty to anything other than the family. Kendall, however, looked to b the first exception, and Augustus couldn't bring himself to be proud about that fact. Quickly, though, Augustus turned to Maia. Yet, before he could utter a word, Cordelia had drawn a chair next to Maia noisily, and plonked herself on it, refusing to give another look to her husband.

"Augustus Aemilius Rookwood." Raghnall began impatiently, annoyed at the dramatic intrusion. "THIS is the circus of your doing. I should have known." He shook his head. "Stupid, stupid, stupid child. Hardly impressive as a boy, showed bare promise as a teenager, only good at landing himself in Azkaban, and an embarrassment to the Rookwood family in middle age." Augustus felt his lips tremble. Anger and hurt welled up in him, as he avoided the triumphant look on Thaddeus' face. Kendall felt his jaw fall slightly, having witnessed the first time that Raghnall would address his father as such in his presence.

"On another note, Miss Goyle. It would do you well to observe that you've barely permission to speak to me in that manner on my land. I suppose, perhaps, you might not understand all the etiquettes and privileges of Pureblood elites. After all, it is clear to us now that you barely count as one." He turned his face of disgust to the girl once more, offended by her words to him earlier. Kendall began to seethe.

"This fiasco can be properly solved." Raghnall continued. "You would do well to observe your place in society. There is no place for you among the Rookwoods. SIT DOWN, boy." Kendall had stood up once more, attempting to interrupt. "Kendall will also do well to remember his privileged status amongst us, and stay away from any association with you, Miss Goyle. I hope you understand the situation at hand here." His tone was far from polite. "You're not welcomed."

No Pureblood family was exempt from scandal though there were varying degrees of it in each house. It was impossible for a house to go through a decade and not to be plunged into some sort of scandal. The Goyle family had been blighted by more than its fair share over the years, most of it having been successfully contained before the bitterness of one woman got the better of her. The embarrassment they’d faced was not anything they had not dealt with before and though the damage control had not been as swift as the matriarch would have liked, it was eventually being forgotten though it was impossible to say when the family would be forgiven within Pureblood circles for their deception. Athena Goyle was not a commodity anymore. She could not be bought or sold like her father had wanted her to be. No, her best possible marriage option was to a Half-Blood who lived in Salisbury that was wealthy enough and would be willing to take her. Thankfully, Penelope had known her granddaughter well enough to not take the man up on that offer. Conveniently, now that she was officially dead, they wouldn’t have to worry about marriage prospects but it was still something that worried them. For a Pureblood male there was nothing worse than a daughter but what added insult to injury was a daughter that could not be married.

Scandal rocked every house at least twice during a fifty year period, and that was the bare, bare minimum. It was unknown how shaken the Rookwood house had been over the years because it was not something the whole world became privy to. Their dealings were done in private, issues dealt with appropriately and their skeletons disposed of. Athena Goyle had become an issue, an added problem on top of Kendall’s desire to do anything but what he’s supposed to. It was unclear how the problem was going to be dealt with, especially without the exacerbation of the fact that she was pregnant, also. The Goyle family liked to make things go away without shedding blood. They used intimidation has a favoured method, money being splashed out only as a last resort. Often though, their dirty little secrets had a way of coming back to haunt them and it was difficult, really, to be sure that they were really safe from scandal. It was only when the combatants had died that they felt semi-secure in terms of rumours about their family. Certainly, a more violent way of dealing with obstacles would have been more effective but it just wasn’t in their nature. They certainly preferred a more diplomatic approach. Well, some of them, at least.

There was an uncomfortable, niggling, gnawing feeling inside of Athena that their luck had run out. Her eyes darted hesitantly to Kendall, shooting him an imploring look that only really communicated one thing: We’re doomed, aren’t we? The situation was hardly favourable but then, it was never going to be a favourable situation, was it? This could never have happened any other way than badly. Athena just wished they could have had a little bit more support. Kendall was playing jack-in-a-box, jumping up and down upon indignation and reprimand while Athena remained stubbornly stood; refusing to bow to anything Raghnall threw at her. She was not to be shaken by this man, she decided. She had to stay strong and this was something the little niggling ball of cells and magic seemed to agree with. He didn’t seem to be particularly enamoured with his great-grandfather and honestly, Athena couldn’t help but agree. Raghnall wasn’t being adult about the situation, rather he was resorting to playground tactics of bullying and insults.

Athena jumped at the sound of the doors banging open and she turned upon Raghnall’s exclamation, his tone far more jovial than before. Her eyes widened at the way Augustus’ brother was handling the former’s wife. Athena felt her wand fizz a little by her thigh and her eyes narrowed in Thaddeus’ direction, unable to quell her anger at the crude manner in which he referred to Kendall’s mother. Athena’s eyes widened at the bickering that ensued and she tipped her head to the side a little, a smirk playing on her lips as the boys men informed the whole room that they’d been sleeping with each other’s wives. Athena snorted with thinly veiled amusement and glanced at Kendall who was wearing a similar smirk on his face, a smirk that was wiped from his expression upon Raghnall’s reprimand. Athena lowered her head, unable to quite remove her smile and her shoulders began to shake a little with poorly stifled laughter.

The younger woman lifted her gaze to eye Cordelia and it was then that Athena too noticed the young woman seated beside Augustus who looked, honestly, completely out of her depth. Athena shot a sympathetic look in the girl’s direction – something which she seemed to appreciate – and only managed to just about stifle another bout of laughter at the expression the girl made when Cordelia seated herself next to her. She hardly looked pleased. In fact, like probably everyone else in the room, she looked as if she wanted to be somewhere else, desperately. Athena’s gaze fell to Augustus when Raghnall rounded on him and she felt truly sympathetic. She knew that Augustus wasn’t exactly up for such an altercation. He genuinely looked tired, tired of everyone in the room. He, just like herself, looked drawn and in need of a damn, damn good sleep.

Athena’s bright eyes flicked back to Raghnall upon his address of her and a slender eyebrow rose, as if daring him to speak has disrespectfully to her as he had to his son and grandson. And, of course, he did not disappoint. Athena balked, the hackles rising immediately. Her hands clenched into fists, her nails digging into her palms. The wand was becoming all the more desirable to use and the figurative devil on her shoulder was listing dozens of spells to use. Of course, the angel was telling her it was Kendall’s grandfather and she shouldn’t really hurt him but it was becoming increasingly necessary, she felt, to do something about his rudeness. A tongue-tying spell might’ve been the best and least fatal move.

“I understand perfectly well, thank you.” She retorted haughtily. “But seeing as I am not one as you so kindly pointed out, I am exempt from carrying myself in the preferred manner. As it is, you addressed me so I was inclined to reply with the same amount of respect you dealt me, if not more. So in fact, it was I that was the charitable one.”

With that said she felt marginally more confident. Raghnall’s following words made Athena’s resolve weaken dramatically, though. The colour once more drained from her face and she opened her mouth, closing it hastily as she found she could no longer muster up the courage to speak to him, let alone the words that would have to accompany it. She took a step back, her fingers winding around the back of Kendall’s chair so as to steady herself and she looked at Raghnall with disbelief and obvious hurt in her gaze. She knew full well that she would receive no sympathy from him but she did not know how to react to his words. Athena lowered her gaze to the floor and began to blink rapidly, trying to hold back any tears that would threaten to fall and gather her heart up from where it had plunged into her stomach and gut.

“Forgive me, sir. I seem to have forgotten my place.” She bowed her head a little before lifting her gaze to him, an odd spark of defiance, of the Athena pre-Azkaban, lighting a fire behind the irises. “But it isn’t actually your welcome or permission or approval that I seek. I am not a disgrace, Rookwood. I’m merely a victim of circumstance but that doesn’t not make me any less a witch or a Pureblood or a Goyle. I am neither a poison nor a disease, sir, so I would rather appreciate it if you stop painting me as such!”

