Venetian Sunrise

There had always been a certain need to be impressive in Cerelia Avery though she had often been prevented from exerting such knowledge. Hufflepuff’s garden had been folklore, a fairy tale, until an apprentice in Borgin and Burke’s had told her that the Ministry held one half of Gryffindor’s map. It had taken Cerelia months before she had tracked down the other half but kept the information close to her chest and as she lingered in the presence of Mattia she began to wonder whether the man could be trusted. Her father certainly held him in esteem, Augustus too, but Cerelia felt unsettled and her tongue danced with half-truths, reluctant to provide the full picture. She eyed Mattia out of the corner of her eye, half-idle, half-wary, and took a sip from her wine as the man’s chuckles made gooseflesh rise in her arms.

Finding Augustus, Cerelia’s eyebrows rose briefly before glancing over to Mattia whose expression was chiefly that of a man who thought he knew more than everyone else. Cerelia’s lips pursed as she grew testy once more and she glanced back at Augustus, managing a smile before focusing her eyes, her expression that of a woman utterly unimpressed, on Mattia. The blonde smirked at his insistence that there would be no childish antics and she mentally scoffed – as if she would really do a cartwheel or a back flip wearing a dress. She had a shift on underneath but that did not mean she was going to start twisting and turning through the air. No, she would remain seated for a time and let his ego stew as he tried to wrap his head around the idea that a woman – the regazza – could be not only useful but highly beneficial to their cause. Cerelia didn’t think it was that much of a stretch but who was she to challenge tradition?

Cerelia’s face morphed briefly into an expression of disbelief and she shot a look in Augustus’ direction as Mattia began to warble and she shook her head before taking another sip of her drink. A Potioneer was truly the last kind of man she wanted to see. In the past weeks she’d dealt with enough. Her father had gotten her to explore every avenue – legal and illegal – and she had come to associate Potioneers with doddery wizards in Knockturn Alley that looked at her as if they wanted to suck the youth from her skin. Then of course she’d met Alistair D’Eath, the half-Vampire who really did want to suck the youth from her skin. Truly, she didn’t think another Potioneer was really what she needed but after cannibals, those who didn’t know the meaning of personal space and learnt it at their peril and vampires; Cerelia felt ready for anything.

“Not a pity at all,” Cerelia interjected dryly. “If it had gotten somewhere, we would not be seated here with the possibility of being able to harness it’s power. It would have already been done – written off, even. No, it is quite good Slytherin did not see the garden to use its contents.”

The potion had come out of nowhere, almost literally. There had always been whispers of such things but they were more desperate desires than realistic possibilities. When it arrived in the ear of Adolphus Avery, ideas had already been drawn up and by the time it had spread to the Rookwoods it was a fledgling in design and those desperate enough or crazy enough were beginning to kill for the ingredients that some offered and others retained out of selfishness. Cerelia had, keen to keep up her Ravenclaw traits, done some reading. The garden was a mere dream and all the trappings the came with it, an impossibility. Something made her want to use Basilisk venom, also, but that might have sprung from a desire to go traipsing about in the belly of Hogwarts as opposed to real worth; but she was working on it.

“One’s influence is always one’s expertise.” Cerelia replied with a smirk. “It is not as if we could ask the Swiss to do anything but dig holes. Now, while I am not insinuating you are thieves, I do believe in allowing people to work within what they do and what they know best. Augustus and I can pretend but we do not know Venezia. You do. Therein lies your expertise.” Cerelia paused to take a sip of her drink before continuing. “I do believe it resides in Vittore Carpaccio’s works that are housed there – the Legend of Saint Ursula. However, which one remains to be seen. I am afraid I cannot be that accurate. The problem is that the map is rather large and best suited to multiple paintings – it could also be in the Allegories.”

Or that truthful, a little voice in the back of her mind whispered. Cerelia licked her lips absent-mindedly and she changed the hand that held the glass, switching it from right to the preferred left.

Cerelia’s lips formed a pout and she looked at Mattia before inquiring, provoking a challenge: “How hard could it be to find?”

Mattia scowled as he attempted to process what was offered to him. Having dropped the loose charm he had worn earlier, an unattractive sneer had appeared on his face. Once again, his mind played the words that Cerelia had fed him with. It was a pity he could not fight the way she had presented it as a project that was too intriguing for him to reject. After all, the success of it did seem to promise the very things he had always sought to maintain for the family. Still, what sealed the deal was really the seduction of discovery. The Montolivos took pride in the risks they took when it came to the potential of discovering ingredients with properties that could channel stronger and more dangerous cores than the ones offered in their more exclusive inventories. Potionatus Potentiae was really not too far off from their alley. Mattia eyed the girl with disdain before turning his attention to Augustus. Raising a disapproving eyebrow, the Italian man cleared his throat even as his companion fought to keep back a smirk of amusement.

“I expect you know better than to expect me to merely carry out the orders given by a mere-”

“Mattia.” Augustus smirked openly now. The battle had been won. He sneaked a wink at the girl before turning back to look at the other man. Yet, he had no patience to fix a broken ego. “Perhaps you would like to speak with Adolphus about the matter of your concern.” Setting his empty glass down on the table before him, Augustus rubbed his chin before he continued. “Perhaps you would like some time to consider our proposition. After all … it really is a risky endeavour that requires complete dedication to the cause, should we desire to see to its success.” Augustus attempted to casually run his fingers through his hair. “And, of course, the ones who matter are seeing to how it will all be made to matter. It could yet be the biggest endeavour in our fight to keep steady the establishment of Pureblood strength.” Augustus checked for an audience in Mattia. Then, satisfied at the perturbed look on his friend’s face, he cleared his throat, nodded to Cerelia, and stood up.

“Grazie, Mattia. I suppose we’ll be seeing you again tomorrow at Gilardino’s.” Then, because the Italian man merely grunted, Augustus continued, amused that Mattia was still nursing a bruised ego. “We’ll show ourselves out, eh? No problem at all. I’ll take Cerelia through the art pieces, if you please.” Mattia nodded, gave a wave of his hand, stood up, and turned to return to the bar. Still smirking, Augustus nodded to the girl again and led them out.

