Potionatus Poténtiæ

The gold of the morning had filtered down through the fluffy clouds that lingered in the sky and with an elegant laze, drifted through the French windows that had been left open to let in the spring breeze that brought with it scents from the flowerbeds below. The beams glinted off of the crystals that hung from the chandelier and bundled around the room with a youthful carelessness before eventually ending up in the large mirrors that sat atop a white wood vanity inlaid with gold filigree. Once the shards of light had wrangled themselves free from the reflective surface they seemed only to make more beautiful the snowy creature that stared longingly into it. Her hands were idly working through the bands that contained her thick blonde locks that, once released, dropped down easily to her hips where, there, the ends tickled at her back, making her shudder with bemusement at the feeling.

Spattered over the surface of the vanity were numerous items that purportedly could make any witch beautiful and all had been provided for Cerelia Avery on a whim by her father who had elected her as his chief mode of communication between himself and his associates. Cerelia did not know whether this was done out of laziness or the strange backhanded nature that he was renowned for but whatever it was, the young Avery woman was not at all convinced that it was particularly safe sending her to do his dirty work; there was bound to eventually be a disgruntled customer that did not know the meaning of the word ‘no’. Adolphus saw no reason to be concerned though and Cerelia knew better to question him so she did not and merely resigned herself instead to the coming day that would either prove disastrous or truly beneficial for their family and the business they dealt with.

Reaching for her hairbrush, Cerelia took a moment to stare at the things that were laid out before her in bottles and tubs and goodness only knows what. She supposed, being a woman, she had to know exactly what to do with all of it but there was a severe downfall in growing up with men. Just because she was a female, it didn’t automatically mean she could navigate Wrigley’s Miracle Hair Removal or Guy McAffney’s Super-Duper Beautifier; though granted, the last one was made up. Cerelia sighed heavily and began to brush her hair with soft rhythmic strokes, slowly making her way downwards from her scalp in order to brush free any of the lingering knots from the night prior.

She did understand the inner workings of make-up, however; living in a dorm full of appearance-obsessed women had proved handy after all. Once her hair was brushed through, Cerelia made for the bottle that promised to straighten hair, albeit somewhat hesitantly, and carefully began to apply it, astonished and impressed by how quickly her hair lost its sleepy frizz and grew manageably straight. Impressed, though not particularly willing to show it – even to herself – Cerelia ploughed on and soon enough, was made up with a soft amount of make-up on her face. Her eyes were illuminated with a bit of mascara and she added a bit of beige lipstick to her lips. It was once that was done that a knock disturbed her quiet admiration of her work.

The young woman rose from the vanity and grasped her silken dressing gown. She threw it around herself and shouted for the person to enter as she ducked behind the French screen, for modesty’s sake. Her eyebrows furrowed at the sight of her brother, Caius. He held in his too-large hands a fair sized box and he held it up once he released his sister was, for a lack of a better term, hiding from him. He placed it on her side table by the door and promptly ducked out again, allowing Cerelia the privacy that she so clearly needed.

Once her brother had left, the girl visibly relaxed and made her way out from behind the screen to the side table. She picked up the box, curious, and opened it, surprised to find a pair of particularly expensive cufflinks inside as well as a watch which would have covered the cost of her entire existence thus far if the look of it were any indication as to the price. Cerelia swallowed and quickly replaced the lid in case she dropped and broke anything inside. She placed the box back down on the sideboard and decided that, before her father left for the Ministry, she’d see if she could catch him and ask him about it before she too was demanded to attend her own business.

Cerelia entered the breakfast room not ten minutes later and found her father seated at the head of the table, reading leisurely through the Daily Prophet as he ate his toast. Biting her lip, Cerelia pressed forward from the door and smiled briefly at Caius’ fiancée before sitting to her father’s right, her mother’s seat. Adolphus looked up immediately, disturbed by the presence of someone in his periphery, and found it in himself to smile at his daughter. He put the newspaper down, a show of his attention now focusing on her, and Cerelia held up the box.

“For Augustus,” Adolphus said by way of explanation. Cerelia’s eyebrows shot to her hairline at his admission and opened up the box again. “I have to keep him sweet somehow, Ta- Cerelia.” Adolphus paled a little and shifted uncomfortably in his chair, straightening his robes out of awkward habit. “He’ll get bored of talking to you eventually, my dear girl, so this will keep him happy until then.” Adolphus smiled somewhat weakly before brightening once more and reaching further up the table for a piece of red ribbon and a tag that Caius had forgotten. “Use this to bind it, Cerelia. Don’t forget to write on the tag, either. You’ve got to get going soon, haven’t you? Don’t forget to pick up the flowers for Caius and Catrianne to look at on the way home, either.”

Slightly stung but no less confused, Cerelia decided to make herself scarce. She shrugged on her coat in the atrium and made sure that her purse was filled with the essentials – namely her wand – before tying up the parcel and writing a quick note. Once she was ready, Cerelia looked one last time in the mirror before moving into the parlour where the elves had set up a Floo connection from there to Rookwood Manor. She exhaled and took a handful of Floo powder into her hand. Ducking into the hearth, Cerelia turned to face her elf who was staring at her with wide, hesitant eyes. Cerelia smiled, letting the elf know that all was fine and dropped the powder, exclaiming clearly her destination of choice.

Rising out of the fireplace the other end, Cerelia quickly charmed the ash off of her clothes. She blinked, getting used to the dimmer light of the room, and found the gaze of a curious House Elf almost instantly. Cerelia smiled brightly at the cowed creature and stepped forward.