---

Wiltshire was really rather wonderful when it entered the throws of summer. The flowers were in full bloom, sprouting in some of the strangest of places. The trees were thick and flush with leaves of rich viridian, some even swollen with fruits that had ripened in the sunshine. The grounds of the collectively inhabited Goyle Manor were especially beautiful in the transitional period when spring eased into summer. The manor was a tall, imposing structure that had been standing in the county for easily around five hundred years, the facade of it having been refurbished two hundred years after it had been erected in order to give it a handsome, eighteenth century appearance. The Goyle that had edited the previously Tudor-styled building it had been the first in a series of lavish spendthrifts that did not know exactly when to stop when it came to spending money. The recklessness had nearly cost the family everything they had come to earn and it was not until the late 1800s that the family managed to regain some sense and order when Edmund Goyle stepped up to the helm and put an end to their hedonistic ways, returning the family to what is considered now to be Victorian values and re-enter them into polite society. He most certainly succeeded and it is a feat that should not be scoffed at as for many years the family had been more than a little unruly.

Edmund Goyle grew up in the mid-1800s in Pureblood circles that were advocates, most certainly, of chivalry and the like. He was not from what was considered to be the direct Goyle line. In fact, he was the opposite. He was the youngest son out of eight boys and so he was easily forgotten amongst the rambunctious personalities. Of all of them, he was the least athletic and most definitely not into women like his brothers were. It wasn’t that he didn’t seek a wife or the companion of a woman because that simply was not the case. Edmund, however, believed that there was a lot more in their minds than popular opinion dictated. He sought a different type of women. He did not like to spend his time in whore houses where he was almost guaranteed to contract some sort of deadly disease and he certainly did not produce several bastards as a result of his promiscuity. No, he was reserved and spent his time devoted to education and to observing the rules of polite society. His brothers were everything the Goyles had come to be epitomised as: hedonistic, promiscuous, spendthrifts – everything Edmund was not.

When he graduated from Hogwarts in 1885, he immediately applied for a job in the Ministry where for several years he worked in the Department for Law and Enforcement as a peace keeper within London which was experiencing tensions between Goblin Union members and the Wizards that employed them. It wasn’t until his third year of working there that he met the woman that would be his future wife. He’d gone into Diagon Alley with the intention to cool tensions between Wizards and Goblins in Gringott’s bank. However, much to his dismay, when he arrived there was already a skirmish going on between the two parties and those that had hoped to take some money from their accounts had been caught in the skirmish. Edmund knew immediately that he needed to try and stop the madness but realised the wellbeing of civilians was much more important and so he created a tunnel-like shield to reflect incoming spells so as to allow the civilians to pass through. All made it out safely bar a young woman hiding between two bookshelves which were her only source of protection as the duelling went on around her.

Now bear in mind, Edmund is a scholar. He was never interested in big shows of strength either magical or otherwise and he wasn’t a proficient dueller in any sense. He’d been given the intelligence, his brothers the build of bears and the brains of a single-celled organism and so it really was a wonder, sometimes, how Edmund had gotten the job in the first place. He was in fact, a great negotiator, something which would be employed by the French Ministry of Magic during World War One when he would attempt to persuade the Kaiser’s army to go back to Germany. He did not get very far with those negotiations as Muggle issues really weren’t his cup of tea or where his interests lay. He found it easier and more rewarding to help with peace talks between combatants in the Wizarding World. However, saving someone was never something Edmund had read in his job description yet he found himself drawing his wand and joining in the skirmish, disarming or stunning Goblins so he could make his way to the young woman.

As it was, Edmund was caught by a ricocheting cutting curse which left him unable to walk for several weeks after the incident but it was while he was in St. Mungo’s that he actually, officially met the young woman who came to his bedside with her father as a chaperone. Both thanked Edmund for his bravery, the young man expressing his wish that he could have done more only to be assured that it was his actions that ensured her rescue as almost directly after he was hit by the curse, the Wizards stopped fighting the Goblins and set about transporting him to St. Mungo’s. While there, the man tentatively informed him that his daughter, who he introduced as Constance, was in search of husband and he hastily explained that he could not find a man that he could be sure would look after her – until, he added, he’d heard about what happened in the bank. So once she was of age, Edmund made an honest woman out of Constance and they settled in the house of his forefathers which was, due to his brothers running out of money quicker than you could count what was left in the vaults, rather bare, his brothers having sold much of the furniture and art that once lavishly decorated the home.

It was upon the birth of his first son that Edmund realised for the first time that something must be done about their financial situation. In the autumn before his birth they received a first warning from Gringott’s and soon enough the family fell into debt that they could ill-afford to add to but regardless of their dire situation, his brothers continued to spend money that they no longer actually possessed. Edmund was doing his best but his job was hardly highly paid and so the little that went in, didn’t spend so much as five minutes sitting in the vault before it was extracted to help pay the debts or by his brothers’ need to impress a woman or buy something. It was becoming increasingly obvious that unless something was done then his children would not have any inheritance to speak of when he died and their lives would be much more difficult than he wanted to set them up to be. He wanted the best for his children like every parent and it made him feverish with fury at the thought of his brothers sabotaging the lives of his offspring.

So it was in the spring just after the birth of Charlus Goyle that Edmund put his foot down. He was not immediately confrontational, though. Being the youngest of his brothers he was understandably rather intimidated and even, to a degree, afraid of them and so he decided to go behind their backs and cut off their access to the Goyle vaults which were by now collecting a lot of dust. The Goblins were quick to make this happen as they had gotten rather sick of seeing his brothers hanging around the bank looking for loans which they had no choice but to hand over. They closed the vaults down that very afternoon and put any incoming money into a holding vault which would only allow deposits; there were to be no withdrawals regardless of the circumstances.

Then shortly after, the various estates in the Goyle name were closed down and all family members were called back to the largest of all their estates, the flagship of their house. It was there that Edmund explained that they would live together and no one would be living off of family accounts. All of the men were expected to get jobs and the women were encouraged to find ways to reduce expenditure on goods like food, clothes, tools and the like which they took to straight away, the garden being stripped down to make way for vegetable plots and one of the large greens turned into an orchard by the sprouting of fruit-bearing trees and bushes. The men were, admittedly, less willing to do the work they had been asked to do but reluctantly they came to have respect for Edmund and gradually they reaped the rewards. The men who went to work would earn money for their immediate family and they would be able to spend it in small doses however they wished. They would get forty galleons a month and not a single sickle more. This encouraged them to spend carefully and if they did not spend it all, deposit what they had left in their personal vaults so they could have that plus their allotted forty galleons. The women were especially useful, their money-saving techniques lowering the costs to run the house the therefore saving money.

Within fifteen years, three quarters of their debts were wiped and a further five would leave them solvent and ready to branch out again out from beneath the control of Edmund which had never been anything other than fair. However, there was a small group of people that had come off the worst for what he had done to save his family and that was his brothers who had refused to be any part of what Edmund had to offer them. They had deserted the family, leaving their wives and mistresses and children under the care of their youngest brother who, much to their later surprise when they found out, treated them much better than they had ever done. One must remember that it was their decision to leave but somehow they’d gotten it into their minds that it was their brother’s fault for their self-imposed exile, that he’d been the ones to banish them when they had removed themselves. And so they became bitter and twisted, jealous and vengeful, thirsty for retribution. During those fifteen years they’d developed an appetite to kill and so their spree began on a small scale, one which would evolve into devastation the Goyle family feared they would never recover from.