*

“Is this not the most beautiful city in the world?” Augustus started, looking out at the reflection of the sunset onto the surface of Venetian waters, as he admired it from where he sat with Cerelia Avery. The waiter had turned and walked away from their table as soon as the wine was approved of and served, nodding to another for the food to proceed soon. Turning his attention back to the girl, Augustus could not help but admire the strange veneer over the girl’s face that seemed to be as strong as the Occlumency skills she proved to possess earlier. Yet, despite its strength, the warmth from the glow of the sunset reflected well against the profile of her face. With a hand resting on the table and the other laid on his lap, Augustus cocked his head to the side before he continued.

“I remember your father used to tell me the same thing, years ago.” He paused to check for an audience in the girl. Assured, Augustus continued.

“We were so young back then. Well, I was, especially so. And it was my first time here in this city. But I learnt a lot from Adolphus. And then we met the families here … formal introductions, all … connections seemed to be so much more precious then. Everyone clamoured for it. I remember he was well received for being an Avery. I doubt the Rookwoods did much business with the Italians before my father came into the scene. And then there was the scan-” Augustus held his tongue, smiled at Cerelia, and lifted his glass of wine.

“I believe we’re celebrating your success? Well, we’re certainly celebrating our success. But I must admit it was rather enjoyable to watch you spearhead our offensive to get Mattia on board. You father and I know that he is the hardest nut to crack. Stubborn man, that. Very full of himself, too. I’m certain his ego requires weeks to recover after that, but, knowing him, the man is committed to the cause now. He wouldn’t pass up the chance even if it wasn’t on his terms. Shame, really, his lack of self-preservation. Makes him out to be a fool.” Augustus chuckled, then lifted his glass to Cerelia’s for a toast.

Daytime had passed over their heads unbeknownst as they had conversed and dealt and griped within the scarlet walls of the Montolivos household. When Cerelia and Augustus emerged, the sun was already dangling low in the sky, drunk on the haze of the late afternoon, caught between that and early evening. The evening sounds had already lifted from the waters and there was a lazy lull that hung about Venice that could have been a result of a good day blushed in the sun or from the sweet wines that had run plentiful in every establishment that dared open itself to the world. In the end it was decided that it was much of both and people emerged from their homes and the like to bathe themselves in the last of the shine and soften their tongues with the nectar. Laughter bubbled in the air and moods were as buoyant as the gondolas and money ran freely, exchanging hands as street entertainers burst seemingly out of nowhere to put on a show in costumes of every colour the bedazzled mind could comprehend.

Desperate to return to the main plaza and go in search of some company for the evening, Giovanni did not take his time and soon enough the sound of the music was in their ears and gondola had been docked at a jetty not too far away from the hubbub in the plaza. Giovanni wished the pair a good evening and hurried away, tossing his jacket over his shoulder before hurrying up the steps and into the crowd that were surrounded a mixture of dancers, musicians and courtesans that were relatively indistinguishable from one another and flirted in a manner that made many of the British tourists turn away and blush – provided, of course, that they themselves had not already been drawn in. Propriety had been hung, left out and abandoned for the evening as strangers became lovers and a sweet courtesan the figment of a young boy’s intense affections.

Upon striding into the plaza, the young eyes of Cerelia Avery widened ever so slightly as a vision of a woman in pink, the shoulder of her dress ripped, ran past them, laughter bellowing from her chest, a man hot on her heels. Cerelia stopped momentarily, dazed by the sight that had never before assaulted her. She glanced at Augustus and bit her lip momentarily before beginning to weave through the bustling crowd. The laughter, she realised, was more intoxicating than the wine and soon enough, lost in amongst the sweat-slick bodies, Cerelia began to laugh. Her hands found the back of her hair and she let out the pearl pins, stuffing them into her bag and allowing her hair to fall around her shoulders in curly tendrils. She allowed herself to bruised and bumped around amongst the people and flowed with them, truly now understanding what it felt like to be a river.

She was spat out at the end in a rather unceremonious fashion. Cerelia steadied herself on one of the carnival poles. She exhaled and smiled widely, bringing a spare hand up to run her fingers through the top of her hair. She fanned it down around her face and leaned her back against the pole. Another breath of laughter left her chest and she shook her head, standing up properly before dusting herself off.

At the end of the plaza she had reached there was a little bit more control. Picking her way carefully amongst the people that were wandering arm-in-arm, idly making their way towards the larger attraction, Cerelia found the sea wall and draped herself over it. She pressed her cheek against the cool stone and closed her eyes momentarily before opening them and straightening herself up once more. She lifted her gaze over the water and inhaled deeply the sweet smell of the ocean. Her hands spread over the rough stone of the wall and she looked either side of her, taking in the way the cobbled road spread out either side with restraints dotted about in amongst tourist attractions, ill-placed theatres and other bizarre little nooks.

It was like this that Augustus found Cerelia, her hair dancing about her, her cheeks flushed with the delight and her eyes alight with the adventure she’d had. The Avery girl greeted the elder man breathlessly and inquired playfully why it had taken him so long to get out of the crowd. They had paused for a second to regain their countenance and it was only once they had tired of staring out over the water that they decided that it was time to go in search of food. The pace was slow once more and it soon became as if they had never encountered the crowd at all. The further they went, the less the wild music could be heard and it was replaced instead with a tune on a lute that was timeless in Italy. Absent-mindedly Cerelia began to hum against the tune and broke a smile over in Augustus’ direction as they neared a place closer to sea level where they could properly take in the view that the Venetian waters provided them with.