“Hello,” she murmured softly. “Do you know where I could find Mr. Rookwood? Oh, uh. Augustus, please. Augustus Rookwood. I understand there are more than one. That can be quite confusing, can’t it?”

The elf nodded slowly before squeaking, “Bitsy serves Master Thaddeus, ma’am. But Bitsy was looking for Master Kendall and Mistress Athena. Master Augustus is in his office, expecting you, ma’am.”

The elf took Cerelia’s coat and hung it up before leading her down the hallway. Soon enough they came upon a lone door and Cerelia stopped, hugging her bag and box to her chest. Bitsy reached up and touched the door handle before gesturing for Cerelia to enter. Cerelia took a step forward and the door opened all by itself. When Cerelia turned back, the elf was gone, giving her no other choice but to enter the office. She stepped onto the oriental rug quickly as the door fell shut behind her and Cerelia turned, grasping the door handle only to find that it was locked.

But the room was suspiciously empty.

Cerelia moved towards the dark wood desk, surprised to find it littered with papers. Augustus Rookwood had never struck her as an untidy man. She set the box and her bag down on a clear part of the desk and plucked her gloves from her hands, dropping them down too as she made her way behind the desk, feeling for the chair that was still oddly warm. The room had the feel of it being long empty, conflictingly. Cerelia plopped herself down in the leather chair, decidedly confused. She had expected him to greet her formally and assumed he would give her the respect her father was due but evidently, because she was not her father and instead his daughter, she was undeserving of any respect at all.

Sitting back in the chair, Cerelia spun from side to side, now decidedly irritated. Her hands found her bag again and from inside she fished out some Bertie Bott’s. She wheeled herself closer to the desk and poured the beans out on a spare piece of parchment, wondering which ones were safe to eat and which ones were truly a no-go zone.

Cerelia was just about to reach for a curious looking red bean when the door opened and she sat back in the chair, raising her eyebrows high and pursing her lips to communicate her lack of appreciation for Augustus Rookwood’s tardiness.

“Ah, Mr. Rookwood. Finally. Would you like to take a seat? Pick a bean. I’m sure you’ll find one that adequately reproaches you for keeping a lady waiting.”

“No.” There was a finality to his word. If not, the command was surely attached to the end of the wand that was directed to the Healer. “Do not let her die.” This time, the other man knew better than to say another word. Yet, in his eyes were the very words he had been trying to convey to Augustus, who had roused from his sleep to visit his wife in labour. It was premature, and the signs were worse than all the previous times. This, despite the extra care taken for her, of her, and around her. The Healer was thoroughly familiar with her case now. Yet, despite the warning signs he tried to caution to her husband, none of it seemed to be taken. Augustus was still adamant, still insistent that the woman bears the child, the boy. There would be repercussions, for the Healer, if not. Shaking slightly from fear, the other man lowered his eyes and stared solemnly at the ground. His hands clasped together, as if pleading to be understood, to be spared. A wail rose from behind the door, but was repeatedly interrupted by the weak choking sounds of a woman fighting death. The intensity of his stare matched the gripped around his wand. Yet, Augustus withdrew it, along with himself, turned swiftly, and walked away from the scene.

The walk to his office was long enough for the man to convince himself that it was going to be okay. He was going to have his son, his last. And she? She was going to be around. His wife, a woman who still kept to the frightfulness of her sixteen year old self. Some things never change. She never did. The consistency pleased him. She wasn’t going to fail him this time. No, she wasn’t going to leave. Augustus nodded to himself and kept his wand, reaching a hand up to smooth his hair and placing a smirk to decorate the loss of blood in his face. He was going to take care of his business. She was going to take care of hers. Someone would pay, if not. The Healer certainly would. There was no escape for the man. Augustus was ready to kill for this failure. Before he touched the handle of the door, he released the clench he had set in his jaw and took a deep breath, regaining himself for appropriate presentation. Yet, the moment the door swung open, he was surprised to see, not a man, but his daughter. Again. He strode past her, made to look at one of the papers at his desk, before lifting his head to look at the girl.

“Cerelia Avery,” He raised an eyebrow in question of her presence. “We meet again.” His features softened, knowing better than to vent his frustrations and curiosity on the girl. “I’m surprised your father did not see fit to show up today.” He placed the paper back down onto his desk. “There must be a good reason, I suppose?” Augustus turned and walked to the bar in the room. “Well, excuse me. I must admit I have never worked like this with a woman.” Then, spying a look at Cerelia quickly, he added. “Or a girl, at that.” He reached for his usual decanter. “Don’t get me wrong, love. I’m far from opposed to it.” He brought a glass down from the shelf and set it on the bar top. “I’m just not used to it. I hope your father had a good reason.” A sudden flash of blood entered his memory. Cordelia lying in her blood, Cordelia reaching out for him, Cordelia screaming his name, Cordelia in her retches and tears, Cordelia … dying. Augustus stared down fiercely into his empty glass. Then, shaking his head, he forced the thoughts away from his mind. No, he insisted, to it, before he resumed to fill the glass with Absinthe.

“Now, forgive me. I was held up by a family emergency.” He had to force himself away from the thoughts again. “Allow me to offer you a drink?” Taking a step back, Augustus gestured to the bottles at the bar. “Anything you want, Miss Avery. I’m not opposed to offering my strong ones.” He winked. “Or would you like your father’s usual?” He teased.