It was not a particularly warm evening for June when the brothers crept onto the grounds of Goyle Manor. Edmund had never been particularly concerned with the wards around the estate and as a result of his disregard, wards became something that fixated the family for years to come and a comprehensive knowledge of wards was something the head of the family had to have. Without it, it left them open to danger and vulnerable to men with a mind to kill. It was a quarter past twelve in the morning. Edmund had decided to throw a ball of sorts so as to signify the re-entry of the Goyles into society. It was 1910, five years since he’d first entered some of the girls and four since he’d put the boys into society. By hosting a ball it proved that the family was back on par with the other Purebloods and showed them as a family of wealth once more. They were finally once more a family that could display its standard with true pride instead of the falsehood that seemed to stalk after them fifteen years prior.

The inhabitants of the house were dizzy with warm cider and good company and people were falling over each other in a fashion that was hardly proper but Edmund too had a belly full of sweet alcohol and so he watched from the staircase balcony as his family members truly enjoyed themselves in a way he was sure that they had forgotten years before. There was no hedonism about the place. They were warm with the drink but they were enjoying banter and dancing. A card game where no money was at stake was being played at one of the coffee tables, men and women of his family and others having teamed up to try and beat their opponents for pride’s sake rather than their wallets’. Music was playing in a bizarre, almost screechy way as the musicians too were giddy with drink but no one seemed to mind as they were content to dance to anything or nothing at all.

The party was brought to an abrupt end at half past twelve when the double doors of the manor banged open, signalling the start of the atrocity. Once the first spell was cast, wands were at the ready and Edmund in his dizzied state realised that witches kept their wands on them in the strangest of places, a favourite being their bodices. Suddenly everyone was uncomfortably sober and the duelling began, fair at first but then Unforgiveable Curses began to be mixed in with the duelling and it was from the balcony that Edmund watched people fall, bowing to the curse that thrust their souls from their bodies. The men were methodical, blasting away those in their way and killing those that dare duel. Yet they seemed to pick the ones they wished to kill, specifically those closed to Edmund. It was only when his wife joined the fray that Edmund descended the stairs. He had not merely watched out of cowardice. If he had been younger, perhaps, but he was just stunned, genuinely shocked by the turn of events. The intruders were ruthless, needlessly violent and seemed to have no qualms about casting down those in their way.

When morning dawned, the eldest of Edmund’s children, Charlus, picked his way through the debris the men had caused on their rampage. He was fifteen years old, an orphan. Clutched to his chest was his younger brother, Christophe, barely a year old. His parents were at the foot of the staircase, his mother on her front, his father on his side, both stained with soot and blood that didn’t look to be their own. As he walked through the ballroom, he realised the true scale of what had happened. Bodies seemed to litter every surface; some would later be revived having ended up in a coma induced by their own core as a safety mechanism. Others were buried within the following weeks. Not all were their family either, adding to the devastation. The house became increasingly full over the subsequent weeks and the Goyle family grew frazzled and confused, lost without Edmund to guide them. It was a role that needed to be filled but no one was willing to step up to the plate and so that task fell to the fifteen year old boy who had shown impeccable courage and wisdom beyond his years. They were reluctant to put any pressure on the boy for fear they would lose him just as they had Edmund but he reacted well when placed under the pressure and just as his father had done, he brought the family together though this time, the cracks were much harder to seal.

Charlus was much more preoccupied with the family’s safety than he was their money and so he did not change the way that was governed. He did, however, ensure that they were learned creatures. He completely changed the way Goyles were educated pre-Hogwarts and created a family of formidable collective talent. His father ensured their financial longevity but it was Charlus, his son, that secured their survival. It was his influence that also, ultimately, made the Goyles what they are today, immensely proud and protective creatures that would do anything to ensure the survival of their family. He stabilised their family in a completely different way to his father as the situation demanded a different approach but they have never stopped being grateful of that. Though granted it did place an awful amount of pressure on his sons to perform just as he had done but at the time of his death, his eldest son Odysseus came to inherit and incredibly stable family unit that had experienced much more over the years past than any would care to remember and so really, his task was to ensure the stability and to prolong it for as long as possible which he did surprisingly well considering just how different was from his predecessors.

Odysseus was rather like his great-uncles in the respect that he knew exactly had a good time and he wasn’t going to let anyone stand in the way of that. In his youth he was rather more interested in women and the drink than he was learning how to govern such a large family and so he became complacent in that respect, leaving his younger brother, Perseus, to learn the family trade. Thankfully though, Odysseus was rather more sensible than his great-uncles but he never really grew up as rapidly as his father or grandfather did. His relatively privileged and free existence allowed for him to experiment in varying different areas, the most trying of all of them being an occupation, his job changing every few months or so before he settled on working for Nimbus in his mid-twenties. It was there that Odysseus made his fortune but it was also there that he met Penelope Finch, a woman who loved Quidditch just as he did and who happened to follow the rivals of his beloved Holyhead Harpies: Puddlemere United. She was a formidable being and he married her within a year of meeting her, something which left his father’s blood boiling for many years afterwards even though his mother was perfectly amicable with her.

By 2025, they’d been married for fifty-three years and he’d stood by her, or rather, “put up with her” while she’d “listened to his drivel” for the same amount of time. Yet they always looked upon each other rather fondly when they spoke of this, as if despite the fuss they made of it, they’d really rather not be with anyone else – and it was true. No one else would put up with Penelope just as no one else would put up with Odysseus. So it worked, really, it worked really rather well.

That July morning, Odysseus Goyle was woken to the tapping of talons against the window of the bedroom he shared with his wife. He opened his bleary eyes and reached for his wand on the side table, flicking it at the windows so the curtains drew back and the windows opened. The bird swept in and landed on the footboard of the bed, prompting Odysseus, much to his dismay, to have to sit up. He gestured for the bird to drop the letter and it did so, chucking it forward so that it landed in his lap. Odysseus eyed the bird curiously as he opened the envelope, lifting the page out which he quickly scanned, his eyes widening when he reached the end of the letter. Odysseus turned and picked up a fountain pen off of the side table, scribbling a quick note of acquiesce. He then sent the owl away again and settled back down again to sleep. But it was only once he was laid back down, curled around his wife, that he realised exactly what he’d read. It wasn’t just a random letter. No, it was an incredibly important notice. Odysseus threw himself back up into a sitting position and grabbed his glasses off of the side table, thrusting them onto his face as he rounded on his wife.

“Penny, I just received a letter.”

Penelope turned over a little, opening a bleary eye at her husband, a grey eyebrow rising at him with obvious incredulity. Odysseus stared at her meaningfully, imploring with her to believe him. She too sat up then and rubbed at her eyes, running her fingers through her grey hair as she yawned and gestured idly with her other hand for him to continue. Penelope didn’t bother glancing at the clock on her bedside table. She knew better than to bother with that. She already knew it was early – far too earlier for either of them to be entertaining rising for the day. Odysseus ran his hands through the tufts of hair he had left on his head and frowned a little before looking round at his wife.

“Athena needs you to watch out for her and Kendall today. She was brief. I don’t understand really what she was getting at but she said they had to meet his family or something. Merlin only knows what they’re walking into. Penny, where are you going?”

Odysseus watched as she moved quicker than he’d ever seen her move in his life, rushing out of bed and shrugging on her favourite purple silk dressing gown before hurrying out of the door, her subsequent shouts rousing the House Elves from their slumber, her footsteps down the hallway no doubt waking some of the children that, like their grandparents, should have been abed at such an hour. Odysseus sighed, declaring to no one in particular that he needed a drink and heaved his old, weary body out of bed, heading for the shower, deciding that he had better get dressed and prepped for what he believed was due to be a rather trying day.

