We must be fools, we must be crazy!

The flurry of visitors and merrymakers had dispersed, leaving only the closest and the dearest at the event that was clearly the wedding of the year, jam packed with drama, tears and love. The guests had long since filtered away and the family were left to drift across the dance floor which had been set beneath a tall tent from which streamers of silver and emerald flowed; a typical Slytherin wedding. The high heels had been discarded beneath tables and the ties had been loosened and the people that would eventually drift back to the manor that loomed over the affair were moving rhythmically between what was left of the buffet and the bar, stopping only to talk at the tables that were left populated. The newly wedded husband and wife had given up socialising and were tucked up in a little nook together. The habitual need for everyone to meet the happy couple had fizzled out and they were left to themselves, content to whisper to each other and provoke each other quietly, allowing everyone else to find their amusement.

The Deputy Minister and his fiancée were as wrapped in each other as the wedded couple but their place had been long since on the dance floor. They too were sharing in the beauty of sweet nothings and the intimacy between them was difficult to watch for the shier attendants – not because it was indecent but because the ones who looked had every right to be envious of them. The stature of Elijah Krum was formidable and the tiny wife-to-be he held in his arms looked as tucked up as one would be beneath dozens of blankets in bed. Their separate bodies were difficult to discern and Elijah’s face was oblivious, buried in the crook of Mira Anderson’s neck beneath the sheet of crisp blonde hair that she boasted. Of course, no one lingered on them long because it was clear their gazes were not to be caught. No, just as Athena and Kendall, they were unable to be extracted from each other.

Ophion and Macaria Goyle were the only two that had lingered out of the Goyle clan. The rest had disappeared with their tails between their legs upon realisation that there would be no upsetting Athena on that particular day; Ira and Elijah had seen to that. But Ophion and Macaria had shown immense loyalty to the family their niece had married into and they, with their children, lingered, all content to dance to the songs played regardless of whether they were appropriate for Purebloods or not. Weddings were truly one of the only times that Purebloods were allowed to let their hair down and get a little drunk – hence why many of the well-wishers had gone home. Those who had stayed had lapsed into a gentleness preferred by all. But this gentleness was perhaps most isolating to those who lacked the partnership that others had.

Cerelia Avery had only lingered because she was due to stay with Katarina and Gisele that night. The other girls had disappeared, off on some adventure that Cerelia had lost out on going on due to being absent at its conception and she looked upon all of these people with a yearning deep in her heart. She found herself wondering if her own parents had experienced a wedding like the one that Athena and Kendall had had. She had embraced Kendall tightly earlier on, warning him quietly not to do anything foolish an jeopardising what he had gotten himself but bar that she had had no further interaction with other family members. Katarina and Gisele had amused themselves in other ways and Cerelia had done what she did best: isolated herself and merely watched what was going on.

Of course eventually she found she could not stand for much longer and so, after collected herself a drink and found a table populated sparsely but for a few people. She pulled up a chair next to the man she had been tasked with speaking with that morning but realised that in the space of goodness only knows how many hours, she had forgotten what it was she was supposed to discuss. Cerelia closed her mouth and quietly took a sip of her drink, taking the time that was between her arrival and him noticing her to actually think about what she was going to say. But she had lost it, she realised. Not put off, Cerelia put her glass down and leaned forward. Her eyes scoured the profile of Augustus Rookwood and took him in on a much more personal level for the first time; instead of through the glazed eyes of an awkward friend of his daughter.

“They’re perfect together, aren’t they?” Cerelia spoke softly, by way of introduction of herself. She daren’t too harshly break thoughts of Augustus but the man appeared relaxed enough, unburdened by heavy thoughts of Azkaban or the like. Cerelia smiled gently and looked at Augustus before glancing back over the make-shift room beneath the tent. Cerelia tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and cleared her throat, determined to try and remember what it was she had to say. “It’s wonderful, I think.” Cerelia added with naive optimism. “To be that in love, I mean. There’s not enough of it now.” She included the last sentence as an afterthought and looked down at her hands. “I apologise, Mr. Rookwood. Augustus.” Cerelia closed her eyes, mentally berating herself. She wasn’t a child. She wasn’t a child. Not here she wasn’t; not today. “My father instructed me to speak with you about a business venture you are undertaking. Now, I realise this is probably a bad time, sir, but I wanted at least to be able to suggest a reasonable time to discuss such matters.” Cerelia straightened up and nodded her head, firmly.

Oh, sweet girl. When did you become so serious?

A pair of arms encircled him. Gently, Augustus let his glass sit back down onto the table. The familiar mix of warmth and spice slid past this throat, even as he leaned into the arms that held the intimate heat belonging to the one woman that he had grown accustomed to. Cordelia brought herself closer to meet her husband, resting her chin at the nook between his shoulder and the collarbone that held it up for his frame. Augustus leaned his head against the tenderness of her hair, feeling the golden tresses as they met with the hardness of his face. As he took in the scent of comfort that his wife’s presence brought, in the distance, Raghnall signalled a nod of acknowledgement before turning to head back towards the Manor. That alone was approval for the events of the day. All was well.

Augustus sighed and smiled to himself, ignoring the looks of his brothers, who had greater expectations of misfortune for their nephew’s union with a woman that they were still convinced was not an appropriate match for a son of Rookwood. Augustus barely contained his pleasure about the marriage. It wasn’t something many Rookwood men could boast about. The sight of Kendall’s apparent affections for his wife made them sick. Rookwoods barely married with affection. Unions were never more than strategic moves for the better of the family’s disposition. Yet, here, right under their noses, the fortune was bestowed upon the youngest boy of the existing Rookwood clan.

Placing a kiss at the cool skin of his wife’s forehead, Augustus made to stand up with her. “No,” she shook her head and pressed her hands tenderly against his arm. “You stay.” With that, she leaned in to return his kiss, feeling the roughness of his chin scrape against hers, yet not shying away from the affections of her husband. Thaddeus looked away from the scene, uncomfortable at more shows of love. He couldn’t handle anymore for the day. What made things worse was the bump that Cordelia had; as if his youngest brother did not already have all the good fortune lately, it was pronounced by the family Healer that the woman was, again, finally carrying another son. As she stood up from her seat, it was obvious that the pregnancy had begun to show signs of weariness on her face. Yet, she was happy. Her baby boy was married. And he was happy. She knew it. And at that point in time, nothing could make her happier. Augustus barely noticed the strain on his wife’s face, even as he smiled at her with more love than any of his brothers could muster.

