We May All Yet Fall

Into the Vale of Avery, rays of blazing light touched down, warming the faces of those that uplifted their cheeks to the sky. The breezes were fair but did not rouse chills from the pale, delicacy that was the skin of the young women that inhabited the family’s château at the end of the valley furthest from the mouth that swept travellers in and the coursing River of Circe out into the Atlantic. The heat of the sunshine abated the creaminess of their skin and browned it a scarlet akin to the colour of the swollen strawberries that were being picked faster than the farmer’s wives could weave baskets for the ready hands. And of course, such women in the throes of youth were in fruitful abundance also. For, naturally, the Avery family had taken every card they could from their healthy hand and spread them across the balcony courtyard that served as a plateau for their game; poker, it was not.

The courtyard was a balcony yet bore in its brickwork evidence of a building having stood where many others newly did. The brick had been washed smooth in the eggshell white that so decorated every other inch of the château barring the turrets whose tiles were stained the plum purple that was customary; their calling card, if you will. Trellises had been erected and magnolia plants had been wound around them and left to hang and across the wooden structures like cloying lovers, providing a natural form of shade for those that lingered beneath. Rounded tables were dotted about, heavily populated by Averys and not, covered in stark, white table cloths and ornamented by little accents in matching turret plum. Streamers were left to flutter in the wind with the standards that had been erected that morning and music was in abundance, a Greek course as opposed to their Welsh preferences.

The irony was not lost on Cerelia. As she walked beneath one of the trellises with some rather boorish company she found herself enjoying rather more than propriety would have allowed the optimistic tunes that were designed for one to bob their head to and fold into the arms of another to dance. Of course, her company was no one to dance with. While her cousins enjoyed the humour of their newly extended family comprised of relatives of Greek origins, she found herself with the German cousin who did not speak a lick of English for, as he’d felt necessary to impart to her, he saw no real reason to. Their paths had not crossed up until that point and though he was courtly and knew his manners, it was lost on him the idea of passion and the true flick of the tongue. His smile was that of a man who knew he was watched. He did not truly care for her; which suited Cerelia fine, truly.

He was much taller than she but walked as though his upper back was being pressed upon with some great weight; and of course, he kept his hands behind his back. His nose was large and hooked, his eyebrows offensively unkempt and straying into one another above his nose. His eyes were beaded and pointed, a hollow blue that bore none of the passion that so many Avery’s held in their gaze. He was wanton of nothing; not even so much as a glass of wine. His mouth was downturned and his tone gruff as he grunted out his words from the left side of his lips as though he was unwilling to commit honesty to anything he said. His hair was swept back in a pony tail, clasped at his neck in a purple ribbon to match his Violet Beauregard-esq choice of clothing for such an occasion – quite a lot of gold, for clarification, and more than enough purple.

Cerelia’s eyes strayed to one of her cousins; or, rather, the cousin around which the event centred. Christina looked misplaced beside her beaming husband as they drifted amongst the guests. She was pale and fair and beautiful while he, though not unattractive, was the coarse opposite and had spent far too much time in the sun, a fact that made Cerelia twist her parasol beneath her fingers, ruing their custom and belief that to be pale suggest power and status. Of course she was, for that reason, Adolphus’ pride and joy. She was washed out, her hair the same colour as her skin and her eyes like two sapphires in a statue worn pale by sandstorms. Yet her lips remained painfully rouge; a colour that no amount of scrubbing could dislodge much to the chagrin of Adolphus and the ever hard-working maids who endeavoured to dress Cerelia to his tastes, his desires.

“Dir sind sehr schön.” Cerelia felt her cousin’s lips on her ear and she stopped mid-stride, her eyes turning to him, moving from her cousin to his earnest face. She blanched but found her face warming regardless. She dropped her gaze as she had been taught and rolled her lips against each other, forcing a smile upon them.

“Danke, Luther.” She whispered, meeting his ardent gaze. She felt his hand find her cheek and she marvelled privately at the softness of it, expecting course fingers to rub against her skin, chipping at it and in turn smoothing his own touch. Her smile faltered a little at this thought and she blinked a few times before moving away from Luther, preventing him from employing his only romantic tactic that still, to her, felt soulless and ... it felt like nothing; forced.