Ira was owled at a quarter past nine that morning, roused by Penelope and instructed to bring copies of various files from the filing room at St. Mungo’s. Ira had voiced his concerns at stealing the information but Penelope reassured him that they were Athena’s files – nothing to worry about as he was, after all, family – and told him to be quick about his retrieval of them. He was also told to attach all notes he’d made on Athena’s pregnancy to the files and then bring himself to the manor no later than quarter to ten. It was rather a good thing really that Ira was used to early starts. If he so much as had a fraction of Odysseus’ temperament then he would have found himself in quite a bit of trouble that morning. As it was, the boy was early and arrived at twenty-five to ten, only to be informed that there was nothing he could do until Athena needed them and so he found himself in the parlour, drinking a cup of tea that was really lacking in sugar and attempting to play a game of rummy with his grandfather. Odysseus had gotten bored half way through however, deciding instead of the game that he’d go in search of whisky.

A smirk had played on Penelope’s lips at his declaration and Ira eyed her curiously, knowing full well that she’d done something with it. Ira sat up a little straighter when Odysseus dropped himself onto his hands and knees and Ira opened his mouth to interject but before he could do that, half of Odysseus’ body had disappeared into the spirits cupboard. Ira’s eyebrows furrowed a little, his face contorting into a look of pain when he heard the bang of Odysseus’ head against the wood of the cabinet. Penelope merely hummed at the Daily Prophet she was reading and turned the page, seemingly uninterested in her husband’s welfare.

Ira’s eyebrows rose, amusement lighting up his face and making him appear more boyish, and he smiled a little at the sight of a dishevelled Odysseus emerging from the cabinet, his arm coming up to rest on the door of the store. Ira smiled a little at the expression on Odysseus’ face, a mixture of begrudging amusement and frustration, all of it directed towards his wife who was calmly flicking through the Daily Prophet as if it was merely another day in the Goyle household. Odysseus gave a heavy sigh and shook his head at his wife who did not so much as look at him or display any desire to return the glare that he was shooting her. She merely allowed him the satisfaction of accusation:

“There is a severe lack of whisky in this house, my darling. Why, pray tell, is that exactly?”

Ira’s eyes flicked to Penelope, awaiting her response almost anxiously. It was quite a sight to see the pair bicker but it was not a rare one. Their marriage had lasted far longer than anyone else’s in the Goyle family with recent years and that was simply because, to quote Penelope herself: “We hate each other and the world hates us. Simply put, without each other we’d have no one!” Ira could see why, if he was to be honest with himself. Penelope was, after all, a tiny bit of a control freak though it was understandable given her errant husband’s lacklustre attempts at controlling the family. Odysseus was, well, to put it nicely, a bit of a drunk. He liked his drink and he was never happier when he had a glass of Firewhisky in his hand, especially when he had to be in what Penelope called ‘civilised’ company. She had her reasons for denying him his tipple and though she was rather nonchalant about it now, it was, really, quite a serious matter.

Penelope closed the Daily Prophet, folding up the yellowing newspaper before leaning forward to place it on the coffee table between herself and Ira’s place on one of the couches. She then picked up her tea cup and saucer, setting herself back into her chair, crossing one leg over the other before retorting to her husband, reminding him of a fact that he had quite clearly forgotten.

“Did you not listen to your Healer, Odysseus? You have a liver problem. You are not permitted to drink from now on unless of course it is a special occasion.”

Odysseus’ eyebrows furrowed and he drummed his fingers on the door of the cabinet as if he was trying to recall exactly what his Healer had told him and he was sure he had not been informed of a liver problem. He felt fit and healthy and the reality of it was that he was. There was no liver problem; it was all make believe, a way to get him to stop drinking. He was not immediately convinced about the so called problem he now possessed, understandably so, but also seemed unable to believe that there was also no whisky in the parlour, or scotch or anything. It was safe to say that Odysseus was not pleased and though his favourite tipple was the sweet burn of Firewhisky, at that precise moment in time he would have drunk anything provided it was alcoholic – anything to soothe his nerves and prevent him from strangling his wife, an idea that was becoming all the more appealing to him as he continued to make his fruitless journey through the spirits cabinet, mumbling something about how his wife was a meddling wretch or something of the like. Penelope merely smiled to herself, satisfied, seemingly, that her husband was miserable. Ira could only smile ruefully, unsure as to what was the proper etiquette on this front. Was he merely an observer or was he required to comment?

Ira was honestly still puzzled as to why his presence was required there, or why it was due to be required at the Rookwood manor. He’d brought the files on Athena and he’d attached the notes he’d made on her pregnancy. He didn’t know why his presence specifically was needed. Both Penelope and Odysseus were very capable in all forms of magic and dealing with people, Odysseus having inherited some of his grandfather’s skills of persuasion, but Ira himself. Well, he wasn’t anything special really. He was a young man quite lost in terms of his place within the family but for some reason Odysseus and Penelope were favouring him, asking him for his help, for his advice and his input. That had never really happened to him before. He’d always been in the backseat. He’d never been allowed to rid shotgun, literally or figuratively. And though he knew he shouldn’t have bitten the hand that had fed him but he couldn’t not ask. He had to know.

“Grandmother, what use am I to this escapade? I am not familiar with the Rookwoods. I don’t know how I can possibly aid you.”

Penelope put her tea cup down on the saucer and squinted at Ira over the half-moon spectacles that were rested on the end of her nose. She raised an eyebrow at him, a curious smile coming across her face as she asked, “Do you not believe your own worth, boy? You are here because you are the first one that attended to Athena. You know the nature of her pregnancy better than anyone bar herself. You know the spell that can plot her family history as well as her magical history. Make no mistake, boy, that you are incredibly important. An asset to us like no other. Now please assure me that you know the spell, Ira. Please.”

Ira tipped his head to the side, observing his grandmother hesitantly. He bit his lip a little before nodding slowly in confirmation. She smiled a little and reached forward to pat his hand. She put her tea down on the coffee table and took the Daily Prophet again, opening it up with the promise of turning to a page she wanted to show him. It was once she was half way through the newspaper that Odysseus brought his head from the cabinet from the second time, narrowing his eyes at the woman he sometimes referred to as his wife, most of the time as the horror that continually makes his days a trial and a half.

“Penny, where’s my whisky?” He asked impatiently, drumming his fingers on the side of the cabinet.

Penelope rolled her eyes and continued to thumb through the Prophet, merely telling Odysseus: “Never you mind, dear. I told you, it’s for special occasions. Did you have a question to ask, Ira?”

“What do you want to prove with the spell?” Ira burst. “It’s one thing knowing full well she’s illegitimate but it’s another thing confirming it for the whole room!”

A laugh escaped from inside of the cabinet and Ira looked over to see Odysseus removing himself again though he hadn’t realised the man had clambered back in there. Ira was beginning to wonder what Odysseus was expecting, for his probing to open up an inner compartment where it was all hidden or to come over a stray bottle that Penelope had missed. Whatever it was, he didn’t look as if he was going to find any time soon and Odysseus certainly wasn’t the type to go to the pub for some. He’d said it himself almost a decade before: he was too old for such shenanigans now. Odysseus shook his head and placed his eyes firmly on Ira, a gaze the younger of the two men would have done well to hold but couldn’t face up to. He was only a young chap, one must remember, but he also wasn’t one of the proudest of Goyles. He didn’t really have the gall to square up to the patriarch of the family.

“Do you honestly believe it?” He inquired; his voice gentle and quiet but heart-numbingly sinister in a way that made Ira’s blood run cold. “Do you truly believe the rumour, the speculation and Apolline’s recovered, reproduced word? You don’t think they could conceive that witch if there wasn’t something there, do you? Magic is a very tentative thing, Ira. You’ve studied it just as we have. You know its whims, its desires. We humans are selfish creatures you know, Ira,” Odysseus added, rising slowly, drawing himself up to his full height. “We believe we are in control. You said it yourself, you showed her that magic dictates all of what controls us and that does not end at birth. Magic controls much of what we do and it only allows what it deems appropriate. She would not have been even conceived if it wasn’t for their magic, Ira. Magic creates something between people that we cannot fathom or even perceive. It would take a smarter man than me to try to decode it.”