In truth, Cerelia Avery hated those infernal beans but her grandfather always purchased them for her and so she had grown, over the years, to really loathe them in actual fact. With a swipe of her hand she tossed them into the bin conveniently beside the desk and dropped the packet in afterwards, electing to forgo the beans and in the absence of them, flop back against the leather chair in a somewhat unladylike fashion. Cerelia had been sprawled out over her bed that morning in her pyjamas, perfectly happy, with a book in front of her. Now, not three hours later she was in Augustus Rookwood’s house, in his office, trying to remember good reasons as to why she’d allowed her father to sit and eat a leisurely breakfast while she tried to make herself ... well, she didn’t even know what she’d tried to make herself look like but she had done it well, whatever it was. She wasn’t orange at the very least.

The blonde smiled at Augustus when he came in through the door but couldn’t help but laugh at the nonchalance of the man who was no doubt secretly incredibly put off that she was just lazing about in his office as if it were the done thing. She tipped her head to the side and waved at him with a light twiddle of her fingers before sitting up a little straighter in his chair and crossing one leg over the other, careful to ensure that the fabric of her dress did not dip below her knees and expose too much flesh. She drummed her nails against the arm rests of the chair and watched as Augustus moved towards the bar. Naively, Cerelia expected coffee but she angled her head a little more, her eyebrows furrowing, as she realised that it was Augustus’ typical tipple instead.

Cerelia did not call him out on it. She did not dare mention the fact that it was nowhere near lunch time and that she didn’t think being drunk by noon instead of any time after would be any used to whatever activities the world demanded him to partake in that day. Instead, Cerelia remained silent, watching him as she tried to ascertain what it was that had happened preceding him joining her in the study. He was het up about something, Cerelia had felt the way the atmosphere of the room had changed and though he had been careful with the decanter, he had been rougher with it than she ever remembered him being. Cerelia opened her mouth but stifled herself before she said something to provoke him unintentionally.

“He’s gone to the Ministry,” Cerelia told Augustus, her tone displaying openly just how seriously she took her father and his sudden flightiness. Cerelia’s eyebrows furrowed further as a pregnant silence, interrupted somewhat by her volunteering information spread out before them. But then, as if no time had elapsed at all, Augustus spoke again.

The blonde’s face softened immediately. That was it. She rose to her feet in a sudden wave of passion, a need to make right as much as she could anything that was happening. But once up on her feet, blood rushed to her cheeks and she could find no real reason to be standing. What did she plan to do? Hug him? Never. He bore no signs of upset – there was no need for it. He wouldn’t take seriously the condolences of a girl. He was fine! But Merlin, did those feelings churn. The anguish he bore was laden with the resignation of reality, of what was sure to happen, what he knew in his gut would happen but his heart was determined not to. Cerelia had no sway, no use. She was a vessel of business, not a shoulder to cry on so all she could do was drop back into her chair.

Now is not the time to be playing musical chairs, Cerelia, her mind, curiously embodying her father’s voice, warned her scornfully.

“It isn’t even ten o’clock yet,” there, she said it. Cerelia shifted in the chair, embarrassed by her outburst before amending that she would in fact rise to his challenge and take whatever it was her father elected to drink when he was in the company of Augustus. “Please, if it isn’t too much trouble.”

The girl then, remembering the gift, reached for the box below her gloves. She wheeled herself closer to the desk and put her elbows down on the surface, holding on the tips of her fingers the box.

“This is for you,” she explained briefly before setting it down over the other side of the desk, nearer to where he was stood. “If you don’t like it, I had nothing to do with it. If you do like it, it was all me.” The girl grinned cheekily, her words spoken in the hope of lightening Augustus’ mood somewhat.

“Really?” Augustus started, surprised. “I did think you’d do better with something lighter. No juice? Cocktail?” He grinned and winked at Cerelia. Then, he shrugged. “Well, then, you shall have the same hospitality I extend to your father.” With that, Augustus brought his wand out again and made a casual flick in the direction of the bar. A Champagne flute landed lightly on the bar top. He watched the girl’s face, as a bottle of Stout was brought out to fill the bottom half of the tall glass. And as Champagne was poured gradually over the darkness of the half-filled flute, Augustus was miles away in his head, sipping on the burning liquid in his glass. As of late, it seems, he started earlier, and drank more. Most of his days were a blur. Yet, he managed. There were things to look forward to, like his son. He frowned, pierced by the sudden thought of that. Kendall? Yes. He would always have Kendall, at least.

As soon as the bottles were placed back onto the shelves, Augustus snapped out of his thoughts, willing himself to concentrate on the business at hand. After all, he was on Rookwood business. Unwilling as he was to admit it, he was also an owl. He was a vessel, and he had always been one. There was a meeting to be had with Raghnall and his brothers after this. Once again, he knew the task of action was going to land onto him. Perhaps it was for this very reason that he warmed to the girl. Grabbing the flute from the bar, Augustus strolled towards the girl.

“Black Velvet, for the lady.” With a smile, he handed the glass over to Cerelia. “Don’t stand on ceremony, love” He chuckled, curious about her actions, but decided to let it pass. “After all, we’re familiar now, after that dance.” Augustus continued to chuckle teasingly. Then, he settled himself in the armchair on the other side of the desk from Cerelia. “Oh?” He eyed the box and alternated his curiosity between it and the girl. “Well, I won’t let the lady wait then.” Augustus reached for the gift, turned it in his hand, and began to make to open it.