“Cerelia I-”

Her gaze flicked back up to him in an instant and her eyes filled with hope but before his lips could tremble out a few other words, she was struck by a firm hand finding the small of her back. She cleared her throat as quietly as she could manage and watched out of her periphery as Luther politely stepped back and smiled at Adolphus, wearing the expression of a cowed animal, before slinking away in search of his mother. Cerelia exhaled shakily and tightened her grip on the handle of her parasol, refusing obstinately to meet her father’s searching eyes.

Adolphus, giving up, pressed his lips to her ear and chuckled, eliciting a shiver from his daughter. “I have some gentlemen that would like to speak to you, Cerelia.”

Cerelia trembled beneath Adolphus’ steady grasp of her but he paid it no heed as he led her from underneath the trellis. He swept his daughter through the French doors that had been left open by the maids and he waited for one of the doormen to open the double doors before stepping out into the upper foyer where he had left his associates. He waited a moment for Cerelia to let down her parasol but no longer before taking her wrist and shoving her roughly towards the pair. Cerelia stumbled, only to be caught by her upper arms by one of the men, the younger of the two, she saw. Her eye-line found his chest and she recoiled upon seeing the badge that poked out of the breast pocket of his robes.

“Aurors,” She whispered, wrenching herself away from the man’s grip. “Father what-”

The young woman’s yelp permeated the walls and stung what the Aurors had boasted to be an iron-clad constitution within their hearts. The pair took a half step backwards as the girl recoiled from the strike to her cheek, her hands letting the parasol clatter to the floor as her gloved hands groped for her cheekbone. Her eyes closed momentarily and she bent her knees as her body tried to absorb the shock and the pain. She took her hand away hesitantly and her eyes widened at the sight of the scarlet that stained her fingers. Her eyes flicked shut again as she took a handful of shaky breaths. One of the Aurors glanced at her father and watched as he inspected his cufflinks before stepping forward and slapping the back of his hand across her face again. A second strangled scream followed.

“These men have come to talk to you about Potionatus Poténtiæ, I trust you are familiar with it?”

Cerelia’s gaze met Adolphus’ as he spoke, his every syllable dripping with unveiled mocking and sadistic mirth. Her eyes narrowed at him, her lips contorting into a movement that promised retort – though before she could, his hand found her cheek again. This time she did not scream. She merely took it and after a moment, nodded. Adolphus chuckled, the sound so shatteringly close to her that it felt as though he was against her again. Cerelia’s hands found her upper arms as she curled arms around herself and with struggling eyes she brought the Aurors back into her field of view once more.

Leaning down, Cerelia’s fingers curled around the parasol and she lifted it from the tiled floor, bringing it close to her chest. She considered it for a moment, her eyes moving down the length of it, before looking up at her father. The Aurors stepped forward, their shoes clapping against the surface that was ill-used to that sort of purposeful stride. She lowered her gaze once more and ran her hand down the parasol, her fingers curling around the handle that curved delicately at the end, a crow etched into its material.

“You bastard,” She murmured, just loud enough for Adolphus to hear.

For a fourth time his hand came up but when he moved forward it struck air as with an echoing crack Cerelia disappeared from the spot. Adolphus’ shout of frustration followed it but the resounding bounce of his growl could be heard more clearly than the cries and more than a few lips upon the terrace twitched upwards to themselves. So, she had escaped.

---

Cerelia landed gracefully upon the lawn in front of Rookwood Manor. She dropped the parasol immediately as her legs buckled beneath her, sending her sprawling onto the carpet of lush verdant blades. Her hands sank into the well groomed fields of green as her tears came and she hung her head between her shoulders, her back jumping awkwardly with the sobs that wracked from her chest.

“Cerelia?”

The blonde lifted her head and found solace in the sight of the Rookwood matriarch that was Athena. Loping behind her was a German Shepherd that enjoyed its ignorance of the situation. Cerelia felt Athena’s hands on her shoulders and the Avery girl allowed Athena’s arms to curve around her. The elder woman smoothed back the curls that Cerelia’s hair had been teased into and the girl winced as a stray finger grazed across her cheekbone. Athena sat back on her haunches and lifted Cerelia’s face up in her hands.