As his wife retired to the Manor for her rest, Augustus picked up his glass of Absinthe again and watched the dance floor. The crowd had dispersed earlier. Yet, the ones left stayed to soak up the remnants of the romantic union, aided mostly by the music that still carried the happiness of the bride and groom. It must have been the same notion that pushed the other Rookwood men to now stand from their seats to take their leave. While their wives looked keen on staying, none of that was allowed or even requested. Augustus made an effort at civility, even as he felt nothing but smugness at the success of the day, and lifted his glass to his brothers before they departed to retire back to the Manor. Once gone, the man relaxed, easing up at the lack of Rookwood presence at the table.

With a hand resting on his lap, and another against the table holding his glass, Augustus watched the younger couple of Elijah and Mira and got lost in his thoughts. That is, until he felt the presence of someone else at the table. Augustus watched the girl as she conducted herself with him, amused at the seeming ease she held against him. Even more so, it struck him how alike she was to her father, even as she spoke. Her confidence impressed him. Yet, he feigned coolness. A small smile transpired on his face in an unnecessary attempt to put the girl at ease, but he simply lifted the glass to his lips again, taking the time he had before speaking.

“What manner of business does Adolphus Avery have that deters his attendance of the wedding of a much esteemed friend?” Augustus set the glass back down before reaching for a decanter at the table to fill it again. “Your father must think very highly of you to send yourself to speak about such matters with me.” He began to look at the girl with curiosity. “Would you humour me, Cerelia, and tell me what you think of the wedding today?” He smirked, leaned back against his seat, and continued to look at the girl. Casually, the man clicked his fingers and a House-Elf rushed over. “Please, you cannot do without a drink.” The creature turned his eyes to the girl and waited.

The evening had left Cerelia somewhat sleepy with the volume of emotions that had engulfed them all like a great, suffocating bubble. Those that had embraced it had looked to their wives, their husbands, their lovers and found renewed desire and adoration for them. Truly, for Cerelia, the love had never been more palpable and the trueness of it made her legs feel weak. She had never felt such feelings bubbling around her in such an infectious manner. Her father had never shown such kindness to her mother, never such tenderness that she saw in Kendall and Athena and in the Deputy Minister and his fiancée. Even the children that knew no better and took delight in dancing with each other, seemed to understand the strength of that ultimate, subtle magic.

Cerelia was beginning to realise now why stories of love and romance and chivalry were so relevant. It was like a drug. She was dizzy on the feelings of the people around her. It was no wonder that great lengths were gone to, to ensure that it was preserved. She did not understand how Purebloods had a drop of that feeling left in them, with the many destructive marriages that took place. But she supposed that that was what made these feelings so strong. In Purebloods, love was even more of a drug than it was to Half-Bloods, Muggleborns or Muggles and Squibs. It was wondrous, truly.

Bringing her hands out of her lap, Cerelia found a flower on the table that had fallen from the garlands. She twiddled it in her fingers and brought it up to her face, smelling the sweet scent that wafted from the flower. She lowered her hands back to her lap again and turned her attention back to Augustus, relying on him to ask the right questions so as to jog her memory. Cerelia brightened, realising in her mind what it was she had allowed herself to forget in the infection of the feelings about her. She licked her lips and sat up a little straighter, sufficiently pleased she would not have to endure the wrath of her father should she had returned home without having the discussion he’d wished for her to have with Augustus.

Cerelia’s lips twitched a little, pleased that her father’s avoidance of the event had not gone unnoticed. She herself had berated him that morning but he had been insistent, bizarrely in favour of the idea of sending his daughter away for the day to do his bidding; or rather, his dirty work. He rarely wanted her to go anywhere without either he or Caius going with her so this was indeed a strange step. Adolphus also thoroughly enjoyed family affairs as there was always some relative that spoiled things momentarily. It was his great joy to watch. But instead of going like Cerelia knew he truly wanted to, he played aggravatingly and instead sent her – over her brothers – and went somewhere else; though where, he did not explain fully.

“My father is a law unto himself,” Cerelia explained shortly. “I did reproach him for his decision but he was intent on making himself known to one Aaron Shabaam and a D’Eath concerning Potionatus Poténtiæ.” Cerelia’s cheeks warmed a little as the Latin rolled naturally off of her tongue in the lazy fashion that her father and tutor scolded her for. “Everything sounds better in Latin, so my father says.” Cerelia added hastily, ducking her head down towards the flower. Cerelia looked up again, flattered but reluctant to accept Augustus’ word for truth. “I am but a vessel, sir. He knows well enough that I would not dare jeopardise his business ventures. The same cannot be said for my brothers, hence why I am here as opposed to any of the Avery men. But thank you, all the same. I wish it were so. But no, he’s simply intelligent and knows his children devastatingly well.” Cerelia smiled and laughed briefly before looking back down to the flower.

Cerelia would have been an awful liar if she had tried to assure someone that Augustus Rookwood’s eyes on her were not making her uncomfortable. She was a vessel, after all, she didn’t expect to be studied. It was meant to be an open and closed book and she could slip away with Gisele and Katarina to the manor where they could revel in the day. But no, discussion seemed to be immediately inevitable and though Cerelia was not opposed to it, she was indeed intimidated. She swallowed her fear though, like the Avery she was, and lifted her gaze to meet Augustus’ with a defiance that projected the opposite of her wobbly insides: strength and confidence of personhood, womanhood.

“Can’t you feel it?” Cerelia inquired, her eyes widening.

She leaned forward in her chair, only to be confronted by the saucer stare of the House Elf Augustus had called over. The girl flushed again and tried to wrack her brains for a drink that didn’t immediately make her seem childish. She was an Avery woman, after all, and the reputation of her father in those moments rested on her choice of drink – at least where Cerelia was concerned; though same cannot necessarily be said for Augustus. It probably didn’t matter to him at all, though Pumpkin Juice would have, granted, been a failure.

“White wine,” Cerelia managed once the fear had subsided. “Please,” she added, scolding herself mentally for forgetting her manners. “Arneis if you have it. If not, a normal table white will do, thank you.”

The House Elf scuttled away soon enough, leaving the pair alone once more. Cerelia rolled her shoulders, revelling in the warm, late-summer breeze that curled around her body, and looked over at Augustus again.

“Merlin, you can smell it. I have never been in the presence of people so wracked and made up of amour.” Cerelia smiled, suddenly feeling rather breathless upon expressing what had been afflicting her all evening. Finally, she could tell someone what had disturbed her being since she had first entered the house that morning. “It’s so electric – like lightning.” Her hands found her upper arms and she smiled shyly. “Gives me goose bumps,” she mumbled. She dropped her hands once more and twiddled the flower in her lap. “It’s on the wind. This whole place is alight, reeling in what is far from a normal union.” She gave Augustus a pointed, knowing look at this and continued, smiling. “I think, had it been any other match, you would not have had as much success. These two people have come together in such a way that they’re infectious. It has truly been the most wonderful day. I shouldn’t think I’ll forget this in a hurry.”