“I’m afraid you’d have to deal with that drink instead of a gift.” He continued, as he slid the items out from the box. “Ooh.” Smiling, Augustus examined the cufflinks, then the watch. “Well, I’m glad to know I can trust you for your taste.” He winked, then removed the cufflinks from the box. “You don’t strike me as a flowers kind of girl …” He remarked, trying to suss out the girl. “ … or are you?” Augustus began to fit the cufflinks to the ends of his sleeves. “Humour me, love.” He smiled, admired the cufflinks on himself, then reached for his drink. While he remained calm, Augustus drank quickly. In one gulp, he emptied the glass and reached quickly for his wand for it to be filled again.

“Right, Potionatus Poténtiæ,” he started. “I know I haven’t included much in my owl to your father. But, knowing the man, I have my suspicions that he has already sussed out the matter for himself. And, I assume, he want a part in it. Which, in my opinion, is fantastic. After all, we all know what your father is capable of …” Augustus watched the girl for a reaction. Then, in an assuming tone, he continued. “What are his concerns?”

The choice to take her father’s drink certainly had the desired effect but Cerelia was not as of yet sure whether she would come to regret that decision. Her father enjoyed the extremes. He either indulged in the elaborate with company that was equally ostentatious and grew intoxicated by the latter as opposed to the former. Those occasions called when he had made some money or when he had succeeded in something of decidedly questionable legality. That was rare now, though. Adolphus Avery instead preferred to indulge in the cheapest alcohol he could buy that could see him dazzled within a few glasses. It was then that they all saw fit to be scarce; only Caius was brave enough to stay with their father, jeering and provoking him into fits of rage directed at whomever Caius felt was deserving of a brush with Adolphus’ wand. Cerelia had heard her father shouting after her dozens of times but the attic in amongst the antiques had proved the safest hiding place from him, from Caius. Bastien was rarely as lucky as his sister.

The words were on Cerelia’s tongue that they should have been drinking juice and pouring over hot breakfasts and odd articles in the Daily Prophet just as everyone else in the Wizarding World was most likely doing at such a time. Hers was an odd existence indeed if it meant that she was deciding upon what the start drinking at nine-something in the morning with Augustus Rookwood. Cerelia had been fighting sleep, desperate to pull herself free of it in order to start the day but if the drink was anything to go by and the amount that Augustus had already consumed, both would be passed out on their respective couches by noon. Cerelia had more of an excuse, being a teenager – not that she ever really subscribed to such notions. But she was concerned, perhaps unnecessarily, about Augustus. There was a fine line between enjoyment and excess and he was treading it thinly for a man like, well, him.

The blonde took the drink that Augustus had made and stared at the glass, not out of ignorance but out of sheer amazement at her father’s audacity and clear disregard for sense. Her grandfather always did business with a glass of Scotch in his hand so it was not as if she was naive to the idea of mixing business with pleasure but her father was excessive to the point of obnoxiousness and Cerelia was almost embarrassed for the man. She’d drink it though, even if she was now wishing she’d gone one generation further and asked for a bottle of Highlands malt from Glenmorangie or wherever it was her grandfather got it from. This, she decided, was just insult to previous injury.

Cerelia put the drink down on the desk and shook her head. “Thank you, but I apologise for him.” She flicked her eyes towards the drink and sighed, a smile breaking at the sides of her mouth as she flicked her tongue out to lick her lips. Her face screwed up for a second as she realised exactly what it was she’d put on her lips that morning and she brought her hand up to rub her fingers over the blush-coloured skin. She shrugged her shoulders after a moment and dropped her arm down over the arm of the chair, rubbing her fingers together in order to get her skin to soak in the waxy substance that she’d been nigh on ordered to plaster herself in. Cerelia didn’t know what they’d all been expecting. She was competent enough, without trying to look like a doll.

Sitting up a little straighter, Cerelia smiled; glad to find that Augustus liked them. She was still going to maintain that the cufflinks and the watch would have provided for her entire life thus far twice over but she wasn’t going to mention that to Augustus. Cerelia hadn’t lived an impoverished lifestyle either but she had made sure to live within her means and within the boundaries of what little money that was given to her. The majority of the expenditure went to her step-sister, Erica, whose demands were met by Adolphus out of a mixed desire to quieten the girl and also to make her mother happy. Erica was his angel, the one that garnered all of the suitors, the little Spanish beauty. Cerelia was his pale, pasty daughter who incited terror in him when he looked at her and saw her mother and whose only attributes worthy of any credit were perhaps her wand arm and her mind.

“There’s no such thing as a flower girl,” Cerelia told Augustus wryly. “A woman pretends to like flowers when she knows very little about them. Regardless, aren’t there only two worth purchasing? Roses, obviously, but in no other colour than red and Orchids – because every woman likes to know they’re as beautiful as the vainest plant of them all. Ah, but then you’ve got the kerfuffle with Lily of the Valley and Snowdrops and there are some changes to the rule. I adore Magnolia, though.” She conceded finally. “Well, all spring flowers really. They’re beautiful.” Cerelia smiled absentmindedly before glancing up to see Augustus toying with the cufflinks.

We all know what your father is capable of...

Cerelia stilled. Her eyes drifted to Augustus and she gave a shaky smile and an equally as hesitant nod. Cerelia’s hand found the back of her neck and she rubbed the skin there that smarted, seeming to remember the man whose talents and ruthlessness Augustus spoke so easily about, as if it was nothing. Cerelia dropped her hand down into her lap with the other and closed her eyes for a moment. Her father’s imaged danced across the inside of her eyelids and his laughter, sadistic and torturous to her, rang in her ears. Fear arrested the girl and she felt her chest tighten and her heartbeat quicken. She knew what he could do. It was one thing seeing what he was capable of but it was another thing altogether to experience it.