By Pureblood standards it was rather quaint but the extravagant prices and the freely flowing wine was enough to see them settled there in the wicker chairs that were padded out, protecting delicate bums with soft, cream coloured upholstery. Cerelia nigh collapsed into the chair and she tipped her head back against the spine of the seat, allowing herself a few minutes of rest before she sat up again. She lifted her feet from her shoes and lifted her legs, curling them under her body but still leaving plenty of room in the chair that all but dwarfed her. The drinks were ordered and delivered without much delay at all and soon enough a white wine was slipping down Cerelia’s throat and cooling her down.

The girl’s eyes were then drawn back to the water and soon enough she was a million miles away, dancing upon the water-top without a care, without a worry. She was drawn back into the real world all too soon at the sound of Augustus’ voice and she lifted her gaze back to her companion, her eyebrows rising gently in question of what he wanted. She nodded and smiled before bringing the glass back to her lips. She watched him with weary eyes hooded by heavy lids but behind the long eyelashes her gaze was still alert and she was still listening to him with an attentiveness that was not usual in a girl of her age.

“It is not traditionally our place for business, either.” Cerelia told him with a slight smile. “Germany is usually our port of call.” She smirked a little and shook her head. “My father’s reputation precedes him, as ever.” There was a slight tinge of bitterness in that but she did not dwell as Augustus quickly changed the avenue of conversation. Cerelia laughed and reached up to clink her glass with his. “I should think I of all people should know how to treat the egos of men.” She quipped with a quick shift of her eyebrows. “I shan’t add salt to his wounds. Well, maybe only a little.” She smirked and shook her head before bringing the glass to rest against her neck. It was cool against her skin and she tabbed the rim of it with her chin before flinging her arm out with disregard that would have made her grandmother weep. She gestured vaguely over the water and admitted, “I shall have to come back to Venice again. There is far too much to try and see in one go.”

Cerelia took another sip of her drink before asking. “Was it my father that introduced you to the Montolivos?” She brought her other hand up and ran her fingers through her hair again, lifting a little bit of it to see that the blonde locks had in fact begun to turn and move into their natural curls. “He is my father’s type of businessman,” she added, dropping her hair. “Hard work that reaps interesting results.” Cerelia leaned her head back again against the chair and lifted her eyes out over the water, a contented smile settling over her face. It was clear indeed that the girl would sleep well that evening. “Do you think we could go to the opera house at some point this week?” She asked on a whim. “I’ve always wanted to see Mozart somewhere other than London.” She added with a small smile before her eyes drifted out once more and her weariness grew ever clearer.

Anyone who believes that Paris is the city of love clearly never visited the city of Venice. Sure, the smell plagues the city of Venice. Yet, it isn’t as if Paris does not have her own set of putrid smells either. That, however, is the beauty of it all, isn’t it? Where it decays, and where it rots, love grows where there seems to be no nourishment for her, and overwhelms all that she encounters. Still, she is, as ever, but another relational element to the universe. In a city of inevitable decay, love dances, but love turns awry in the dark corners of unexpected places. Yet, of course, what is this thing they call love? Where does one seek it? Where does one find it? How does one measure it? Is it in the taste of a sweet maiden’s lips? Is it in the safe arms of a broad man? Is it in the ring of her laughter after you tease her? Is it in the absolute agony felt by one’s wretched heart when she has given, but yet she takes away?

In every city of love, in every deed of love, there is heartbreak. It is healed with a covering over of another’s attention, before it falls apart again when a new loss comes afresh. Lovers languish in each other’s arms, while others languish in the promise of alcoholic escapades. Yet, they were all only doing one thing – holding on, grasping for, a delusion for the sake of some sanity. The city of Venice was full of them. Newly-weds strolled, hand in hand, along the river, secured in the illusion of an everlasting love. Young men prowled the streets for maidens, young and old, for proof of their amorous worth. Jaded young girls stood along the streets, having learnt the worth of their bodies and despite repeated lessons about never falling in love, still held out for that one man who would come into their lives to save them forever.

Such was the sense of loss in Augustus, as he finally got down to the strange serenity that was offered at the plaza that Cerelia and he had found themselves sat at. Despite the company of the girl, he could feel himself slipping into the fresh wounds of loss. There had not been time to mourn for Cordelia. He had not allowed it. She’s just a woman, Raghnall had offered the only consolation that Augustus was meant to accept. There was no room for a Rookwood man to grief over the loss of his wife. No, he was simply to bury her and then take another swiftly. The Italian maiden was a good distraction for one night. Augustus knew he needed her again tonight. There was no way he was going to keep his sanity by sleeping alone.

Shaking himself from the slip, Augustus took a deep breath as he attempted to regain himself in front of the girl. He could not fall apart in front of another, let alone an Avery, even if it was just a girl. Clearing his throat, he reached a finger up to rub his nose, before reaching for his wine glass. He made to look around before turning back to Cerelia with a smile.

“Since we’re here already, why not use the time to explore the city? I’m quite taken by it too. It hasn’t always been the case, though I can’t say why …” Augustus set his glass back down before he continued. “We don’t have to go back until we’ve seen as much as we bargain for.” Then, he shrugged. “That is, if you’re not wanted back by your father too soon.” Augustus suppressed the urge to ask about the latest brush between father and daughter. Instead, he nodded to Cerelia’s question.

“It was Raghnall, and your grandfather, who met the Montolivos over a previous project, many, many years ago. They were young and ambitious. And even though the ambition is still there, I suppose, the enthusiasm has died down a lot. Most of our wands, or at least the cores that we want, are provided for by the family. We’re not told how they procure the cores banned by the Ministry, but of course we can guess. Yet, it’s always good to let someone else do the job for you, just in case someone intercepts, isn’t it? The Montolivos are cunning. Yet, we do have the upper-hand over them simply by the fact that they have to break the rules for their business with us.”

Augustus paused sharply when the waiter returned with their main courses. He took a sniff of the smell of his plate of Risotto before grunting in approval.