Cerelia brought herself out of her reverie for a moment and looked at Augustus, tipping her head to the side before retorting to him. “Humour me, Augustus. What do you think of the wedding day?”

There were few better places to remind one of love than a wedding. It is said that time heals all things. Yet, time makes one forget. Often, what is forgotten shouldn’t have been. Augustus had forgotten the tenderness that once ruled the days he shared with Cordelia. Time had its way, and it made them forget a goodness that shouldn’t have been forgotten. Still, nothing was ever completely hopeless. Only a reminder was needed. Watching the look Kendall had on his face earlier, saying his vows; even Augustus could not help but think it bizarre. There was a look of humbled triumph and loving euphoria that blazed the younger Rookwood’s eyes.

While Augustus knew he did not have the luxury of marrying a woman he loved that much, he remembered the moments that came after the wedding. Thanks to time, it was only at the beginning that could contain the bulk of the good memories. Yet, the man loved his wife only because she loved him. It wasn’t a bad reason, but it wasn’t sufficiently noble for admittance. Kendall had stood up to the very patriarch of the family, a first, for Athena. Augustus was never bold enough to fight for love. He received it, preferring the easiest route to it; and that meant that he had never truly loved with the intensity that even his son was capable of. The best way to shake that recognition off was to blame one’s manner of circumstances unreasonably. This, he did.

Augustus chuckled. The glint of amusement stayed in his eyes. “He’s a shrewd man, your father. There’s a reason why he was trusted,” and then in a hushed tone, “and distrusted.” It wasn’t much of a secret, really. Anyone who worked with Adolphus Avery before knew to be wary of the man. Yet, Augustus had found pleasure working with him. “I suppose you were told the first brief details of Potionatus Poténtiæ? With that, he reached into the pocket of his blazer and brought out a box of matches. With the other hand, Augustus brought out a stick of half-smoked cigar. He hesitated, before a shrug ensued, and the cigar was lit. Swiftly, an ashtray was brought to the table by a house-elf, just as the man chuckled again from Cerelia’s seeming audacity.

“I believe the Rookwoods, we, we pride ourselves on being miserable.” Augustus smirked. “We are very proud of, very happy to be, miserable. It is a cultivated skill.” He exhaled the cigar smoke in a direction away from Cerelia. “Powerful, imposing, tight-arses … no, happiness or love was never a Rookwood aspiration. Kendall stepped on a lot of toes tonight, with this wedding straining the manor with these strange, foreign aspirations. But, that’s my son for you.” There was an intensity of pride that Augustus could not hide from his voice. “Stupidity or bravery, call it what you want, he fights for the things we Rookwoods don’t fight for. But,” he took another drag of cigar, “I do enjoy watching the others squirm at my son’s expense.” And then, as if he remembered who he was talking to, Augustus frowned and decided to watch his words. After all, he had still always been one to uphold the delusional impression of a united Rookwood household.

“And has your father arranged for you a betrothed yet? He’s always been one to plan well, scheme even, as I remember. I should think he’s gotten the best for his esteemed daughter, yes?” Augustus tapped the end of his cigar gently against the ashtray. “And what do you think about the whole business of marriage?”

The air of the wedding was dying, the last of the candles burning out. But there was warmth about the place that made it seem as if it were destined to continue. Cerelia reached for her wand from the purse that she had set down on the table when she had come to sit with Augustus. She lifted the Yew wand aloft and with a quick flick, replenished the wax of the candles above herself and Augustus, allowing more light to slip over them from above. She pushed her and behind her ear and leaned forward, her elbows on the table, her chin in her hands, as she took in the scenery and the curious way that two people managed to merge in a way with each other that made them one instead of two separate beings.

As a child, Cerelia had found very little love between her parents, so much so that she wondered what kept them fused at all. There was obscene, intense loathing and evenly matched obsession and the pair seemed to live to torture each other. Talia was tortured by Adolphus and it was not until she had died that he realised the error of his ways, that had he loved his wife he would have kept her and had her with him. Of course this hindsight did not change the way he treated his children and Cerelia especially continued to set his teeth on edge. She had been dealt the back of his hand many times and her cheekbones would often seize up on reflex if he so much as raised a hand to her, in kindness or otherwise.

Cerelia was her mother in Adolphus’ eyes but his folly was in forgetting that she was also his child also. She was a potent mix of Talia and Adolphus Rookwood and would, ultimately, come to crucify all that Adolphus had worked for; and he should have known it.

Stilling, Cerelia looked at Augustus with quiet curiosity. Oh, so he knew. Then he was no fool. Only a special kind of man could invoke such fear in his children that his own flesh did not trust him. Her brothers were too foolish and depended on Adolphus to keep their names pure and good but Adolphus knew Cerelia did not trust him, he knew she was afraid of him. The business that Adolphus got involved in did no one good, half of the time. It seemed as if Augustus Rookwood had experienced the erratic side of Adolphus Avery and Cerelia pitied Augustus, suddenly herself feeling rather frail at the extended thought of her father.

“Trust him,” Cerelia murmured, a sly smirk tickling her lips upwards, “but don’t.”

The House Elf returned with her wine at that moment and Cerelia sat back to allow the creature room enough to put the glass down on the table. She reached into her bag for the handful of coins she’d stuffed in amongst the other articles and produced a Sickle which she handed to the Elf. The Elf’s eyes widened, a bizarre picture if you care to think of it, and it peeked at Augustus before scuttling away quickly for seeming fear that the man would take it away from him. Cerelia smirked again and shook her head, turning back around to Augustus as she took the glass into her hands and brought it to her lips.

“As brief as they come, yes.” Cerelia replied after swallowing.

She placed the glass back down on the table and her fingers found the flower. She busied her fingers for a moment as Augustus fiddled with his cigar, and in that space of time, Cerelia managed to tie the flower into her hair. She smiled, content, before taking it out, deciding against having it there. She took her wand out from behind her ear and placed it down on the table, pushing the flower there to replace the wand instead. Her smile was brighter this time, her decision having been made, and she hastily tucked her wand back into her bag, making sure it was in arms reach still but not entirely exposed.