Ira’s eyebrows furrowed. “But I’m confused, what do you need this spell for? What can I prove that’s not already widely accepted? Tell me straight, Odysseus, what is there to find using this spell? What is there to prove? She was born out of wed-lock, she’s illegitimate!”

“No!” Odysseus bounced a little, a wry smile flashing across his face as he came up to stand behind his wife’s high backed chair. “It’s bonds, boy. Bonds are what you are looking for. Bonds between Cassandra and Gregory. Bonds between Athena and Kendall. Even find bonds between me and Penny! You’re looking for bonds, boy. You’re looking for what tied Cassandra and Gregory together. Bonds are made in the strangest of circumstances, boy, from the oldest magic, the most powerful of unconscious spells. All that magical-wagical-timey-wimey-stuff... it all comes together and fuses.” Odysseus clasped his hands together, the connection making a small pop. It’s not something that’s easily broken, lad. It is this that enabled Athena to exist. It is this that has allowed for the boy to be conceived. Bonds! Open your eyes, lad, see it for what it is. What forged between Cassandra and Gregory was set and complete even before we told them that they must separate. Deep magic, boy, deep magic forged between them created a relationship stronger than anything we could define as lawful and binding. It’s a process that can take time or happen instantly. There’s a reason they call it ‘love at first sight’. It’s magic. It’s love. It’s the magic that kept Harry Flaming Potter alive! It’s the magic that allows for everything to exist, lad! It’s this that makes Athena legitimate.”

Ira could only do but stare, his mouth agape at the shocking amount of passion that was alight in Odysseus’ eyes. He had put much thought into the subject, seemingly, and Ira respected him in that moment far more than he’d ever done. Once he regained his countenance, he closed his mouth and nodded hesitantly. Penelope leaned forward and patted him on the hand. Ira’s eyes, suddenly wide with fear, turned to Penelope and she smiled at him, amusement bright in her eyes.

“He’s just a bit crabby because he hasn’t had a drink yet, my sweet, but he is correct despite his regrettable execution.” She assured him, gently.

Odysseus scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest and turning his head away. “Raghnall better have something to drink because I’m not sitting there trying to make polite conversation with that wretch of a wife of his if I’m sober.”

Penelope smiled at Ira, her eyes closing in an attempt to cull her amusement. “Yes dear,” She intoned brightly. “I’m sure he will.”

The room was high ceilinged with aging beams that looked strained and ready to bow and allow the roof above to cave in at any given time. The roof was tiled with no panes of glass pressed into the surface to allow in the ‘vital light’ that modern architecture dictated the need of. Penelope preferred not to know what the weather was doing. She preferred it to be a surprise every time she walked out of the house. The house was very dark and appeared to be very brooding as a result of this, a direct contradiction to its bright, timeless facade. The darkness did not exempt it from being beautiful, though. No, it was still lavishly furnished, something which was quite a new thing considering the modesty of its furnishings only a hundred years before. The parlour the trio were sat in was the most beautiful and Penelope’s favourite room in the house. It boasted art work that Muggles thought were long lost, texts that were sought after by Muggles and Wizards alike and the most ornate of furniture that people felt the need to comment on the beauty of it even after they’d visited multiple times.

One of the most beautiful pieces was the coffee table between Penelope and Ira which had been hand-carved over two hundred years before and inlaid by Goblins with fairy dust that made it appear as if it were encrusted with jewels. The piece on its surface was possibly the most interesting, though. In amongst all of the bits and bobs, sheets of parchment, envelopes addressed to either Penelope or Odysseus – often more likely to be unopened than they were opened – quills both old and new and bits of fabric that had yet to be turned into anything wearable, there sat a shallow silver bowl decorated with silver roses with only the petals given their true, blush colour, filled slightly half way with cloudy water that, by Ira’s eye, had not been swirling quite as much as it had been when he’d first entered. Beside it were a set of Runes that had quite the history if Ira remembered correctly, but then that was almost a given if you were encased within the walls of Goyle manor. From the furniture, to its inhabitants, everything and everyone had a story to tell.

Penelope’s eyes were drawn downwards with Ira’s and she too leaned forward to study the waters for a moment. Her fingers reached for the side and grazed one of the rosebuds. She hummed quietly in thought and then twisted around in her seat to look pointedly at her husband. She patted his hand as she had done with Ira and Odysseus turned his eyes to look at her. Penelope’s face contorted into a second expression, one that pleaded with him to understand and Odysseus nodded, brandishing his wand before Apparating out of the house with a loud crack! Ira looked questioningly at Penelope who merely smiled at him in response and reached for her tea again.

Now, one must draw his mind back to that night all those years before when a feeble understanding of Wards was the cause of so many deaths. Make no mistake, lessons were learned and learned well after that night and as mentioned, no Goyle lives and breathes without a comprehensive understanding of the inner workings of Wards. It has allowed for their survival, make no mistake, but it has also opened doors to them for meddling in the affairs of others. If there is only one thing the Goyles have become famed for then it is their knowledge of Wards. There was perhaps only one person post-Charlus Goyle that did not fully understand Wards and that was the bane of his father’s existence: Gregory Goyle. Still, he was forgiven for his mistakes just as everyone else was and much was invested in his daughter whose abilities are the result of much hard work and the desire to ensure the safety of their children.

But lessons were learned and the meddling that resulted from their affinity with Wards was to come in handy as Odysseus hadn’t just Apparated away. He’d Apparated to a specific place: Rookwood Manor. With a crack he landed on his feet at least two miles away from the estate but this was where the Wards began, he realised. A quick scan of them showed the typical ones – Muggle repellent and the like – but none were particularly difficult to cast and there wasn’t a great deal of Old Magic which was what Penelope favoured when it came to protecting their estates. It was new, weak and flimsy Light Magic though much to Odysseus’ delight Raghnall wasn’t as foolish as his Wards were suggesting and there was some rather aggressive Dark Magic in there. Much to his dismay it wasn’t a hard fight to get through the wards but they were eager, very eager indeed, to close up again and so Odysseus made a tunnel-like barrier that would last long enough for them to Apparate through. It was enough though he was sure if Penelope was she would have gotten much more aggressive. Hard-headed old bird, Odysseus thought glumly before Apparating away to gather is wife and grandson once more.

---

It was becoming increasingly clear that they were fighting a losing battle and Athena could only stare at Raghnall like a deer caught in headlights. She could feel her chest tighten with worry and she looked at Kendall imploringly, wishing but knowing full well he could do nothing. He was of no help to her just as she was little to no help to him. Athena exhaled hesitantly before lifting her gaze back to Raghnall. Her lips parted, the words rising in her throat, ready to escape, ready to accept defeat but as her mouth curved around the words, a different voice rang out through the room and words penetrated the aching, palpable silence that were words of defiance rather than admittance of defeat.

“You’re rather welcome to bully your family members, Raghnall, but I’d appreciate it if you refrained from bullying mine.”

Athena turned a little and her eyebrows rose, her eyes widening with surprise at the sight of her grandmother, her put-out looking grandfather and a shy looking Ira bringing up the rear. Athena smiled genuinely for the first time since they’d arrived at the manor and for the second time she felt like laughing again as Penelope strode calmly into the library as if she was the owner of the building rather than the man at the head of the table. Odysseus gestured for Athena to sit and she as she was directed, her feet thanking her profusely for taking the weight off of them. She took her seat on Kendall’s right and Ira hurried over to stand behind her chair and it was only then that she noticed the armful of files in his hands. She looked at him curiously but he merely smiled back at her, his face wrought with worry.