“Mattia is a lot more useless than his father though. Thinks too highly of himself, acts like a spoilt child when not given what he wants, and spends too much time with women he cares nothing for. It’s the very stereotypical upper-class brat you can imagine. Nothing’s wrong with that, except that he’s a lot less effective than his father, which really becomes our problem here. We need to stop relying so much on the Montolivos until they sort themselves out. Or, rather, until Mattia sorts himself out. Your father doubts the possibility. His patience runs thin for the man. We were friends when we were younger, three of us. But Mattia proved to be such a weak link that your father refuses to see him much these days.”

After a couple of mouthfuls of his Italian dish, Augustus slowed down, took a sip of wine, and continued.

“I’m surprised he pushed his luck so much with you, Cerelia.” He smirked at the memory of Mattia’s words. “I assume we’re not reporting that to your father for the sanity of the business, for now. I should think that,” Augustus paused with uncertainty and stole a look at the girl. “-that Dolph would still be offended, regardless, at the disrespect shown to you, given that you are after all an Avery.” Then, he decided, he should say no more about the matter.

“Shall we go to the Opera House on Saturday?” Augustus set his glass back down after the wine was done, after the plates for their main courses were cleared. A waiter stepped forth to refill his glass.

“After all, I do remember you said you wanted to visit the Friday markets tomorrow. You’re free to do that after we’ve met the men at Gilardino’s. I wouldn’t count on the presence of the others to nullify the effects of Mattia Montolivo, though. You’ll have to bear with him for another day.” Augustus ran his fingers through his hair learning closer. “You can stay close to me if you’re worried.”

Summer in Venice had to be an odd mixture of beauty, heat and pungency and it was something that Cerelia truly wanted to see. She wanted to feel the surge of the crowds, the intoxicating air and the infectious laughter. As Cerelia reclined into the softness of the wicker chair’s padding, if she strained her ears she realised that she could hear, way off, the thrumming spring that preceded what she felt would be an electric summer. The breeze was warm across her skin, a teasing melody of air that made her cheeks redden quicker, in tandem with the flush of the wine beneath her skin. The draught slipped over Cerelia’s cheeks and brushed against her eyelids. She smiled a little, her shoulders rising as her skin prickled with ticklishness and she allowed a quiet giggle to pass through her lips before she settled once more, heavy against the back of the chair, a relaxed laze about her that seemed foreign in the normally erect and upstanding Avery girl whose woodenness was pointed out even by the most socially awkward of her house.

The blonde had not noticed Augustus’ retreat from their situation though she had felt a sudden turn in emotions though with the dramatics of the Italians she was having a hard time of catching who it was that was wounded so; though really she should have known. She lifted her gaze from the water when Augustus spoke and the remnants of his earlier feelings were quashed back into the depths of his mind, to escape later if they proved canny enough. She smiled warmly to him and sat up a little, knowing that body language spoke more volumes than any other expression upon the human body. She had to appear interested; if she did not, even though she might well have been, she could very easily offend him and Rookwoods liked to talk, Cerelia had learnt this as a little girl, traipsing around with Katarina after Kendall who they both found utterly amazing at the time because he knew about Hogwarts and they didn’t.

Brightening, Cerelia sat forward to take her wine from the table again. She nibbled on her bottom lip, trying to think of all the places they could go at twilight in Venice. There was only one place that sprang to mind: the Paradiso Venus. There was no suggestion of art galleries or quiet basilicas. Flush with the wine and the excitement, the strain, of the day, all Cerelia wanted to do was cut loose and she could not sail out into the Mediterranean on a boat with Gisele again last time. No, she would have to do what she always did. When in doubt there was always room for dancing for there was nothing that made her blood race as quick apart from perhaps duelling. She loathed crowds but never when they brought the thrill that the festival had and that dancing brought.

“The Paradiso?” Cerelia suggested with a sly smile. She raised her eyebrows a little when Augustus mentioned her father. Her facial muscles had relaxed with the wine and her features had grown more expressive. Her eyes had crinkled at the sides at the mention of him and her lips turned downwards at the sides. She swallowed, a visible awkwardness coming over her, and hastily brought the wine glass to her lips, wanting something to do with herself, her hands, her mouth; anything. She managed a tight smile before looking about herself, anywhere so she didn’t have to meet Augustus’ gaze. “I don’t remember him mentioning when he wanted me home.” She told him airily. “I suppose he’ll owl.”

Cerelia put her glass down when her food arrived. She’d gone for Bruschetta, desiring something light, but didn’t realise until the platter arrived that it was something of a do-it-yourself meal. Her cheeks warmed with colour at the sight of it and she thanked the waiter. She nibbled idly on her bottom lip and reached for the small forks supplied that looked as if all they could muster was a few olives on the end. Cerelia licked her lips idly and lifted some Parma Ham onto the soft bread before fiddling with herbs and tomato. She glanced up at Augustus as he spoke and she quirked her lips downwards in surprised acknowledgement of her grandfather’s involvement with business. She had never thought her grandfather was involved. It seemed logical now, in retrospect but she was used to him being her grandfather; he was never a cunning businessman in her head.

“Do not put patience and my father in the same sentence, Augustus.” Cerelia murmured reproachfully. “It is an oxymoron so opposing that the two could be on different ends of this earth and it wouldn’t be far enough. If he is not already through with Mattia then he will be. Perhaps he already is. That’s why I’m here and the two of you aren’t gallivanting off on some sort of boyish adventure.” She raised her eyebrows a little, teasingly, before bringing the Bruschetta to her mouth. The first bite told her exactly why they’d gone to the trouble. She’d taken a little of everything and it was absolutely divine. Cerelia’s eyes lit up and she moved a little quicker when she finished the first piece of bread, desperate to have more.

Cerelia was not sure how her father would react. She was sure he would just be irate because he’d fear she was stolen goods and therefore entirely impossible to marry off. He wouldn’t care about her; he’d care about his export. Cerelia chose not to comment on that, too. She did not want to open a can of worms but in her silence perhaps she had. Augustus did not know her father. He knew him as a man, an equal, a business partner, a friend. Cerelia knew him as a woman, an inferior creature, a waste of space, a shoddy excuse for a daughter. He might’ve loved her somewhere within his cold heart. Cerelia doubted it, though. She had never seen any evidence of it but more than enough to show the opposite.