Cerelia turned in her chair and brought her arm up to rest on the back of it. She curled her fingers into her palm and leaned her temple against her knuckles, reaching with her spare hand to grasp the wine and bring it to rest down on the chair by her hip. Her eyebrows rose as Augustus spoke, sensing suddenly the change in the conversation. His opinion was not as fancy free as hers. She was idealistic where weddings were concerned. Nothing was ever anything else but perfect – especially Kendall and Athena’s. It seemed odd to her, suddenly, that it was any other way but on reflection, upon thinking about what she’d seen, Augustus was quite right. That said, it didn’t mean Cerelia agreed with him.

“Misery isn’t something to be championed, Augustus,” she spoke softly and raised her eyebrows briefly before elaborating. “We have all seen enough of it.” Though in this instance, she referred to her mother, the only memories that Cerelia held of the woman ruined by what had happened to Talia. Cerelia smiled, pleased to find that Augustus was happy about the union. “Kendall never was going to conform to expectations, was he?” Cerelia responded. “And that’s so good. I mean, it proves something, doesn’t it? It’s not all about power or impressive dowries.” Cerelia laughed a little. “I think we’re all after a little bit of happiness, aren’t we? Kendall and Athena have proved that. I mean, it means, now, that more people won’t be put off of going after it.”

Cerelia laughed at Augustus’ last admission and shook her head before taking a sip of wine. “Yes,” she murmured with a comparative grin. “There have been some interesting facial expressions today.”

Cerelia’s nose wrinkled immediately once the subject changed to her own eventual wedding. She shook her head and looked away, off into the middle distance, before shaking her head once more and shuddering at what she knew was eventually to become of her. Well, she didn’t know exactly. There were enough options though unless she decided to pave her own way. Cerelia had only ever seen that emerald glow on the end of a wand once though and it had never been pointed at her. That was what she expected though, if she ever dared go against what Adolphus wanted of her.

“Do we have to have this discussion?” Cerelia asked, her voice laden with dismay mixed with reluctance. She looked at Augustus through one eye and smiled a little before reopening the other and bringing her glass to her lips. “Merlin...No, actually. No, he hasn’t. He threatens me with my German cousin, Laurie, every other day.” Cerelia shuddered again, at the mere thought of the snivelling toad. “I’d rather marry a Muggle. He’s disgusting. Though, his mother is gloriously beautiful. How she created that is... beyond me.” Cerelia looked at her wine, as if it held the answers.

She looked up at Augustus again and felt her cheeks heat up before admitting, interestingly readily, the short version of what had occurred during her nigh seventeen years in which Adolphus could make a betrothal.

“It’s strange because I don’t think there is anything wrong with me, per se. There’s bound to be something that could do with improving but isn’t that always the way? It’s just ... it always seemed strange to me because for my brothers it was quite easy to provide them with wives. I know it is different but it is as if, with me, somehow it becomes a mountainous, impossible task. He’d always blame me too, my father; as if there was something I always did that ruined everything, that somehow it was my fault. He didn’t like, I don’t think, that I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t sell myself and pick up a place in a well-to-do family somewhere. He couldn’t convince anyone to ‘take me’ either – as if I am some sort of burden.

The dowries are always plentiful, apparently. That is more than enough to have the families convinced. But then they see me. I’m never pretty enough or blonde enough,” Cerelia picked up a lock of hair to demonstrate her incredulity at this observation. “Or I was too skinny, I looked as if I might die at the drop of the hat, my nose was too big, my feet too small or my hips simply aren’t large enough to bear ‘my darling boy’s strong heirs.’” Cerelia sniffed disdainfully and licked her lips, wiping them red with her sudden anger. “Not good enough for anyone.”

Cerelia laughed a little, a bitter, cold laugh, and kicked out her feet, wriggling them free from her shoes and letting the heels fall to the floor.

“There was this one gentleman though. He was lovely. He said, to my face, that I was the daughter of a mad, German whore that didn’t deserve to do so much as polish my father’s shoes and that I would be a perfect little ... oh, what was it he said? Oh that was it! I would be the perfect little hussy for him and his friends to have their fun with. He and his family were perhaps the only ones interested in me. I was a little girl, then. I was convinced I was a young lady, of course, but still a little girl. Needless to say, he won’t be able to make use of a wanton hussy ever. My father had to pay thousands of galleons in damages and I was sent to live with my grandparents for my trouble. Though, of course, not before I was justly punished,” Cerelia nodded her head, pursing her lips together, imitating as best she could some sort of fool that believed what they were doing was right.

Her hand came up to rest on the back of her neck and she winced as she ran her fingers over the raised skin of the scar that wound from her neck to her ribcage on the left side of her torso. Adolphus was nothing if but thorough and he had made sure his daughter, then but a little girl as Cerelia had said, knew she had done wrong. That was what successfully broke her, cowed her, made her submissive and allowed him to create her as he wished, like he had done her mother.

But Cerelia was stronger than her mother in many ways. She did not complain but she remembered. She remembered well enough all of the pain he had dealt her. There would come a time, she had promised herself as she allowed the House Elves to try and men her broken skin, when he would know the ramifications of what he had done to his daughter; that instead of creating a marriage-worthy, submissive brood-mare, he’d created his own worst enemy. But she would lie in wait until that time, until such times as she could hurt him the most.

Cerelia dropped her hand from her neck and looked at her fingers, expecting to see blood all over her hands as she had found that night. She was relieved to find no such thing, overjoyed in fact, and it was only then that she realised what exactly she had confided in Augustus. But he knew the score, didn’t he? He knew what went on amongst Pureblood families. Everyone did. That didn’t mean they spoke of it though. It was an open secret amongst Death Eaters and old Pureblood families. The Cruciatus was a favourite, as ever, but Adolphus preferred Cutting Curses with dirty wands – wands that brought disease with every spell, infection. They all suffered, all the young ladies who failed and the gentlemen that did not please as they should have done. No one spoke of it though, for fear of someone telling the one that doled out the punishment.

“Please don’t tell my father.” She whispered, her voice strained, her eyes suddenly wide with paralysing fear. “I did not mean to express what I did to you. You asked ... I ... I spoke too much.” Cerelia ducked her head and brought her hand to her face, her thumb and forth finger rubbing at her temples.

“In marriage,” Cerelia looked up. “You’re meant to be free, aren’t you? In this marriage, between these people, they’re free. Free to love, free to lust unabated after each other, free to do what they will in the comfort of knowing that the other is always there. You’re meant to be safe. Never before has this been shown to me. Kendall and Athena are more than just proof of the advantages of defiance. For me they are proof that something good can come of binding yourself to someone else, irrevocably. Since I was old enough to understand, marriage has been presented to me in the foulest of ways and eyes have been on me, waiting for me to crudely sprout and produce all of the womanly aspects expected. I don’t want marriage any other way than this; but if I am to be honest, I see no future for me in this sense. Kendall and Athena have the Gods on their side; it’s more than just luck and will. Not all of us shall be as lucky as the new Mrs. Rookwood. And forgive me, for I envy her. Not for her husband but for how safe and loved she is. Truly, that is the final prize ... is it not? There is a reason why Pureblood women busy themselves with dresses and mindless tea parties. It’s all a way to cope isn’t it? Knowing that when their husband gets home they’ll be berated for not being pregnant, hounded for only producing girls, murdered for not being able to carry a child at all. Merlin help us.”