“Morning all,” Odysseus smiled tightly, his eyes catching sight of the bottle of Scotch at the end of the table. He slunk over to the top of the table, paying very little notice to Raghnall and leaned down to briefly give Emelia a kiss, something he managed to do without making a face of utter revulsion. He then moved quickly away from her, shooting a look of dismay in Athena’s direction, prompting Athena to smile briefly. Odysseus decided to park himself next to Kaeleigh and smiled brightly, gesturing to the Scotch, telling her, “Waste not, want not, my love. Be a good girl and pour us a glass.” He glanced up at Raghnall before looking back at her. “You’re awfully pretty, dear. How did you end up with this old coot and, um, well, her?” He cocked his head towards Emelia and made another face, shuddering a little before looking over at his wife who was gushing brightly over the Rookwood boys, particularly Augustus, bizarrely enough, though Odysseus was glad she had not moved to pinch anyone’s cheeks. Odysseus shook his head and glanced at Kaeleigh before lifting his index finger to his temple and twisting it a little before gesturing to Penelope.

The interactions between the Goyle and Rookwood families had always been brief but that wasn’t to say there weren’t any. The last time the families were close was nearly forgotten but they were never completely removed from each other’s lives and so many of the elder family remembers could recall a time when the proud adults of their respective families were merely baby’s in their mother’s arms. Augustus especially was a fond memory of Penelope’s as she could vaguely remember him toddling about as a boy, immensely proud of himself and of his family but forever trying to keep up with his brothers. Penelope had taken a moment to squint at Thaddeus when she’d come in before turning her attention back to Augustus. Thaddeus, to her, had always been a rather sinister, slimy character and though no one in the room was a saint, he made her skin crawl. They all had black marks on their record; death and torture and criminal, Death Eater activity being a few on what would be a great curriculum vitae of their misdeeds. But to Penelope they all looked rather open and fair in appearance. It was not outwardly obvious that such crimes had happened by their wands. Thaddeus was a completely different kettle of fish, however. He exuded danger and though Penelope couldn’t place why, she knew he was not to be trusted.

“Oh, look at you! All grown up, Augustus.” Penelope’s swept over to stand next to Augustus. Her eyes lit up, her lips contorting into a grin of amusement as she glanced over at Raghnall. “All grown up and with a lad of your own too.” Penelope’s gaze found Kendall and she smiled at the boy in a way that communicated knowledge and understanding beyond that of many in the room. “He’s a credit to you, I think. Just as you’re a credit to your father though he’d never admit to it. He’s a rotten, old sod, your father. He was charming when he was younger though, when he didn’t have so many wrinkles. He was quite handsome. But then, I suppose you were too young to remember him when he didn’t look like a corpse. Still, that’s what happens when you get old. I could tell you some stories about him, though. He wasn’t quite as uptight as he is now. A little bit freer, I think. A tad spoilt, though. He had a bit of an ‘if I want then, well, I’m going to jolly well have it’ attitude. Seems like it never wore off though. Terribly sad. But look at you, what a success story you are! And your son!”

Penelope rose up and caught Athena’s eye, winking at the girl before sweeping over to Kendall. Odysseus shook his head at his wife again before conjuring a pack of cards, looking at Kaeleigh before beginning to shuffle the cards. “Care for a game of Rummy, dear? I fear we’ll be here a while. I take it you’re familiar with the rules? Or perhaps you’d prefer Twenty-One or Black Jack or whatever you kids call it? Your call, my dear, and would you like some Scotch yourself? I’d hate to be a pig and drink it all by myself. We’ll share.” Odysseus nodded and began to deal out some cards, deciding they were going to play Rummy regardless of whether she wanted to or not. He didn’t really want to be a part of the conversation. He’d only come because he had to and the poor girl looked bored to death. He couldn’t blame her though. Family meetings weren’t the most interesting of functions.

“Kendall Rookwood.” Penelope patted the boy on his shoulder and was unable to keep a smirk off of her face that looked eerily similar to her granddaughter’s. “You’re a very handsome young gentleman, aren’t you? You look very much like your mother though, don’t you?” At this thought, Penelope swivelled around and looked over at Cordelia. “Forgive me, Cordelia, dear. I didn’t see you. How are you keeping? I trust it’s not too horrendous. But of course, this isn’t the time for a catch-up. We’ll do that later. I must insist you all join us on Sunday for lunch.” Penelope rose to her full height and turned her gaze back to Raghnall. “You go behind my back, summon my granddaughter and then proceed to give her a dressing down. What right do you think you have to do that, Raghnall Thaddeus Rookwood? House Elves, as well? Using House Elves to spy on your own grandson? I suggest you try and forge a relationship rather than resorting to pitiful techniques to try and bend him to your will. Perhaps if you were actually kind to him in the most genuine of senses then he would be much more agreeable.”

Athena bit her lip and glanced at her grandmother who was really only succeeding in infuriating Raghnall even more than he already was. She felt as if she had better interject but, as if she’d sensed what Athena was about to do, Penelope held up her hand and said, “Not now, dear. In a minute.”

Penelope brought her shoulders back a little and stared at Raghnall pointedly before her eyes drifted over to her husband who was teaching Kaeleigh to play the most ridiculous of card games. She knew that he was only really there for comedic relieve when it got too tense but she really thought he was doing the family an injustice by not paying attention to the situation at hand. But then again, it was probably wise he wasn’t paying attention to what was being said. He’d hardly pitch in anything worthwhile and he’d probably end up just making an arse of himself. There was nothing Penelope could really do on that front though and so she decided to leave him, focusing her attention on Raghnall as she tried to grapple with the fact that he wasn’t quite how she remembered him. They’d encountered each other throughout the years but she didn’t ever remember him being quite as harsh and as cruel as he was now towards his family and hers.

“So it appears we have a conflict of interests, Raghnall. I’ll refrain from saying: ‘again’ and instead wonder why that is. Now can we conduct ourselves in a civilised manner or shall I take my wand out now?” Penelope pursed her lips and placed her hands on the back of Kendall’s chair, raising an eyebrow at Raghnall before continuing. “From what I heard these two were having quite the holiday before you went and ruined it, Raghnall. I’m sure everyone was enjoying their respective holidays before you called this infernal meeting. There really is not a problem here, Raghnall. The only problem I truly see is your manner towards those you surround yourself with and if you even so much as think about speaking to my granddaughter again like you did just moments ago then I will have you strung up by your toes outside the Ministry of Magic that very same afternoon, are we clear?”

With that said, Penelope surveyed the room for a second time, taking in the faces that were set in varying degrees of dismay, wonder and just plain boredom in some cases. Her eyes narrowed a little when they reached Kaeleigh and Odysseus, the latter of whom had taken a case of cigars from the inside pocket of his blazer and had placed the silver case open on the table, having gestured for everyone to help themselves before lighting his own, returning his attention to the game of cards. A smile curled Penelope’s lips upwards as she brought her eyes back to Raghnall who was still stood. They had been at opposing ends of the table before but in very different circumstances. They had shared a similar view when they’d parted last and they hoped it would be good. She had never thought they’d meet again in circumstances such as these, especially when it concerned their own grandchildren. But Penelope was willing to defend the pair, to defend Athena and she was determined to make sure Athena was safe and Raghnall was obliging. She didn’t care whether it killed her, him or both of them, she was hell bent on ensuring the teenagers weren’t parted.

“Now, can we sit down and talk about this like civilised human beings ... or can we not?”