“Yes, indeed.” She allowed, reopening her eyes and shifting a little in the chair. Cerelia took her eyes away from the glass that was sitting, innocent but not without blame, on the desk before her and returned her eyes to Augustus. “His rightful share, I believe. He wants a bigger cut and a little bit more credit. Allegedly, his visit to the Ministry today is in an effort to rattle a few heads down in the Department of Mysteries which will inevitably end poorly. It isn’t as if I’ve already been to see them,” Cerelia added the last bit quietly for her own benefit. She’d charmed her way through much of the Department, picking up bits of information here and there before hitting a figurative brick wall. One which only a Minister could get round. “And he’ll be paying a visit to Elijah Krum, also, so that should be interesting.”

Cerelia drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair again and eyed Augustus. “Slow down,” she heard herself warn him. Cerelia bit her tongue, realising what she had said. The girl knew that she could not put her leg in shark invested waters and not expect them to bite. The only way to confuse them completely was to jump straight in, so she elaborated. “You’re not enjoying it.” She gestured to the newly empty glass. Cerelia rose from the chair and crossed the room to the bar. She paused once there, unsure as to her succeeding actions. The sharks were in charge as long as you didn’t get too close, but if you did, the tables turned and before they could bite back at you, there was the initial shock of the challenge.

Taking the glass, Cerelia reached for the decanter that he’d been harassing with his wand. She lifted it up onto the surface of the bar and removed the glass stopper before refilling the glass for him. She replaced the stopper and lowered the decanter back down onto its shelf before taking the glass and pressing it into Augustus’ hands.

“Relax.” She told him, mirroring the phrased he’d used to coax her into dancing with him. Cerelia’s eyebrows furrowed a little as she looked at Augustus, struggling to come up with a plausible reason as to why his consumption of Absinthe was more harried than usual – or, well, as usual as what she’d seen over the years. He drank a lot, this she knew, but never at the speed he was exhibiting now. “What has happened? Forget my father and his idiocies for a moment, you’re not truly interested. I understand it is not my place but it is too late to retreat now; I’ve opened my mouth.” Cerelia smiled wryly before sobering herself once more. “What has happened that has made you so ... sad?”

“Apologise for him?” Augustus alternated his glances between the girl and the glass he had set down before her. The questions were expressed on his face, but he didn’t ask them. Instead, he shook his head and reassured the girl. “There’s nothing to apologise for.” He pointed a finger at where the mix of Champagne and Stout began to dance in swirls. “If the apology has anything to do with that, keep it. It’s a man’s drink.” He shrugged. “Well, a particular man, I suppose. It’s strong.” Then, he added. “Just not my type of poison, really. I’m traditional, sort of. And this,” he pointed at his glass now, “is simple.” Augustus smirked.

“I’m a simple man, Cerelia.” He lifted both hands slightly before letting them fall back onto his lap. “I’m too old for games.” He chuckled, then found himself staring at his hands. The calluses confronted him. The memory of them used to overwhelm him. Yet, with time, he had grown accustomed to the flashbacks. Time, contrary to what everyone had told him, did not heal. No, healing was not the business of time. What it did, instead, was to allow for one to grow accustomed to life. There was no healing, just as scars always came after wounds. The scars were always present to remind. Yet, one got used to them.

“Every woman?” Augustus interrupted the girl, before biting back his words to allow her to continue, determined to learn about her for a supposed gameplan. There wasn’t really a gameplan. He had his suspicions, though. The girl was young and appeared harmless. Yet, he knew Adolphus better than that. There was an inexplicable reason about the other man’s decision. Augustus knew better, or at least he believed he did. It was easy to be lazy, but he knew better than to let his guard down around the Avery girl. After all, he would never have let Katarina dabble with his business. Kendall, yes. Katarina, though, was meant for other things, according to Rookwood protocol. She had no place in business. It was just the way it is, when you were born into a family like this one.

“Tell me then, Cerelia,” he started when she stopped. “What makes you feel beautiful?” He lifted his eyes off from his hands and placed them on her, noticing how her expression wavered at the mention of her father again. It was a consistent pattern he had picked up after the attention he had paid to the girl. It was important, after all. For what reason, he knew not. “Credit?” Augustus perked up, then, he nodded. “Yes, I don’t see why not.” He raised an eyebrow, though, slowly picking through the questions that he had from the latest information. “I’m surprised he’s gone ahead quickly.” He frowned in though. “Still, I suppose he knows what he’s doing. I wouldn’t want to stop a good plan he has in mind for the cause, even if I must admit I am curious about the reasons, and how he should go about doing it.” Then, still nodding, he leaned closer towards the girl.

“Let Kendall speak to Elijah. I’m sure your father will do well with Eli. But, if I may, I want this for my son. Kendall must have a part. He’s been told the brief of Potionatus Poténtiæ, now that he’s begun to settle down from the wedding and whatever had to ensue after that. But he knows his part, and it must be done.” A firm smile appeared on the man’s face. “Convey to your father my appreciation for his initiative. But tell him that Kendall will have Elijah. It’s easy.” Augustus shrugged and looked blankly ahead. When Cerelia spoke next, he directed a look of amusement at her. Yet, he made no move to protest. Instead, he sat and watched. The girl was proving to be more interesting than her father, it would seem. It wasn’t that Adolphus was not intriguing. He just wasn’t so much of a looker; not to Augustus, at least.