“Excuse me my bitterness,” she murmured finally, looking upon Augustus was pleading eyes. “This is heaven, where otherwise we women would traverse in hell.”

Katarina still hadn't completely decided how she felt about big brother getting married. She was happy for them and all but wow, if a couple was ever not ready for marriage it would be Kendall and Athena. Kat felt mean thinking something like that but really could you blame her? Kendall was just.. Kendall. The most unresponcible, uncommitted guy she knew. Katarina had been genuinely nervous that he wouldn't go through with the wedding and leave his bride waiting at the altar. And that brought her to Athena. The ice queen. Who hadn't spoken two words to Katarina the whole time they went to school together. Who probably hadn't known she was alive until she had started shagging her brother. She was just so cold (and sometimes outright hostile) that Katarina was far from enthusiastic about her joining the family.

And in this way Katarina viewed the wedding ceremony, reception, after party, and now after-after party. But don't get her wrong, no matter how cynically she viewed the marriage she was still genuinely happy for them. That no matter how much she disapproved at least they had found happiness together. Maybe each of their dysfunctions canceled eachother out. They sure looked happy as they danced together. All the happy couples around the room made the air of love almost contagious and it was that atmosphere (combined with a couple glasses of champagne) that let Katarina loosen up a bit and enjoy herself.

Katarina sat at a table with Gisele Delacour. Both girls were silent. Gisele was staring at Kendall and Athena as they danced, zoned out in thought. Katarina was bored. She hoped that before long the final party would break up and she would be allowed to retire to her room and sleep off this never-ending day. Gisele had mentioned that she might end up staying over depending on how late it got and Katarina found herself excited at the prospect. The pair had always gotten along pretty well but were never best friends. It would be nice to spend more time with Gisele and maybe get to know her better. She seemed ok enough. Cerelia was also possibly staying over with her but Kat hadn't been the blonde for awhile now, as she had wandered off.

Gisele's voice broke Katarina out of her head. "What?" Kat asked, feeling slightly bad for making the brunette repeat herself.

"Over there. He's staring at you." Gisele said, pointing discreetly towards a boy around their age. And he was. The second Katarina looked over he looked down quickly with a light pink flush on his cheeks. "Go talk to him!" she urged. That was the one thing that bothered Katarina the most about Gisele.. she was way too determined to get Katarina a man. Whether for a night or a lifetime. It seemed to drive her crazy that Kat was still pure. A bit disgruntled, but still obliging, Katarina stood up and began to make her way across the room to the boy. Now that Kendall was married maybe it was time for her to try and find someone. She felt old.

There were too many flaws about Augustus Rookwood, or so Raghnall would proclaim about his son. It was for these follies that made him the weakest of his brothers. Raghnall Rookwood was a man who spared little for thoughts of regret. Yet, unadmittingly to everyone else, he had often teased the memory of the birth of his youngest son, with regret. As if Emelia did not do enough to torture Kaeleigh in all the ways she could, daily, even the man who took her in after the repercussions of their lust did nothing but blame her for the weakling of the son she produced. The survival of baby Augustus was only ensured because he was a boy. The quiet birth was shadowed by a crowd of Rookwood men, waiting with Raghnall at the other side of the door, ready to give the signal to kill should the baby defy the Healer’s predictions and turned out to be a girl. Fortunately, it was apparent at first sight, at first blood, that the accident was going to add to the testosterone in the esteemed family. Unfortunately, he never became one of them, whether by choice or pre-determination. There was no doubt that the youngest of the Rookwood brothers kept with the standards that was expected of one, during his years at Hogwarts. Still, unmistakeably, he was Kaeleigh’s son.

Even as he passed the baton on to Kendall, for the pressure of this section of the family to fall onto him, Augustus could not help but feel sorry for passing the weight of the family’s prejudice onto his only boy. He saw too much of himself in Kendall. And that was the problem. The need for the security of approval and influence, but the undying penchant to defy conformity for one’s own dreams … the two never could be married, not in Augustus’ life, not in Kendall’s life, not in any life. Unlike his own struggle for survival in a family that gave him no allowance to fail or fall, Augustus had protected his son from the pains of such expectations. He had started early, inducting the boy, much to Cordelia’s disapproval, into the activities of the men of Rookwood. Augustus knew there was no place for a boy to watch the blood that was played with, and shed, at the hands of the Rookwood clan. Yet, it was the only way to harden the boy. Much to the dismay of the others, and to the amusement of Augustus, Kendall turned out to be … well, Kendall. He wasn’t hardened. Instead, he found amusement in the very things that were meant to enslave him. Unfazed, the young boy met everything squarely with that notorious smirk on his face.

Augustus, despite a show of disapproval that was required of him as the father of a Rookwood son, took pride in his only son. Yet, there was an inevitable consistency of worry for the boy. Someday, by the standards of men in this house, he was going to be broken too. There was only so much protection he could offer the boy who became a man today. Now that Kendall was recognised as a man of Rookwood, what with the unexplained protocols of a Pureblood union, he was to be called for the things he had been prepared for, for all his youth. He was a man now, he was liable now, and he had duties now to see to the dealings of the Rookwood clan. While up in his secret nook with his young wife, Kendall relished the love and comfort that she brought to his being, Augustus could not help but prepare already, in his mind, for a better way for his son to cope with the new expectations on him. The older man frowned, resting the hand with the cigar on the table, and watched the slight smoke twirl up from the end of it. He let Cerelia speak, and smirked in response.

“Secretly, Cerelia, or not so secretly, families like ours are addicted to a certain kind of sadnessmisery.” He exhaled. “I suppose it’s a web of both the things we manifest, and that are manifested against us over the years.” Augustus nodded slightly. “As a minority, we fear the masses. But, because of that, we seize the opportunities to enslave them with fear, first.” A glint of light passed his eyes. “But, as they say, what goes around … comes around. We feel wronged by the very ones we wrong.” Then, more cheerfully, “it’s a sport, sweetheart. And we’re all addicted to it.” A wink followed, hiding the fear that Augustus had behind the veil of it for his son. Kendall never was going to conform to expectations, was he? Augustus frowned again. “I’m not so sure about it, Cerelia.” He started, made to stop, but continued. “Pardon my assumptions, but when you’ve lived as long as I have …” The man hesitated, then shrugged. “If there’s anything I’ve learnt, it’s that people never learn, and history always gets to repeat itself. This is but a moment of respite from what we have, whether by will or resignation, been accustomed to.” Then, he shook his head. “I don’t think anyone is brave enough to want out of the discomfort of this comfort zone. That is both the problem, and not. The problem is that happiness will never belong to us. What is not the problem, is that we have evidently been successfully subdued by believing there is nothing we can do to change any of this around us.”