The silence that ensued tugged at the ends of Raghnall’s lips, scarred with the cruelty of years of his own words. Yet, before the old man could allow smug triumph to manifest on his well-worn face, the menacing oak doors to the library flew open, once again. With premature irritation bubbling on the surface of his skin, the man turned far more quickly than would have been advised by his Healer, given his age and the present condition of his blood pressure. The sudden jerk seemed to not have shirked its responsibility in reminding the bitter man about the speed at which his age was taking in the direction of oblivion. Raghnall drew a sharp take of air before he attempted to focus on what he hoped was going to be the last intrusion. Yet, at the impressive entrance of a voice, the man halted in an expectedly good flow of breath, almost choking in the middle of the process. Raghnall balked at the ironically intimidating form of one woman who hardly came up to him in height, given his blessed stature, but who still always managed to cause enough discomfort to him. It was only when Odysseus spoke that the old man appeared to have come to terms with the presence of more Goyles in the Rookwood library.

Fortunately for the sanity of the room, perhaps, Raghnall had his eyes fixated on the Goyle matriarch; and as he squinted in suspicion towards her, Kaeleigh eyed the old Rookwood nervously, helplessly confuddled by the limelight that Odysseus had thrown her into. Emelia, a woman undoubtedly more astute than the younger one, yet one who oddly submitted herself to the demands of her husband, scowled at the old Goyle, in return. Raghnall, however, was not given a chance to fume in response. His eyes shot, as fast as they could, to the sound of Penelope’s voice. Augustus had shrunk back from his previously aggressive posture directed at Thaddeus, the latter of whom was currently lapping up the embarrassment clearly felt by the former. After all, here was a man who, like most of the Rookwood men, had performatively rid himself of his history as a boy. It was as if, if they tried hard enough, they could believe that they had skipped childhood, and became men of the only kind of worth that they had been thought to desire.

While Kendall had grown blatantly delighted at the amusement that the new table participants were providing, Raghnall looked primed for a heart attack, watching the older Goyle woman as if he believed himself to somehow be the predator in this situation. And while Kaeleigh continued to eye Odysseus cautiously with utter confusion, getting no assistance from the one man she had invested her worth in, Kendall’s smirk turned into a grin that conveyed a sense of boyish anticipation to what comes next. Augustus picked up his glass of absinthe and took a substantial drink of it, wishing for what certainly looked like the circus that his father had labelled earlier to end as soon as he was next awake. He had, however, started to be mildly amused at the older woman’s words about his son. Whether deliberately or not, too, he had been pleased at her words for him. They were, after all, the sort of approval he sought from his father. Strange that, even when uttered by Penelope, he couldn’t help but feel like a child who had been praised for doing something right and pleasing. The look on Kendall’s face told Augustus enough of the feelings that the woman was evoking in father and son.

Unfortunately, Cordelia had been increasingly distracted by her thoughts of misery, what with a woman who was somewhat really attractive, given a place next to her husband, even before she knew that the meeting was even going to take place. The blonde had been at the piano in the ballroom when Thaddeus had round up on her. It was only when she struggled to be free of his perverse grasp that she was told of his doing, in the fit of his anger directed towards her rejection of him. What came after was a struggle of getting to the library, even as the crafty man endeavoured to prevent her presence at an event that he had exaggerated as one that decided Kendall’s fate as an acknowledged Rookwood heir, albeit being the last male in line.

While Kendall nodded enthusiastically in agreement to Penelope’s compliments to his looks, Cordelia was only just in time to snap out of her thoughts and stop wringing her hands together in puzzled confusion regarding her husband and the exotic-looking girl. She had, with Augustus’ promises and sweet-nothings, thought she could escape the fate of the typical women who became part of the patriarchal family. It all looked, now, to be nothing but empty promises and genuinely sweet-NOTHINGS. What a time to realise this, too. She could hardly appreciate Penelope’s words of kindness. Instead, almost apologetically, she snapped out of her thoughts, forced a smile, and nodded in agreement to an invitation she barely noted. Yet, she could tell that the nature of it was sincere; and in her state of straddling vulnerability and misery, she appreciated she gesture.

The room returned to silence at Penelope’s return to address the oldest Rookwood man, bar her own husband, of course. It was as if a showdown was expected. Yet, silence reign as Raghnall shot a look of challenge to the woman he wished history would stop reminding him of. The old man took a deep breath, attempted to rearrange the maddening features of his expression, before offering Penelope a sinister smile. Without rushing, he picked up the glass of Scotch and almost looked like he merely tasted the surface of the drink, before sitting the glass back down. He licked his lips in what was supposed to be an accompaniment to his troubled thoughts. Then, the man looked up and pointed slightly to an empty seat.

“One would have thought it simple manners to write to your hosts, at least, before showing up. After all, what is a visit to the manor without Rookwood hospitality in place, prepared to receive you and …” He stared, appalled, at Odysseus. “ … yours.” Raghnall took another taste of Scotch, then smacked his lips patiently. “Your visit at this ill-informed time is an embarrassment to me. I should have expected, after some years of our friendship, that such a courtesy would have been extended to me.” He shook his head. “Well, it’s nothing that can’t be forgiven, on account of that. After all, the Rookwoods are a generous bunch, aren’t we?” He sneered. “You must understand, though, Penelope … that generosity has its limits.” He jerked a finger slightly upright, as he endeavoured to make a point. “Preservation is the key to elite survival, what with the decay of the community, thanks to the failed promises of the Death Eater plans. We have to continue to take matters into our own hands.” He leaned further forwards, against the table.

“I trust you understand and empathise with our plight, Penelope. After all, you’ve got one supposedly reputable family to run too. It’s easy for you to speak, my dear Penelope.” He continued. “You’re removing the stain in the family by releasing that girl.” He shook his head. “Even with our supposed history, or especially with that, Mrs. Goyle,” Raghnall spat the last name out bitterly. “It is impossible to think that the Rookwoods are going to keep your … undesirable.” He took another sip quickly. “It’s simply, really,” Said even faster, in hopes to cut off any interruption. “The marriage is impossible. The discussion ends here, and we part amicably. As we always do …” The implication in his tone was hard to miss. Raghnall meant it all now just to the very ears of the older Goyle woman. He continued to fix his stare at her.

“You would do well, too, to remember that I am merely bearing the responsibility of preserving the Rookwood family reputation, something that is awfully precarious in these modern times. There’s a reason why the Rookwoods still stand. Circumstances and decisions don’t always agree with us, but they must all be dictated the way they are and the way they have been. And that is final.” With that, Raghnall lifted his glass and leaned back into his chair. Augustus wore, once again, the solemn expression he had earlier. Kendall, however, looked expectantly at Penelope. There was a strange sort of optimism displayed on his face. It was as if he believed that the Goyle matriarch could win his battle for him, against Raghnall. Involuntarily, he had taken up his place solidly next to Athena, almost sealing his future with her, refusing to bend on his desire to have her now that, and especially because, she wasn’t allowed him anymore.

There had never been a formidable power in the Goyle camp quite like Penelope. It was safe to say that the family didn’t follow the traditions of patriarchy. No, they found it much easier to appease and to live beneath a woman of power, grace and drive; and for them that was Penelope. Her word was law and so it was bizarre for any of the Goyles present to watch as Raghnall spoke to her in what seemed like a manner that was much more respecting though still pointed and livid. He seemed tired, almost, as if the event was too much for him even before it had begun. Penelope, however, was fighting fit. It was Odysseus, of the two Goyles, that did not want any part of the conversation. He was trying, and failing it seemed, to coax Kaeleigh into a game, something that interested the young woman on the other side of the table who had immediately become alert to what was going on as soon as Odysseus had sat down. Really and truly she was out of her depth just like everyone else in the room seemed to be but she wished to indulge in the salvation of a game of cards. However, it would have been inappropriate to call for his attention so Maia merely sat back in her chair, albeit dejectedly, and looked at Augustus, wondering what his intentions were in bringing her into the library with him; she was hardly a reassuring presence, after all.