The Rookwood woman’s expression contorted into one of concern, horror and then finally, determination. Athena got to her feat with the abruptness of a woman on a mission and her hands went beneath Cerelia’s arms, coaxing her into a standing position. Cerelia managed to snatch up her parasol once more as she stood and Athena took her hand, leading her slowly across the grass towards the house while the German Shepherd ran on ahead.

The steps were harder to climb than Cerelia had ever remembered but as Athena led the girl through the conservatory that had been refurnished by her careful eye, Cerelia felt her shoulders relax. The elder woman set her down on one of the chaise lounges and lifted her head up by the chin, inspecting her cheek with an eye practised to assess injury.

“What has he done to you now, hmm?” Athena asked with a small curve of her lips before reaching for a stray cloth to dab away the blood with. It wasn’t much and the depth of the cut was superficial, naturally, but Athena didn’t believed that the depth or the blood loss determined the horror of the wound. The fact that he had done it, alone, was horror enough in Athena’s opinion. Her own father. Very little was a secret in Pureblood circles, she reviewed mentally as she wiped away the last of the blood.

Cerelia looked at Athena with a small smile. “Sharp cufflinks,” she replied; her way of joking. “Is Augus-” the girl bit her lip. “Mr. Rookwood here?”

Athena’s eyebrows quirked upwards a little and she laughed, a small laugh that was Athena’s measured chortle – her trademark. She folded the cloth with clever, quick fingers and Cerelia watched her as she lifted her wand from her pocket. With a flick, Cerelia felt the wound heal and she closed her eyes in thanks to the woman before her, her hand coming to brush against the skin.

“It wouldn’t do to let him see you all bloodied but I can do nothing for the bruise.” Athena murmured, bringing her fingers beneath Cerelia’s chin to turn it and take in the bruise. “There are many Mr. Rookwoods, Cerelia. Augustus is in the study. I’ll let Petal know that she is to set another place at dinner, shall I?” Athena smiled at Cerelia’s sudden horror as she looked down at herself. “I agree, if it helps. It is a family dinner. Not a ... well a wedding, I presume?” Cerelia nodded. “I will get some clothes for you from Kat’s wardrobe and have the House Elves make up a guestroom for you.” Cerelia looked up at Athena, her eyebrows furrowing. Athena stood and picked up the cloth, looking pointedly at Cerelia. “You are not going home to him, Cerelia Avery.” She told the girl. “You will stay with us, are we clear?”

“Athena I can’t,” Cerelia whispered, reaching forward to catch the woman’s wrist. “I can’t. I can’t stay here. We must leave. We all must leave. The Aurors...they know, the Ministry knows...”

To her credit, Athena did not appear shocked though the slither of fear that Cerelia hoped not to see did worm its way through her eyes. Despite this though, Athena smiled indulgently and placed a gentle hand on Cerelia’s head.

“We wear upon our skin runes that tell us who we are, sweet girl. Azkaban is a place of untold horrors. For that reason we do not fear. We have gold in our pockets that allow us to wield a power that the Ministry cannot dream of. We allow for no one to hold over us something we do not have guilt for. We do not fear men in cloaks with Auror badges. We do not fear their judiciary. We are a family. We are Rookwoods, more importantly. What the Ministry knows they cannot prove, my dear. With us you are safe. Here you are safe. I promise you that.”

Cerelia gave a small, strangled cry. “Athena you have not met my father.” She whispered, her eyes wide and damp with unshed tears. “He will not cease if he believes he will come out of this-”

Athena shushed the girl and drew her hand down her face, bringing her palm to rest on her cheek as her fingers lifted Cerelia’s chin up, forcing her to look at Athena. “You have not encountered my wrath.”

The woman’s confidence did not rest Cerelia’s weary heart but it did provide some form of reassurance. The Rookwood lady took her leave thereafter with the promise of protection, a meal and a warm bed on her lips. A House Elf replaced her presence and, taking Cerelia’s hand, helped her down the hallway to the study outside of which Cerelia lingered for a time, tossing her weight from one leg to another as she fumbled her hands together in an attempt to draw enough confidence to enter. In the end, the meddling Elf did it for her. The Elf knocked and pushed open the door, allowing it to frame Cerelia in her delicate nervousness. The girl lifted her head and her lips came together as her eyes found Augustus.