Lifting the cigar to his lips, Augustus closed his eyes and allowed the spice of it to slowly envelope his senses, taking his time, letting it calm him down even more. Yet, unexpectedly to him, the girl had a lot to say about marriage. It wasn’t every day that a girl of Pureblood origin had the guts to even wonder about her marriage predicament out loud. Yet, here she was, holding her own and letting it all spill; and to him, nonetheless. Augustus brought the cigar away from his lips, exhaled slowly, and watched the girl in amusement as she spoke. He couldn’t hide the smirk, and the thoughts he entertained, when she realised how much she had revealed in her words. Before he could speak, however, she blurted on. With good humour, Augustus placed the cigar back to rest between his lips, folded his arms at his chest, leaned back against his chair, and watched the Avery girl. It was bizarre, and he was struck by the level of honesty she came to him with, what with her actually being but a friend to his children, and really, what with her being the daughter of a man he had had too many dark dealings with during the prime of the Dark Lord.

“You do realise who I am, don’t you, Miss Avery?” There was a spark of mischief in the man’s eyes, one that was only consistently mirrored by his son. “Your father would be displeased, to say the very least, should he know that you would rather marry a muggle. Even if the man he chooses for you is unpleasant, he must have his reasons, and any single reason is better than a muggle. I’d encourage you to cease from that provocative talk, even if it’s just a matter of speaking.” Augustus held the seriousness in his tone. Yet, he relaxed, touched the girl’s arm gently, before going on. “Marriage is not about freedom.” He looked away, troubled by the pain that statement brought to him. “This is the ill talk of Muggles … fairytales. Free marriages hurt families and dilute the community. Perhaps Kendall is one of the lucky ones …” He shrugged. “But a lot remains to be seen.” Augustus felt himself staring intently at the empty glass in front of him. “I should hope that he stays happy. But, nothing good comes out of a love that the family or the community does not approve of.” He cleared his throat.

“We are Purebloods, Miss Avery. We are made above the other Wizards and Muggles of the world. We are better than them. I’m sure you agree with that.” Augustus turned to look at Cerelia. “It is certainly not the easiest disposition to hold, but it is something that we all will do good to acknowledge and to accept early in life. We do not dabble with the shenanigans that the rest of the world claim is good. What do they know of? Freedom? Love? Happiness? They are a mess.” Reaching for the decanter, the man poured himself yet another serving of Absinthe. “We Purebloods have discipline, order, power.” Though unconvinced, Augustus continued to repeat the words that have been ingrained into him as far back as he could remember. “We possess values and virtues that place us above the others. But, we must do all we can to consolidate and keep that. We are different.” He thought of the pain of his youth, and merely reached for his glass to pour the whole serving of Absinthe down his throat. Augustus smiled as it burnt his throat. Then, turning to the girl, he continued to smile.

“Be of good cheer, Cerelia. We are what we are, we do what we do, because we are better.”

In many ways, the girl was foolish; indeed her mother’s daughter. The fantasies that Talia dreamt of as she snuck into the nursery while her husband indulged in his mistress had somehow instilled themselves in her only daughter. Talia had been born to be an Avery but she was not ever meant to be one, not truly. She was a fanciful woman, of a sensitive disposition, who desired nothing more than to travel and to love another soul as she wished to be loved herself. A dreamer, you would call her, a sweet wisp that would never achieve what she wished for; a woman who would stare through window panes, longingly at the gravel path of her home and wait for the gates to move, to bring someone who could save her. But no one ever came, of course. She died broken and unjustly in a way so crudely construed that there was no genuine fond memory left, for any of them to hold. These fantasies, these stories, were all any of them had left really.

The wedding was a fantasy. She remembered one particular story. She couldn’t have been more than a few years old but she recalled staring at her mother as she leaned over the cot, utterly transfixed by the song the woman let dance on the air around them. It had been about songbirds, weaving together and becoming a larger, joint creature that was more powerful, with a louder voice than they ever had as separate entities. She weaved a lyric about the pink plumes of a wedding, the beauty of flowers abundant and obscene in their numbers. It was a song that Cerelia could always recall but never wholly. Sometimes it would be the tune, other times a line that she had warbled as a child, turning it into something different and new. The day reminded Cerelia of this and the tune had been rolling around in her head since the vows had been committed to.

Cerelia shook her head, her dismay quashed but still present within her. She had seen the misery. She did not think it was addictive; what was addictive was the need to cause it. Her mother had never revelled in it. She knew those that did. There was a perverse pleasure in it that so many of their kind enjoyed. It was because it was an inevitable thing, really, and if it wasn’t there then they found it because when it was in their lives, when that pain was in their bodies, in their minds, they were reassured. To be happy was, yes, a foreign, alien thing. But to Cerelia it all just seemed so pointless. It was inevitable, she knew, but she just didn’t understand why. Why was it necessary? Why, after all that they strived for, did they in the end need to be so profoundly unhappy?

Shrugging her shoulders, Cerelia looked about herself. “It just all seems so silly.” She winced a little, feeling foolish. “But it has served our people well, I suppose. It has ensured our survival. Perhaps a certain element of misery is enough to keep our race going.” Cerelia smiled wryly and shook her head. “But there’s eventually always one rebel, someone to break the mould and pave the way for change, to make everything seem worthwhile.” She put her glass down and leaned back against her knuckles. Cerelia laughed. “Don’t act as though you’re ancient, Augustus. You’re not as decrepit as Albus Dumbledore yet.” She winked at him, her smile widening with mischief, knowing she was being cheeky.

It was foolish to have confided in Augustus the way she did. Death Eaters weren’t to be trusted, after all. But Cerelia sat, straddling two peculiar positions. She harboured two roles, the role of a light witch and the role of a dark one. What she saw, what she understood and what happened to her had a profound effect on her beliefs. She didn’t trust Death Eaters but she trusted them a lot more than she did light wizards. Death Eaters, Purebloods, understood the price of information. At the very least, what she had told him would be banked and filed, for later blackmail. That she could trust upon. There was no gain for Augustus if he were to mute to her father what she had told him. Cerelia was no harm to him.