Penelope stared at Raghnall with an indulgent smirk on her face, maintaining an almost scary amount of eye contact, as if she was used to looking at him at such a way. Athena felt the need to avert her own eyes, as if she were encroaching on a rather private thing between the pair but she couldn’t quite stop herself, the need to predict the outcome of the meeting from their ping-pong game of facial expressions too important for her to just release her gaze. Athena did take a second to glance over at Kendall who had remained decisively quiet just like she had. They were now the children in the room, allowing their corner to be fought by an old woman who knew the old man far better than she had ever let on. As Athena lifted her gaze back to Penelope, she recognised the look in the woman’s eye. Mirth was sparkling between the hard exterior and she was unabashedly amused by what Raghnall was saying, as if it were one big joke rather than something serious. Needless to say this did not reassure Athena in the slightest but she was sure it would have done Kendall. Athena needed something a little bit more serious. She didn’t want to play games with her life, or her son’s, and she didn’t appreciate anyone doing it for her, either.

“I thought you liked me better when I walked in unannounced,” Penelope retorted, her smirk widening across her lips, bringing a slight flush to her cheeks and making the amusement behind her eyes sparkle ever brighter. “What ever happened to your sense of spontaneity, Raghnall?” Penelope tutted at him and shook her head, the smile still fixed and growing ever wider. “Oh,” Penelope paused for a moment. “Well, thank you, I’m sure in future we’ll be more willing to owl you however, just showing up made it less likely for you to say no. Ira charmed the grimy old socks off of those House Elves of yours,” behind Athena, the young man in question flushed pink at the compliment. “I think, also, there’s a problem with your Wards. You should see to that, darling. Oh! How rude of me! Do carry on. You know how I love to hear the sound of your voice!”

Penelope placed her arms on the back of Kendall’s chair and leaned forward, leaning her chin into her forearms as she listened to Raghnall. Her eyes drooped closed a couple of times and snapped open again, prompting a small giggle from Maia who had been watching the woman with interest. Penelope shot the girl a small smile before reopening her eyes fully and turning her gaze back to Raghnall who was still droning out his monologue – he liked those, she recalled, even when they were kids. Everything had a point and that point had to be elongated until those that were listening were long asleep or sobbing with utter boredom.

“I’m offended, Raghnall!” Penelope exclaimed playfully, her smile returning as she perked up. “I’d say Athena was more a charming table decoration rather than a stain and Merlin knows she livens this place up a little bit,” Penelope gestured to the library around her. “You are not familiar with the way we marry off our girls, are you? They’re not ever gone for good, Raghnall. Athena is not your problem should she marry your grandson. She is still my granddaughter, a member of the House of Goyle. However, this is what we want, isn’t it? Let’s be frank here,” Penelope glanced at Ira meaningfully for a millisecond, a look he almost missed. “This can work, Raghnall, I assure you.” She leaned forward and patted Kendall on the top of his fluffy little head, sending him a wink before stepping out from behind his chair. “The marriage is not impossible – don’t be so defeatist. Do you think I’d be here if I thought it was? I know you’re a miserable old coot but for goodness sake, can’t you just embrace something that isn’t directly advantageous for you, for once? Now, just listen and I’ll prove it to you, okay? Ira? Here. Now.”

Ira blinked out of his stupor and hurried forward, nearly dropping the files in the process. He placed them down on the table with quivering hands and Penelope stepped back, giving the boy the floor, and he rustled the papers for a moment. He looked up, managing a small smile before pushing himself away from the table. He reached up and ran his hand through the back of his hair, a nervous tick that he’d had since he was a boy, and licked his lips as he tried to form the words he wanted to say.

“Y-you see...the...the thing is...” Ira paused, closing his eyes for a moment. “The thing is that... Athena...she’s not...”

“Spit it out, lad.” Odysseus intoned from across the room, causing Ira to look up fearfully. “We haven’t got all bloody day. Some of us have golf to play.”

Athena rolled her eyes -- typical.

Ira swallowed hesitantly and took his wand out of his pocket. He reaffirmed his grip carefully before flicking it through the air. The room darkened a little momentarily before little jets of light began to spring from everyone, different colours depending on the relationship, on the bond. From Athena there sprouted multiple threads and she seemed to glow with a mixture of colours as the familial ties from around the room exploded into colour, visible now for all of them to see. Ira cleared his throat again and licked his lips thoughtfully before continuing.

“This...these...these are um, they’re familial bonds. The colours I’m sure you can work out but, um, these are quite important, you see, because as I’ve been learning, bonds are quite important. They’re what tie witches and wizards together, and to other people. There are varying degrees of strength in them too. Err.” Ira looked about the room. “I think Kendall and Athena have the best example of change here. If you see,” Ira dipped his wand into the bond and enlarged the viewing of it slightly so they could all see. “It’s a much deeper red, bloodier now, than before. It’s bright, though, but that dictates that there has been a change and it suggests that their relationship has changed somewhat. It’s darker so they’ve become closer and their loyalties to each other have become firmer.” Ira cleared his throat, deciding to move away from that. “But that’s not my point. Um. Well, it is, sort of. If I do this,”

Ira flicked his wand again and the bonds around the room became smaller but other bonds appeared from Athena, blurry visages of her parents hovering above her, both looking not a day over twenty. Ira smiled despite himself and lifted his wand, enlarging the thread between them that was a red similar to Athena and Kendall’s but deeper, much deeper. It was beyond a bloody red. It was so dark it almost looked black to Ira’s eyes. It was a mark of desperation, Ira felt, but it was an incredibly important touch, especially to his point.

“This bond is incredibly special,” He began, his voice sounding much stronger than it had done previously. “See it for your own eyes, Mr. Rookwood, because it’s incredibly special. What you see here is a matrimonial bond. It’s incredibly rare in those that are not married. It is a bond formed when there is the understanding, whether the two are conscious of it or not, that they are partners and life ones at that, regardless of whether they deviate from each other. If you care to notice the bond Mr. Goyle has with his wife, it is a flimsy bond formed in lawful marriage. It’s worth nothing. It breaks as easily as glass. But this bond, sir, this bond is incredibly special by its very nature because the strength of it is never to be underestimated. I haven’t looked at this before, not in Athena, but my grandmother encouraged me to and it is as she predicted it to be.” Ira glanced at Penelope who smiled encouragingly at him. “This bond, sir, isn’t not something we as Purebloods can overlook. This is beyond what the law dictates. This, sir, is Athena’s legitimacy.” Ira paused deliberately for a moment, glancing around the room hesitantly. “This bond links Cassandra and Gregory irrevocably and allowed them to conceive their daughter. Their loyalties to each other, I’d wager, prevented any births of children occurring between Apolline and Gregory. This is not something that can be controlled or governed by law, sir. She’s legitimate. Not in the conventional sense we’d all prefer but magically, the most important way, she’s legitimate.”

“Also,” Ira danced over to stand between Kendall and Athena, waving away the bonds of the latter’s parents to open up theirs. “This is a very specific bond, this one. Similar to Cassandra and Gregory’s but theirs is a result of long-term attachment. Kendall and Athena’s bond, as you can see, has been there for quite a while. If I unravel it,” Ira twisted is wand in the bond and it shot across the room so it was bounced between Kendall and Athena and hovering above the table, stopping in front of Raghnall. “you can see it’s been there since roughly...this time last year, give or take. If you think, though, that Gregory and Cassandra’s is very, very dark. It’s set in stone but it’s beyond blood red, isn’t it? It’s like...standing blood... blood that has been there for hours, black, almost. Okay, this is several shades lighter, granted, but there are several things that have gotten it to this point. The strain of Azkaban being one of them, the rapid change in loyalties that have taken place here, the conception of their son, the night of the party, by the looks, which is where it started...” Ira looked up suddenly, the blood draining from his face as he realised what he’d said. “Oh..Merlin.”