Lifting her gaze at the careful change of conversation, Cerelia flashed a true smile at Augustus and bobbed a little in her seat, excited by the prospect of actually going to the opera. “Really?” She enthused, forgetting herself. Her smile was as broad as the delicate skin at the sides of her lips allowed and she brushed her fingers through her hair, suddenly brimming with excitement. “Thank you!”

Cerelia smirked, suddenly feeling bold. “I am a big girl, I can look after myself.” She retorted, her lips coming together in a sly, teasing pout. “But thank you for your concern. Believe me, if gets within an inch...I’ll let you know.” She wouldn’t, of course, break her countenance, but Mattia would feel the Avery wrath if he overstepped the mark. She was no one’s property, no one’s toy and was there on business, not as a bargaining chip. “I can always post popping candy with replicating spells to him if he really irritates me. I would like to see that parlour filled with something odd like that.”

It was decided half-way through dinner that the quickest way to the Paradiso was to run – so they did. It had to be the alcohol that prompted such recklessness but they tore through Venice with a clatter against the cobbles, springing lithely between people, laughter warm in their chests. They weaved, panning round the sides of a large flowing crowd of people escaping from the festival, and met again at the head, joining hands and pelting with even more fervour than before over the bridges and through the alleys until, lost, they finally began to follow the music and managed to stumble across the Paradiso. The man at the door was thick-set and burly, a cliché bouncer, but a sweet smile from Cerelia seemed to melt the surliness and the pair were allowed to slip in unhindered by protocol.

The air of the Paradiso was thick and smoky. The music was a heavy bass and people seemed to be upon people, upon people, upon people. Cerelia dipped in and out of the crowd with surprising ease for a girl who detested claustrophobia. She seemed to understand rivers in this sense, and drifted with the flow of the people, aware of Augustus behind her. Drink was ever-flowing but wine was less, replaced by bottled beer and shots with flaming cocktails if there was enough room for it.

Cerelia’s hands found the excess material of her dress and pulled, vaguely amused at the way her grandmother’s prized buy came away in her hands. A quick score of her nails around her midriff broke the material and Cerelia laughed aloud as she stuffed bits of satin into her purse. She shrank the purse, pressing it into the space between her bra-strap and her skin, and continued to fiddle with the dress, protected and isolated by the crowd, until it was serperate with only a short skirt and an equally cut-off top remaining. She clicked her heels together, thoroughly impressed with herself, and used one stray piece of material to tie up her hair. It was only then that she truly began to move with genuine ease and freed herself to the beat until she was breathless and the weariness returned.

The exhilaration and drunkenness of dance followed them tripping, ducking and diving back towards the hotel. Their chests were heavy with giggles and their skin warm with the touches of each other’s hands and the hands of complete strangers. Wine had set loose a girl who epitomised propriety and with a gaiety unknown to her in usual circumstances she allowed herself to be pulled along by and herself pull along Augustus Rookwood. With less excitement the pair made their way back towards their hotel, half dancing still, humming the tunes of the Paradiso, both quite unsure of the lyrics but adamant that the tune was simply sublime. The dizziness was abnormal in Cerelia’s head but not entirely unpleasant and she was content to place her safety in Augustus’ hands which she had taken her time to examine with wide-eyed curiosity as they’d stopped to catch their breaths on one of the bridges.

“So strong!” She had said with a childlike amazement as she turned each hand over in hers which were minute by comparison. “Grrr!” Cerelia had added playfully before springing away from Augustus, hopping easily over the arc, surprisingly barefoot and not entirely clear as to why she’d lost her shoes in the first place – or where, for that matter.

When the pair returned to the hotel they danced – or stumbled, even – into the lobby, caught up in a mess of limbs and music. The reproachful looks from the employees lingering in the lobby went unnoticed and with volume that was unbecoming of the hour, the two spun towards the lifts which they awkwardly worked, more out of ignorance rather than drunkenness though the latter didn’t help the former. In the end, frustrated, Cerelia beat her hand against the largest button and the doors opened. She flashed a triumphant smile at Augustus and pushed him towards the lift. They pressed all the buttons the lift offered after that, not entirely sure which floor they’d taken residence on. Somehow, they made it home.

But then of course there was the incident with the room key which had been put in Cerelia’s bag which meant the girl actually had to fish out her bag again. It resulted in her dress being poured out onto the floor along with her wand, a vial of the healing potion Angelo had given her and countless other items before the room key was found. Then they had to get it in, of course – innuendo completely intended. First it was the wrong way. Then it was upside down. Then, no Augustus it doesn’t go in sideways, why would that work? Finally, patience was lost and magic was used. The door burst open and the pair launched themselves into the room, triumphantly.

But of course, there was a reason why the room key didn’t work.

A shriek of horror prompted a mirroring scream from Cerelia and a stutter that they were in the wrong room. A man stood in the parlour as naked as the day he was born but for the woman curled around him. His jaw might have gone through the floor but neither Cerelia nor Augustus stayed behind to see and they barrelled out, back towards the lift, making sure to read the key for any indication as to the level they were on. Eventually, they struck gold.

“Home sweet home!” Cerelia exclaimed with glee, flipping the light switches and shedding light on the otherwise pitch black room. She tossed the mass of merlin-only-knows-what onto the nearest surface and kicked the door closed with her foot. She bounced across the room towards the couches and flopped down into the softness of the pillows; face first, infinitely glad to be touching back to base. “Remember: 4th floor!” She told Augustus, her voice muffled by the pillows. “4th floor, 4th floor, 4th floor... not the room with the naked man and the prostitute. Forth floor!”

Cerelia rolled over, onto her back and brought her legs up into the air, dangling them for a while before letting them drop, her feet reaching past the arm rest at the other end of the couch. She reached up and rubbed her eyes before bringing herself up into a sitting position. She looked at her feet idly, pleased to find they weren’t as dirty as she expected, and found herself wondering where she’d left her shoes before deciding that it was neither of her concern nor importance and therefore, she should just forget about it. So she did.