Augustus opened his mouth to speak, closed it, and then opened it again. The turn in the conversation was rather unexpected. He looked at the girl, curious at the direction she had steered them towards. Yet, he couldn’t help but feel a certain sense of wariness against the change. After all, she was working for her father’s cause, even if they were meant to be his partners. “Sad? What do you mean?” He placed the glass down onto his desk and eyed the girl. “I’m interested, Cerelia.” He started, before he grinned. “I’m just more interested to hear you speak.”

A particular man, indeed, but the drink was not one that Cerelia was unfamiliar with in her home. The excess often strayed towards the splendiferous and Cerelia had once or twice managed to sneak a taste of the particular brew that Adolphus had taken to drinking while with Augustus. She hadn’t liked it much at all when she was younger. All she liked was the foam on the top because it was there that she always used to say the sparkles were and if she lingered too long one of the bubbles would pop at her nose and spook her. She hadn’t seen him with anything akin to that in a while; perhaps because of the expense of it. Cerelia didn’t want to drink it because of the strength but because it did not sit well with her. It felt wrong almost. It was forbidden territory. But she would. Not yet but perhaps when the need for it struck her.

Cerelia looked up and raised her eyebrows at Augustus. She nibbled on her bottom lip, toying with telling the truth. Her lips quirked up at the sides and she shrugged her shoulders, her eyes blinking round to look at Augustus.

“I dunno,” she mumbled with another shrug of her narrow shoulders. “What do you want to hear? Pretty dresses? Shoes? I don’t know. Some crazy notion of being rescued from a tower by a knight in shining armour! I don’t know what you want to hear. Anyway it’s ... it’s stupid and I’m not...” she held up her hands and looked about herself, trying to form the words. “I don’t ... I don’t want you to look at me and laugh so I’ll just leave you with dresses and shoes and doting boyfriends.” She nodded the once and dropped her hands to her sides, grasping at her dress momentarily before just letting her hands fall useless either side of her.

Cerelia nodded again, feeling rather like one of those dolls on springs. “Yes,” she agreed. “Yes, it is best not to disturb him. He’ll only get upset if you do. But at least Kendall won’t have any trouble, especially after Mr. Krum has been worn down a bit, hmm?” The girl laughed a little and looked about herself. She did not feel as though she had established a place in the office. She was just stood there, unsure where she was supposed to be or go; like a gangly spare part.

Bringing her eyes up to meet Augustus’ gaze, Cerelia couldn’t help but scoff at the seeming sincerity of his words.

“W-why would you want to talk to me?” she asked incredulously, not really expecting an answer. “I’m just...I’m just...”

The blonde closed her eyes momentarily but as quickly as she did she reopened them at the sight of her step-mother and her daughter dancing around the insides of her eyelids. She could hear their words already, echoed with that of her father’s and Caius’ and the shattering silence that Bastien maintained. Ugly, useless, a waste of space, stupid. Cerelia blinked rapidly and shook her head, desperate to pry their words out of her head. It wasn’t that she cared for their opinions but that did not mean they did not hurt. Caius was especially cruel when the need for it struck him and her father, her loving, caring father ... well, she was just the poor little thing he took pity upon because no one else wanted her.

“Any rate,” Cerelia continued shakily, gesturing helplessly. “I could tell something was right as soon as you walked in through that door. You weren’t... you weren’t the same and you were all over the place and I felt awful all of a sudden and I knew something was wrong and then you started ...” her hands rose in gesture to the drink and reached up to run her fingers through the front of her hair. “and I ... I... I don’t even know. I ... oh...” Cerelia lifted her eyes to her hair and began to pat at the locks, desperate to make it sit flat again. It was no good, though and she settled instead with nothing, letting it alone and bringing her hands to her cheeks.

“I’m not very interesting anyway.” She told him with a reluctant smile and weary eyes. Cerelia dropped her hands again and turned around, wandering a few paces back towards the desk on slightly shaky feet before turning once more. “What do you want to know, I suppose? Let’s see if I can bore you to sleep.”

There was a certain dejected resignation that seemed to follow the girl. Augustus couldn’t help but wonder at its presence. After all, he couldn’t understand how, at her age, she held such a spirit that wasn’t typically expected of her. In comparison, as the man could not help but to compare, Katarina did not seem to carry such a weight around with her. Then again, who knew? The girl barely talked to him. She was the responsibility of her mother. That was how it usually went down in the Rookwood household. No one defied tradition yet. Accustomed to the ways of his world, Augustus found no deficiency in the way he was a father to his daughters. Conversely, his parenting over Kendall had been consistently under scrutiny. Perhaps he could claim to know his son, after all. Yet, somehow, he knew he could not say the same of his daughters. Yet, fortunately or unfortunately for him, Augustus was not as bothered as he should have been. At least he pulled his weight where Kendall is concerned, and it was the only weight that mattered to the patriarchal Rookwood clan.

Augustus considered the girl’s moods, amused by the cynicism that seemed to characterise the tone in her words, wondering now if it would have done him good to bring up his daughters along the same vein. Yet, he thought, he would rather them the way they were now. They seemed, at least to him, happier to accept their lot in life. Ignorance was bliss, and it seemed as if the girls were the epitome of such. It was a mirror of Cordelia. True, Augustus knew that it was just a matter of appearances. Yet, these were things out of his control, and so appearances would do to set his mind at ease with regards to the changes he simply could not make. He was, after all, almost just as powerless as them, he thought. He was unconvinced, too, that they needed more than the privilege he assumed they already enjoyed, what with the blessings that he believed came with simply being a Rookwood, even if she was a woman or a girl. Of course, the myopia was ever so intense with the men of the family.