Cerelia looked down at her hands which she had left to fall into her lap and shrugged her shoulders a little, now regretting her inability to hold her tongue. She glanced up, hesitantly, when she felt his hand on her arm and bit her lip. Her convictions did not waver, even as she was told otherwise. She adored the ideas she had been given. They were what held her together.

“I approve,” she whispered, her passion drifting into her voice, merging with her words, making her stronger. “I never did care much for tales of Wizards and their hopping pots. It is but fanciful talk, Mister Rookwood, I assure you of that -- merely do demonstrate the foulness of my relative. But it should be about freedom. It should be about the strength of the pair, their love, their joy, their desire to be, above all else, together.” Cerelia sat back and released the hem of her dress that she had not realised her hands had found. She smoothed out the material that had been fisted into uneven folds, and frowned a little.

There was reluctance in her but the Pureblood in her stirred, recognising what Augustus spoke of to be true. Cerelia nodded, yes, she did agree. But there was conflict within her, a storm she blamed on the fanciful nature of Gisele. The wedding had only exacerbated what had already begun to lay siege to what she knew to be true and what she knew to be right. To want to run away was wrong. To even dream of deserting her father, her sense of purpose, was a sin. To think about marrying a love... what a lark! There was no such concept. They didn’t need it. What they needed was assurance of place and station, the procurement of heirs and a sense of purpose, hence the dubious dealings.

“But is that it?” She asked him, realising that it was perhaps unwise of her to question him. But she was not questioning him, not truly. What she questioned was what she had been taught to know, what they all had been taught was right and proper and good. “Is that all there is for us - assurance of power and order through uniformity?” Cerelia sniffed disdainfully. “What a cost, to live above our mortal brothers. Tell me, for you, is it worth it?”

It was difficult to imagine how Augustus could survive the conformity. Truly, it seems, adaptation was never the problem. Happiness was, but he had learnt to adapt, and to accept, that happiness wasn’t his lot in life. Yet, he didn’t wallow in the lack of it. In fact, he had other things to worry about. Presently, he thought about Cordelia and wondered if he should have returned to the manor with her, what with the precariousness of her health and what is, according to the family Healer, his soon-to-be youngest child. The news of the baby was unexpected. Yet, he remembered the day when it was predicted to be a boy. The grunt of approval alone, from Raghnall, was worth the anxiety of the matter. The looks on the faces of his brothers was the prize. Yet, there was still the present unspoken fact, as the Healer had said in a quiet voice of apprehension, that Cordelia was not fit for childbirth. The previous births and miscarriages have worn her down, and the state of her body as of late showed no signs of encouragement.

Yet, the woman put on a brave front for her son, whose big day seemed to be her happiest day. Augustus couldn’t recall a time when he saw his wife happier than when Kendall insisted on making a toast earlier, speaking at length of his mother. Augustus was happy to simply keep that memory of her smile embedded in his head. It was better than the nightmares of her last miscarriage. Sure, nothing was worse than Azkaban; but the blood in the sheets, the pained contortion of her body, the sheer ugliness of agony on her face, and the utter helplessness of her screams, was enough to send his body into a shiver. Augustus was there when the Healers did everything they knew to do to stop the escalation of the nightmare. Yet, they failed. It was a boy. A dead boy. He remembered standing rooted to the spot. There was nothing he could do. He didn’t want to go anywhere nearer to the mad creature writhing in bed.

This time, nothing could go wrong. Nothing must go wrong. The more he thought about the humiliation he could face again, against his brothers, the tighter his collar strained against his neck. Augustus reached for the first to buttons of his shirt and let them loose, rubbing where they had pressed against earlier, feeling the weariness of his skin encounter the hardness of his fingers. He took a drag from his cigar. When Cerelia spoke again, he was determined to use her as a distraction from his memories. It was a good thing she wasn’t bad company either. Sure, she was young. Yet, she could hold her own in a conversation with him.

“No, you’re right,” he began to chuckle. “I’m not nearly as old as Dumbledore yet.” Augustus touched his chin. “I don’t have the beard to attempt it.” Then, he touched his arms. “And, I still got it.” He laughed, then realised the context of his relationship with the girl again, and attempted to contain his audacity of cheekiness around her. He began to shake his head as Cerelia continued to speak. Quickly, he couldn’t help but to intercept. “The strength of the pair, their love, their joy, their desire to be, above all else, together?” Augustus chuckled again. This time, bitterly. “My dear,” he started, “I tell Katy the same thing … and that is, a Pureblood marriage is never about the couple. It is always about the families they serve. Therefore, there will be no happiness, whatever happiness that we’re allowed, if the families don’t approve of the union. Because, ultimately, a couple unites for the good of their families.”

Augustus rubbed at the roughness of his chin. “With great influence comes a great sense of duty. This is out lot, and we must step up to it.” Then, in a softer tone, he continued. “As a father, I wish nothing more for my children than happiness. I worry for my daughters, too. Yet, as a man of this family, I know my possessions … my wife and my children, are not bigger than this family. If something can be gained with them, through them, by them, I am ready to give.” He nodded solemnly. “It is the way it is.” Then, trudging along with his words, “it could be worse. Our families stand, because we are fortresses against the decay of doing things the way Muggles do. We cannot believe the things they do. We cannot fall.” Augustus exhaled another breath of cigar smoke before putting the light out from the stick. “You are young, my love.” He looked at the girl wistfully. “I understand you are looking for answers. Yet, from what I’ve learnt, those are not the questions you want to be asking.” Again, he let his hand press gently against Cerelia’s arm. “You won’t find answers there. Or worse, you won’t like what you see. Ask only if it brings pride, honour, and progress to your family’s name. Of course, I will insist that the Rookwoods be above all families, even the Averys. But, I’d save the competition for your father.” Augustus winked, before a cheeky smirk returned to his face.

Contrary to what she was presenting, Cerelia was no reformist. She was as resigned as the next Pureblood to what was expected of her and had been ready from birth to do her duty as woman, wife and mother. Yet she and many others were alike in seeing no sense in it. Modernity required for women to be educated and the elderly were right in saying that educating women only bred trouble. Cerelia in this sense was much trouble indeed with the height of education she personally had achieved. Her own grandfather had said it over the rims of his half-moon glasses yet he had said so with a conspirator’s smile, a wink and a bob on the nose for his granddaughter.