“Augustus!” She spoke suddenly, turning to look at the man. “Why did you want me to come with you?” She looked at him with hungry earnest and wide eyes, as if knowing that was the key to everything.

Augustus never expected the night to hold such a beat. Music was no surprise. After all, who could blame the celebration and lamentation that should be ever so much of the character of the city of Venice? Yet, there was a beat that moved him as he ran through the streets, almost as if he was but a boy of seventeen. Fortunately, it was not yet an age when his body should remind him of its limitations. Perhaps it was his fortune, anyway, to still amass sufficient youth to run along freely with another who really made the pair turn heads, what with her presence, and her youth. Regardless, Augustus did not stop to pant, and he was thankful for that. Well, he would have been if he had time to stop and think. Yet, as the beat thumped through the spirit of the evening, there was no time to stop to think of the inconsequential. Augustus was free. He was free to run, free to dance, free to be young, and free from reality. He laughed, grasping the hand that he seemed to be leading with strength, but yet which he actually depended on for direction as he let the evening breeze sweep the both of them along with the beat of the night.

Drinks were free where money was the key to enter. With that, Augustus wasted no time as he indulged in the mix of what was almost every type of alcohol that could be found in the world. There was no room for apprehension. He took whatever he was offered, occasionally passing some over to the girl, not checking to see if she had too much. He didn’t care. He was free. He felt his feet tap to the rhythm, poured mysterious drinks into his mouth, and followed the girl with a firm grasp of her hand. The moving bodies embraced him, and he felt the loose spirit of the place consume him, so that he was in harmony with the disharmony of dances that took place at every space and corner of the dance floor of Paradiso. A woman dipped her head back and found his chest, but Augustus merely laughed and danced away along with the girl. It had all become unclear to him the more that he drank. Yet, as he spun along to the music, he wanted nothing more than this for the night.

Where there had been a material he could not identify, Augustus found skin, and more skin, and more skin. Yet, he remained oblivious to the fact that Cerelia had come undone as she too felt the liberation in the air. Happy to feel the warmth of another body, he held the parts that were offered to him, and moved them as he moved. The crowd grew, amassing to a pack that some would not have expected to see. Evidently, Venice thought fit to party the night away too. Where warmth had been comfort, and even pleasure, the rubbing and flirting of bodies became too much to bear. And soon, the pair was out in the cooler breeze of the Venetian evening, taking in the remnants of the beat as they almost danced their way back to the hotel, spirits high from the freedom found in song and dance. Still, Augustus held on the girl, half needing her for an illusion of sanity, and half needing to know she was still safe with him. Where she pulled away to prance about, he rushed to meet her, as if in letting her go, some sort of fatality should occur.

What felt like a hurricane of events ensued. But, just like this, he found himself in the right room, still holding on to ensure that she was alive. Surely, unbeknownst to the man, he had drunk a lot more than he should have, or even more than he had intended. Where the girl seemed to still cope on with the night, Augustus felt himself respond to merely a series of lights and sounds that he found only confusion in. Finally, because he found a mass of comfort beneath him, Augustus let go of the girl’s hand and sunk back into the sea of cushions that he never knew could feel so good before. The girl spoke, and he looked up from closed eyes, before opening them again slowly to focus on her, with much difficulty. Augustus could only smirk. There was the face of Cordelia fading away from the back of his mind. Yet, it was there, as if to remind him that she once was part of his life. It wasn’t too long ago either. But as he turned and found himself closer to Cerelia, he found her face. And with a swift move of his arm, he grabbed the girl and took her in for a kiss.

Uh oh.

In the shadow of Venice, business was given the same attentive caress as pleasure and was quickly forgotten in the brisk winds of home. Certainly, no trip would go without indulgence in pleasurable exploits but it was rare for such pleasure to be found in those that conducted such business. Venice provided her most celebrated courtesans and southern Italy’s finest wines to willing and paying customers and truly it would have been an insult for the city to be privy to the fact that one of her favourites was indulging in what a village south of Brecon had to offer instead of the newest Florentine whore. The night had laid open to a couple dizzied by the sunshine and the wine on their tongues. With heat they moved, languishing in each other and the feel of a human against them, fervent and alive. For two that dealt in the sternness of lives, such freedom and looseness had left them breathless and hungry for the exhilaration they’d found.

Of course such weary pleasure could not be settled for long. Feeling Augustus nigh collapse beside her, Cerelia sat up. Her dizzied mind seemed to turn at that and she lifted her hands to her temples, determined to keep a straight head on. The drink had taken its toll, however, and the whirling, twirling mess of emotions that engulfed the Paradiso had left her feeling giddy and restless. The waltzing run back to the hotel had left her cheeks red and her chest heaving with exertion yet she did not seem as though she was ready to tire yet despite her earlier weariness. Her clothes, she noted, with strained eyes, had much left to be desired in the way of modesty and in reflex of her realisation, Cerelia’s hands groped for the bottom of the skirt in an effort to pull it down to a level far more appropriate. But the shorn edges at the bottom that she had made with her wand told her all the information she needed to know. There was no way it was coming down – not without falling down.

With flushed cheeks, the girl decided to leave the skirt alone and lifted her gaze back to Augustus. She jumped, not remembering him being as close to her as he was in those moments and she managed a shaky smile. Her eyes found his and she bit her lip as she took in the crystalline azure that stared back at her with a hidden torrent of emotions that she dared not ask after. Her smile grew fonder as her gaze softened and she allowed herself a moment to openly take him in, in a manner that she would have never done had she been aware of herself fully and truly. She smiled at the slight bend of his nose where perhaps one brawl too many had left the bridge at an unnatural angle. The pocket marks that danced across his face, creating an odd mask of years gone by and the marks of wands left her even dizzier, even more confused, though she allowed herself a slight brazen touch to the soft indent beneath his right eye that hung above a quartet of dark freckles.