The girl’s words, as she continued to talk, however, stopped Augustus in the tracks of his mind. She was more than she appeared to be, for sure. She had shown, perhaps, a certain level of perceptiveness, it seemed. Augustus shifted uncomfortably in his chair, dis-eased by the fact that she had picked up on what he had been trying to hide. Perhaps he was too affected to really go through with a meeting like that unaffected. Yet, there was a sincerity in the girl’s words that pulled him towards her, even with the caution he had taken upon himself to manage with around her. Still, Augustus was worried about the girl’s motives. He was adamant not to talk about himself. Or, at least, he was not going to say a word about the incident in that room. Everything was going to be alright, he was sure. What could go wrong? He was almost convicted by the desperate optimism he had been trying to put on for awhile now.

“I’m sure there is nothing to be bored to sleep about.” He started in reply to her after allowing her to talk on to buy time for him to respond. “If anything, the drink is bored to sleep from your lack of touch.” Augustus pointed to the flute of Black Velvet. “Or perhaps you would like something lighter?” He offered. “Don’t be shy now. We have, I foresee, a lot more time to spend together. I should think you can get comfortable now.” He watched the girl. “Would you like another order of drink?” He offered again. “And, then, we have all day. We can talk about you even as we work through this meeting. I’m sure it’ll make the process a lot more interesting. Your father might be an effective communicator, but even I found him too hasty. What could a couple of drinks and more conversation do to hurt a partnership?” Then, he raised his glass in the act of a toast to the girl. “See, this is where you come in. Patience, sweetheart, and with that charm of yours, you’ll soon make a more interesting partner than your father, with all due respect to him.”

“Now, tell me, what are your thoughts about Potionatus Poténtiæ? And, I want your thoughts. You’re surely a product of your father,but even I know you’re not Adolphus Avery.” Happy to direct the topic away from his self, Augustus started again. “I hope it’s clear by now why we were eager to have your father on board with us. Apart from the strings he can pull with the powers that be, of course …” He swirled the alcohol in his glass, but did not proceed to gulp it down like before. “I’m not sure if your father has made direct contact with them, or even Shabaam. That, I had no tabs on. I didn’t think it was necessary.” Augustus shrugged. “What we need most, now, though, is his cooperation in procuring testing subjects. For now, at least, it is the trickiest part of the equation.” Setting his drink back down, he watched the girl eagerly, then raised his hands slightly for emphasis. “Okay, now, see, we start with you. Bore me to death, then, with your thoughts. There’s a lot more than getting the job done. You never know what you pick up along the way.”

Rookwoods could never be considered normal Purebloods because while they adored the sounds of their voices, they also delighted in being able to comment, even mentally, upon the warble of another person and so as a Pureblood young woman who was meant to be seen and not heard, it was difficult for Cerelia to grapple with the idea of talking. To dramatically shift from being told that a man of the world would show no interest in her to actually, quite the opposite was a new thing indeed and regardless of the fact that Cerelia was outspoken, she still felt as if somehow she was breaking a rule and to speak to Augustus as candidly as he was asking to her to was quite the scandal. Really though, it was probably nothing.

Cerelia’s eyes were drawn back to the drink and she found her cheeks heated up a fraction. The girl smiled ruefully and brought her arms up to rub her shoulders before reaching somewhat reluctantly for the flute. Augustus appeared keen to accommodate her though and Cerelia looked up, her mouth opening, considering the offer, before she quickly stifled herself and shook her head, retreating a little bit before determining that Augustus was probably waiting for evidence that she was actually going to drink it. Cerelia bit the glass back down and linked her hands a little in her lap, ducking her head as she admitted defeat.

“It was always better once the champagne had gone flat,” she told Augustus, chewing absent-mindedly on her lower lip, her mind helpfully blocking out the reproach of her step-mother who complained of the blonde’s ugliness when she did such a thing. “The foam would go down if left alone long enough and it would be at this stage where it was beginning to reach room temperature and it was sublime. Sometimes ...” Cerelia’s lips quirked a little. “Sometimes a House Elf would give me a piece of chocolate and I would dip it into my father’s drink while he wasn’t looking. I’d probably think it was foul now.” Cerelia laughed shyly. “But as a little girl with ... with a father like Adolphus Avery, it was a big thing to say I could steal mouthfuls of his drink on chocolate.”

Cerelia crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the desk, ignoring for now the way the side of it dug into her bum. “I’ll drink it in a minute.” She added with a smile.

The blonde’s eyebrows rose. Augustus was asking a lot and she had her opinions but she didn’t know whether she was strictly allowed to voice them. She had tried to make her father see sense when he first broadcasted the idea to the table and while everyone else warmed to it, Cerelia had been hesitant. She didn’t believe it would work and she wanted Augustus to be amicable with her – she did not want to start a row. Not that that was going to stop her, though.

“It’s a bit of a fool’s errand, isn’t it?” She mused. “It’s banking on a lot: that it works for us, it works for the Muggle-Borns. Who is to say it doesn’t kill a Pureblood and only makes the washed-up Muggles stronger? I am hesitant, sir, I am going to admit that to you. But the prospect of success attracts me. No, I tell a lie.” Cerelia smirked. “The prospect of seeing my father howl with frustration when it doesn’t work amuses me. I like Potions. It’s one of my best subjects.”

Cerelia pushed herself off of the desk and stood with her feet shoulder feet apart. She held her hands up in front of her, her palms out flat, and looked at Augustus.