They all knew it was a fool’s errand, asking such questions, looking for such answers and all had gone through such a stage. Cerelia was perhaps, in her house, the most fervent in her quest for the understanding of her position and purpose. In her father it provoked unbridled anger and the drawing of his wand. In her uncles it garnered little more than contempt and a simple reminder that she was meant for child-bearing, little more, and it would do her mind no good to dwell on such matters. From her aunts she merely received sad smiles that betrayed their own thoughts in youth. It brought no answers for Cerelia and she had all but given up, only to have the wedding renew in her fresh wonder.

She did not know why she sought her answers in a man who was every bit the product of his social standing. But, he wasn’t, too, should the rumours have proved true. Cerelia herself was an example of the gloriousness of Pureblood weddings. She suffered for who she was, for what lay between her legs and what swelled from her chest. She knew her place. Augustus knew his. The only thing for it was to marry up; ascend until one found themselves at the peak upon which they all tried to balance. It only took one to bring down the rest. Agony was inevitable, manageable and in many ways, they had all come to depend on it, like an addiction. Without agony, there was room for people to get in, to hurt. Agony made you stronger. Happiness made you weak. Or did it?

Cerelia looked at Augustus testily, hardly pleased with being interrupted in such a manner. She bit her tongue, preventing herself from biting back at him a rather scathing retort. She had to remember that though her tongue was loose things that had to be observed. Augustus was not to be toyed with, not to be insulted. Cerelia knew several contributing factors were making her speak with such abandon. She was not drunk but she was sweetened by the alcohol. She was overcome by the feelings around her, making her head fizz and her stomach churn. But what she noticed quite palpably was that her shoulders were relaxed, her skin was smooth. Her eyes remained focused and the hairs on the back of her neck lay flat against her skin. Her father was not there.

In the end, Cerelia ungraciously snorted, unimpressed by the little snippet of fatherly information; as if she had not already had that discussion hundreds of times before.

“You’re definitely not as wise as Dumbledore,” Cerelia quipped, her lips curling up at the side into a smirk. She picked up her glass of wine and drank from it briefly before adding, “Don’t forget the fact that such unions are meant to be fruitful. Otherwise, where is the point in it all? There’s no prize for talent, is there?”

Cerelia took her wand from her bag. She rose from the chair for a moment and leant up onto her tip-toes towards the garlands that hung above them. She did not realise the way the skirt of her dress rode up, exposing the cream of her thighs and the freckles and beauty marks that broke the pallor intermittently, but it was only for a moment and soon she was sat again with a leaf from one of the roses in her hand. She placed the leaf on the table cloth and flicked her wand at it. The leaf swelled and morphed spherically, coloured until it was lime and sprouted a dark stalk.

The magic ceased once the leaf had become an apple coloured the brightest of greens, and Cerelia picked it up. She smiled and turned it over in her hands before moving her chair closer to Augustus’. She took his empty glass and brought it nearer to the edge of the table.

Cerelia looked at Augustus and hesitantly reached out, curling her long fingers around Augustus’ hand. It was warm against her chilled hands but coarse, as if his wand had not been sanded properly or he’d been hard at work. For a moment, Cerelia felt rather foolish. Her hands were as soft as a child’s. Her calluses came from touching the spines of books but they were abated by soft creams as easily as they appeared. His were weathered, just like he was, but bore a subtle strength that scared her for a moment. She reaffirmed her grip on his hands and swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry.

She pressed the apple into his other and brought his hands together around the apple, hers over his. She then tightened her grip on Augustus’ hands, a silent motion for him to do the same, and twisted her hands opposing ways, moving his too.

The apple split near perfectly down the middle with this glorious pop. A familiar, bright green liquid spilled from the middle of the fruit and into the glass, right up near to the rim, and Cerelia’s smile returned with full force. She took one apple half from Augustus’ hand and bit into it, delighted to find the fruit soft but still with a little bit of bite. She closed her eyes, allowing the taste of the alcohol and the sweetness of the fruit roll over her tongue, and only reopened them once she had swallowed.

“I deserve at least a Duke for that one,” She told him, teasingly. “Eat that,” she gestured to the apple. “It wards off nightmares. My tutor taught me how to conjure these apples when I was a little girl. You pluck nature out of its comfort and make it into something beautiful, crisp but soft, hard but approachable, consumable. Fill it with something desired, something enjoyed, and it spreads happiness, peace of mind. It’s a form of Earth Magic. Old Sorcerers from the north use it. You’ll sleep well tonight.”

Proud of her small achievement, Cerelia found herself in a much better mood. She continued to bite into the fruit in stages, feeling the relaxing agent of the magic seep into her. She set the fruit down on a spare napkin when Augustus spoke again and she found herself musing, wondering about the strangeness of it all.

“Does it seem odd to you that when we think of our families we think to the heads of them? So, in your case your father, for example. We think of their favourites, the prized children, the ones that make the best marriages, the wives who bring the best dowries. We think of all these things that are part of the wider family but we never seem to think of our own kith and kin. Sure enough they are us, our blood, but our nearest and dearest are forgotten and they become part of the firm. No one ever seems to think of their families as their wife and their children. Your family is what you create. Your mother and father’s family is what they create. But it’s all wider, more important. It’s a strange little tick, isn’t it?”

Cerelia hummed thoughtfully to herself in closing of her musings before quipping, “All in the name of the greater good, eh?” in response to the need for protection against Muggles. “Though that is perhaps the most important of all of the fraudulence of the greater good. The truest, noblest good. Merlin only knows what would become of us should we let them leak to us, suffocate us and have us produce their children, devoid of magic.” Cerelia shuddered. “I could think of little worse. Perhaps in that case, my cousin would be preferred.” She laughed a little and shook her head.

“Perhaps I shan’t find it,” She murmured, meeting his gaze. “But I feel as though I must know if that is it and the end. I have time, Lord knows I have time.” Cerelia laughed a little. “In any case, I shall provide little advancement to my family through remaining lone and unmarried. Perhaps I was always destined to be a spinster, with cats and books and broth that tastes like shoelaces.” Laughing again, the girl sat back and looked at Augustus incredulously before scoffing, her eyes alight with mirth.

“Oh please, you Rookwoods? Rookwoods above Averys? Never!” She shook her head and smiled brightly. “My father seems totally uninterested in worrying about what you get up to it seems. You’ll have to make do with competing with me I’m afraid. If you were to try such wit with my brothers I fear you would be stared at, goggle-eyed – like this.” Cerelia replaced her expression immediately with one of what she would describe as ‘a dormant brain’ and she tipped her head to the side, her eyebrows furrowed with confusion, her eyes suddenly filled with this imbedded misunderstanding of everything – even her own two feet. Then, just as quickly as she slipped into it, she snapped out and smirked at Augustus. “Averys are better riders,” she declared, beginning what was to inevitably end in ‘my house is bigger than your house.’