Feeling the snaking arm curl around her waist, Cerelia’s face riddled itself with confusion. Her mouth opened to question Augustus but before she could form the words she was drawn towards him and her lips were covered with his. Cerelia’s heart leapt and began to hammer at her ribcage as if desperate to escape. She was sure that Augustus would be able to feel the fervent organ working overtime – Merlin knew the whole world must have been able to hear it. She grew lame at his touch against her skin and with shaking hands, she wound her arms around his neck as best she could, drawing herself closer and giving herself up for him to plunder as he saw fit.

At no point did it occur to Cerelia that the man who she was kissing was her father’s best friend. Perhaps it should have. It probably also should have occurred to her that the man was not only widowed but also the father of her best friend. Perhaps it all should have occurred to the Welsh blonde. Maybe she should have known that, strictly, what she was doing should not have happened in any facet of Pureblood polite society – even in the shadiness of business. Yet she did not care. She sank into Augustus instead of tearing away, scandalised, and she indulged herself, indulged him, and delved head first into what she would realise on hindsight to be a slippery, slippery road. But in those moments she did not care, she merely wanted him closer – as close as their bodies would allow; for as long as possible.

The heat of the sun touched the marks on his face, filling them up, as if light could fit into the spaces of loss. There was a breeze, too- a warm breeze of comfort, wrapping him up and away from the cold dew of dawn. Flowers, too. Ah, the scent of flowers. Augustus smiled, nuzzling his cheek against tenderness, feeling the harsh bits of his unshaven jaw scratch against gentle skin that wasn’t his. Even then, having no distance between the cruel lines of his visage and the seeming youth of the girl’s shoulder, Augustus sank still, even deeper into whatever little crevice her slight frame provided for his much bigger one. In this manner, the man came to, ever so slowly; trying, with ever strength he could muster from his weary body, to stop the flow of awakening.

He could not feel his left arm, he realised with as little speed as he was awakening. Once again, he nuzzled his nose against the place between her arm and the rest of her warm body, feeling some fabric get caught up with his lips. Not ready to shift for blood to his left arm, Augustus pulled himself even closer to the other body, as his right arm wrapped her in an even tighter embrace, hearing himself moan in the pleasure of having someone to hold this close to him. In this way, Augustus stopped to indulge in the last bits of slumber, before the pins and needles began to remind him to move his other arm.

Groaning in reluctance, he began to pull his left arm from under his body, experiencing difficulty with it as he struggled to regain feeling in it. With his other arm, he pushed himself to aid the process, finding himself now away from the girl’s shoulder, and instead, brushing against the scent of her hair, and the softness of her ear. Almost without hesitation, Augustus smiled at the scent of flowers that seemed to overwhelm him even more, leaning in closer to nuzzle against the girl’s neck as he moved his body about for a comfortable position to rest himself against her. Then, and only then, he jumped, a little.

Fighting the reluctance of his fatigue, Augustus pressed for his eyes to open. Cerelia. With uncertain horror, he shot a look down at the rest of the … sofa. He realised. They were not in bed. They were clothed. Augustus blinked as he attempted to recover from the initial shock of it all. Not able to help himself, he took one last whiff of her smell, before almost leaping up with a force intent to pull himself away from the better option that his body desired. Sitting up, he leaned his back against the soft pillows that were strewn everywhere on the massive space of sofa.

Shaking his head to help himself sober up from sleep, Augustus frowned as consciousness began to return to him in its entirety. Confused, he began to crack his knuckles, a gesture that really wasn’t usually a habit of his. Still confused, he turned to look at the girl, but delaying the moment when he would have to look her in the eye. How was he going to account for this?

It was not entirely clear what had transpired but the milky first rays of dawn that crept through the ajar patio doors danced with a mystical delightedness, embroiled with mischief at the way in which the night had gone on. Of course the sun, abed, had known nothing of the events but the conspiring moon who had watched dutifully had left a message in the stars for the light to read and guffaw at, to grin at most goofily. The light hid beneath the sofa that the pair had fallen asleep on and peaked slightly to the side, peering over the arm of the sofa where feet reached the end and brushed for the air. Neither seemed uncomfortable, the light saw, and leapt onto the arm of the chair, skirting across the back in order to get a better look.

At the top of the sofa there was a mess of hair and limbs and curliness, the harshness of worn and weary skin and the milky-ness of a girl that bore the softness of a child’s pelt. They were an odd pair, the light noted, skirting over their faces, making their noses wrinkling with the intrusion. The light dipped back away, settling to warm their chests beneath the loosely covering blanket that had fallen from the back of the couch in the night. They were something like light and dark, laid there embroiled in each other, completely and utterly restful with not a quiver of nightmares. The light cast a glow over to the dining table where a small bowl of apples had been left – no ordinary apples, the light knew, but of course, the blonde’s obsession and addiction to dreamless sleep and the fear she bore at the thought of sleeping unaided, epitomised in a single green curvature.

There had been no time to take it, light saw again. Yet the moon had heard no screams and had seen no tears in her eyes. She had slept as though she was sufficiently cloudy in the mind but even better than that. She had slept with a real peace that he indeed seemed to mirror; or would have in the eyes of the light had he not begun to wake, his slumber coming to an end. The light slid off of the back of the couch and hid just behind, lifting a little to watch the pair as he began his decent into consciousness. Don’t bother, the light thought derisively. It is much better to stay tucked up in her.

Of course, it was not to be. The light did take a moment to flit around, dancing to the wall opposing the couch, in order to get a proper look at the girl who, at the sudden beginnings of movement, seemed to sense the impending desertion. Her shoulders rose and her facial expression changed, moving from peace to unconscious worry that the light realised was a tinge of what she wore upon her cheeks in life. She wriggled a little, burrowing further into the warmth of the couch and into the warmth of Augustus, and the light almost felt sorry and desired to bath the pair in a light that would keep them there, but knew it would not be possible, it would merely wake them both.