“I’m sort of stuck.” She elaborated by dropping her hands down to frame a box around herself. “I am looking at this from the point of view of a negotiator – a diplomat. I don’t have a clue how the potion will work I am not privy to much of the research and all I have is a list of ingredients that no one knows enough about to say for sure they’ll work. That’s quite ... disconcerting.” Cerelia smiled ruefully before shrugging her shoulders. “I don’t know. It’s one of those I’ll-believe-it-when-I-see-it scenarios. I can’t deny I’m not interested. I’m just disappointed I have to run around in nice dresses and flirt with people from the Ministry for stock logs and things. I’d rather flit around Europe and find people who know people in Germany while I’m in Italy who know someone else in Greece who knows a plantation owner in Spain who grows x amount of ingredients. Though, that might just be the winter in me talking. I clearly need a holiday.”

Cerelia laughed before shrugging her shoulders a little. “Father went to see Shabaam apparently. That’s why he wasn’t at the wedding. Whether or not he spoke at length with the man, or at all, remains to be seen. He probably went on a Nile cruise or something.”

Out of this room, down the corridor, behind a door, a woman writhes in an unnatural contortion of a body that could not contain the sanity of one who had held it together for so long. Delirious, she turned her head to press her cheek to the sheets, wet and bloody from the wounds on her skin. Her face, her hands, and her legs. Where the pink of her nails was, the grime was a mix of skin and blood. Down where there was supposed to be the promise of a new birth, she was dry; and surprisingly, unharmed. Yet, the untranslatable pain was in her womb. A Healer stood over the woman, watching and waiting. He knew his instructions, but he knew the outcome, too. He watched and waited, looking on at an unspeakable pain that he knew he would never suffer. It wasn’t the first time, even in this family, that he was made to witness the agony of the women. Still, he stood, transfixed by the manifestation of madness on this woman. There was something new about this pain; something grotesque, unnatural, and foul. He knew. But he didn’t know enough to save her. Augustus heeded nothing. And for that, he will lose the promised son, and the wife.

Back in the peaceful hum of his office, away from the room with silencing charms that Cordelia was put to suffer her last week, or perhaps it was just days, Augustus sat back in his armchair, wearing a smirk on his face, and watching a girl his daughter’s age speak. There was a space in his mind that fought back the reality of what was waiting for him in the other room, but he kept his peace. Strangely, it was easy. He watched Cerelia with curiosity, recognising in her a slim semblance of her father, and yet, the kind of spirit that he had only observed in the victims of that very same man. It was no secret that girls were not particularly protected in certain households of the Pureblood Elites. Yet, because Augustus was more capable of indifference rather than cruelty to his daughters, his suspicions about Cerelia’s relationship with her father was slowly becoming more intriguing to the man. It would seem, then, for all of his elusiveness, Adolphus Avery maintained some kind of consistency.

As the girl continued to speak, it was rather apparent there was still a child in her that wasn’t allowed to be let out sufficiently. Perhaps if Augustus had more conversations with his own daughter, he would have noticed the same. Yet, it was Cerelia who held his attention. Despite all of the maturity she seemed to hold together, and the obvious potential that was brimming at the surface of her person, the child had not been destroyed, yet. It was fortunate, really. Despite that, the heaviness of her relationship with her father was merely hinted at. Augustus was curious. He wanted more, anything to quell his questions. There was no real relation to what she was sent to him for. Well, it wasn’t going to be any good on their part, anyway. That was the problem with talking, wasn’t it? Somehow, one way or another, in talking, you revealed yourself. And Cerelia didn’t seem to have any qualms about that. It wasn’t that she had to be cautious against him. It was just that the fear and suspicions there have become characteristics of the spirit of the Pureblood Elites have concocted a poisonous way of living and believing that was only too keen to find a stake for continuity in every pocket of the community. You couldn’t run from it, even if you could manage it. One was always cautious. There was no rest.

“Well, honesty for honesty,” Augustus started. “While success is a massive appeal, as it is to people like us, Potionatus Poténtiæ promises sport to me. It’s probably why Shabaam wanted the Rookwoods on this. And your father, of course.” There was a gleam in the man’s eyes, where the sides have begun to fall a little in a crinkle of insignificant aging. “I’m not sure, of course, about your father’s true intentions, but I liked the proposition as soon as testing subjects were brought up.” He chuckled to himself. “Good old days, in my opinion. Back when we had far more control over the weakness of the Ministry. It didn’t last long at all, with us. But before us, too, it was good.” Augustus began to sip on the Absinthe that had been waiting for him for more than a couple of minutes now.

“I could use a trip down the Nile now,” Augustus spoke between his chuckles at the girl’s words. “Well, I will wait on Shabaam’s information or alert, if anything. I’m sure Adolphus is catching up with the man. After all, it’s been years, I believe, since the last time we had an encounter. Besides, Shabaam has this establishment …” Then, with a glance at Cerelia, he stopped himself. Thoughts of Maia entered his head suddenly, and there and then, he knew that he had placed her in the manor, but had very soon forgotten about that girl’s existence. With that, Augustus made a mental note about Shabaam’s gift. What with another frustrated disappointment with Cordelia’s attempt at providing him with another heir, Augustus was itching to vent it on Maia now.

“You’re looking for an adventure then?” He asked, suddenly, as if a thought had struck him. “I am due in Italy to speak with interested parties about Potionatus Poténtiæ. We know what the Italians can offer, and I know they will be keen for an exchange of their services. They are very effective, after all.” Augustus paused, studied Cerelia’s face, and smirked. “I’m sure Adolphus will not be opposed to my request for your company for the purpose of business, eh?” He raised an eyebrow in question, before a loud, desperate rattle was heard at the door.