A cool, Venetian breeze whistled through the patio doors and danced about the room, following the path of the light, brushing over the couch and prompting Cerelia to snuggle down that little bit more, fearing the chill would bring her away from such a peaceful slumber.

The breeze met the light over the other side of the room and the pair watched with bated something, certainly not breath as only one had that, as the spell seemed to break about them and Augustus began to rise and wake and wriggle in a way that would only move and worry the blonde in her sleep.

The breeze had whipped about the room the smell of a dozen different flowers that the girl had weaved into her hair carefully with old spells that her mother’s family coveted. It resulted in such sweet smelling locks that it seemed right that they should not be pulled bone straight about her shoulders but rather the fluffy, curly mess that hung about her in a softness that was less common in the teased and tamed length that usually bobbed about her. No, the natural tendrils she bore and retained in sleep suited her much better, light decided. The breeze certainly agreed.

When Augustus removed his arm, the spell broke with an air of finality about it. The light dimmed with disappointment and the breeze gathered itself up, desperate to bring warmth back into the room but finding it too late – the damage of discovery had already been made. The light whipped forward as Augustus came to sit up, unable to stop itself from bobbing about the pair, coaxing a heat against his back that was lacklustre in comparison to that of another person’s body. The light dipped over Cerelia, casting a warm glow about her pallor, and the breeze did right to bumble about Augustus’ shoulders, chilling him a little, making the disentanglement all the more missed and regrettable.

Decidedly irritated and disappointed, the pair left with a flourish, light only lingering for a moment before disappearing, leaving obligatory rays before going in search of someone else to observe. The breeze disappeared all together, leaving the Mediterranean heat from the water behind.

Cerelia shifted a little, losing the warmth of Augustus’ chest against her back. She gave a little nonsensical whine as she slept and turned, pulling down with her one of the soft pillows that adorned the couch. She laid down further, settling onto her belly, and with a sweeping, clumsy hand, she pulled her hair away from her back, sending another puff of sweet scent up into the air as it tumbled down over the side of the sofa towards the floor but not quite reaching, bobbing just above.

The girl stretched a little, rolling her shoulders as the light returned briefly to warm her chilled skin. The light slipped beneath the loose fabric that was left clinging, supporting her breasts somewhat unnecessarily in sleep, and stroked idly at her back, warming through the scar tissue and slipping into her bones, a welcome invader that was for once not the bitterly cold winds of home.

The make-shift crop top had risen in the night that little bit higher, folding around the base of her breasts in a manner that would have been most uncomfortable had she not been in so deep of a sleep. The quilt that she’d pulled down from the back of the sofa in the night had slipped down around her waist as she’d moved and the spells she’d placed feverishly over herself had long abated, revealing in that early morning light the winding snake that sought to consume her back in a mess of spidery arms and legs that jutted out this way and that; angry and scarlet, from the main rouge body of the scar that still rose up from her back, livid and twisting but never quite making it past her hipbone to maim her truly as her father had wished to.

Exposed was what had piqued Augustus’ interest from the beginning and in her weariness she had not the sense to wake and slip away, decidedly embarrassed but determined to compose and cover herself. She would wake eventually and sense herself, sense her exposure, and perhaps hide for a while. It was unavoidable really. In sleep, one is utterly and completely vulnerable to the person they sleep with and it is a vulnerability that people undertake every day. Yet this does not stop them. Their deformities, their snoring, their flailing limbs that hit their lovers as they sleep...they don’t stop them. In fact, such abandon quite possibly encourages them more; makes them love more. There, on a milky platter was every proof of the relationship father and daughter held, the cruelty, the blood, the tears, the screams and the shouts, the demands to be better, to be something and someone better.

It was written there, in her skin, hidden behind her eyes, a great admittance she had dared not utter. He hurt her every day, each time a little more than the last. Her skin was not so thick. She was sharp and angular, skinny and unwell. Her blood coursed, reddening her cheeks, yet she was always weary with illness, feverish from great heats that she could not understand beneath her skin. There was every proof, laid out before him, every fear she held close to her chest ; and every cry in the night for someone to save her.

Augustus looked, expecting to see his guilt staring back at him, reflected somewhere in the girl’s visage. He was sure now, looking at the fabric that clung loosely around her skin, that nothing had been too far gone for, yet. Still, as he fought the irresistible desire to snuggle back down for the feel of Cerelia’s skin against his, he knew that something had changed. Augustus looked. Yet, all that the sight offered him was one of a girl who could not have looked more at peace with herself. It was strange, now that he thought about it, that he could not remember Cerelia ever being without even that tinge of worry against any undeserving part of her face.

It wasn’t difficult to forget his initial guilt when Cerelia’s body seemed to cry out for stories to be heard. Still, Augustus doubted the voice in his head. He looked at her, saw the young face of the sleeping girl, and could not quite reconcile why that would be. Less apprehensive about the discovery, and more curious about what the girl seemed to be saying even while she sleeps, Augustus leaned in closer to her. There were no eyes to level with; there were no questions from the lips that were pressed together in a shape that his seemed to remember briefly now. But there was skin- so much skin. And there was-

Augustus frowned, this time out of alarmed curiosity rather than a struggle to cope with the waking up. Leaning in even closer, his eyes began to trace the path of what did not belong to the milky grace of Cerelia’s skin, but yet clung on like it was made to belong there like a stamp of ownership. Wide awake now, he could not help himself when a finger began to trace the scars of what he only knew enough to be the work of one Adolphus Avery. It was beautiful, he could not deny that. Adolphus had always had a knack with scars. Augustus could only envy the art he left behind for every blessed victim that the men could play with. Yet, he could not quite believe his eyes at what was obviously one of the man’s best piece of work.

Awestruck by the beauty of the lines, Augustus traced the lines gently, not knowing how to cope with the fact that this was Cerelia’s bare skin that had been humbled at the work of her father. He could not decide upon the sublimity of it. Shifting himself without taking his eyes off the snaking feature on the girl’s body, Augustus pressed himself forward, before lowering his lips against the cry of the scar against the girl’s skin.