The girl stepped inside carefully, picking her way across the floorboards as she lifted her dress from the floor. She swept the fabric out from behind her and she moved back towards the door, drawing the door to a close before turning back to Augustus.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, fearful of his reaction. “I did not mean to intrude I-” She blinked rapidly and dropped her eyes to her hands as she fought to find her words. “My father has...he appears to have sold us out.” Her stomach tossed within her at the thought of it and she felt it lurch, nausea ruining her composure as finally she allowed her tears to run once more. “The Ministry knows. They know ... the Aurors... they... I don’t know what they wanted to do with me but they were there and I... he ... he was happy about it as though it was his orchestra and I don’t know ... I can’t ... I just... I just left. I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t ... I couldn’t stay knowing that they could come that they could take you back to Azkaban I ...” Her eyes squeezed shut. “I had to warn you...”

The girl’s arms came around herself once more and she drew back as though she wished for the ground to swallow her whole. The final betrayal had come in that. Athena’s insistence terrified Cerelia but regardless hope leapt within her. She could stay, the elder woman had said. Yet what difference would it make? Adolphus was still a friend to Augustus and it was he who owned Cerelia. The opening of their home to her would not protect her from Adolphus. They were but walls, after all; walls that that could fall. As could they all.

In the back of her mind, Cerelia admonished herself for how she must’ve looked. Ridiculous was the first thing that came to mind and it sort of stuck, really, because that was what she was in many a sense. Wrapped up in a dress that was ill-suited to her and far too heavy for her narrow hips to carry with jewellery that she had to make look good instead of the other way around she was hardly someone who one could take seriously. She didn’t request it, not in her state of dress and certainly not in her tears. To an unknowing eye she was merely a woman who had lost her bag or an earring that was far more than her daddy could really afford. Part of her wished that was the case. Easily, it could all be replaced. Not this though, she told herself; never this.

Cerelia swallowed back her tears as she fought to compose herself, trying and failing as miserably as she felt within herself. She felt foolish for her sniffles and even more ridiculous than before now that Augustus was by her side. Her hands covered her face and she shook her head as she tried to organise the events in her mind. She remembered him slipping off. She remembered the surly look he’d given Luther. Only in hindsight did she realise it was directed at her. The puppet did not have shorn strings. He was too well behaved to illicit such a reaction from Adolphus. No, it was her. He’d known and his plans had to be formed quickly, as quickly as they’d arrived. He had to save his own hide. His daughter was expendable, however.

The blonde did not resist Augustus and let him take her to him. Her hands dropped from her face and she tipped her forehead against his chest as he fought to steady her breathing and organise herself a little more. She wondered if she’d perhaps been a little rash, too quick in her disappearance or foolish to disappear at all. Adolphus’ aims were clear as day as soon as he saw to lay into her; or at least, so she’d thought. Second guessing herself came with hindsight, she supposed. As she felt for her cheek, however, she couldn’t help but wonder if it was his way of showing the Aurors he did not agree with his “darling daughter’s” activities outside of the Wizarding norm; a way of validating himself and demonising her.

“The Ministry knows, Augustus,” she whispered, unwilling to find it within herself to truly believe it though a smidgen of her consciousness balked at Augustus’ insistence that she tell him what really happened. “Aurors came ...” she exhaled shakily, her eyebrows frowning low over her eyes as she tried to put the events into a chronology she could follow. “They wanted to talk to me about the potion but I...”

She bit her lip and her fingers grazed hesitantly over her cheek, wondering what it would’ve cost Athena to have put a numbing charm on it as well. “Course...cufflinks...” she rolled her lips together, trying to decide how best to phrase it. “Merlin he’s ... he’s got a back hand on him. I always forget that until he clips me with his knuckles again.” She bit her lip before dropping her hand back to her side. “Would’ve hurt less if he hadn’t have got me with the cufflinks. Then of course he hit me again because I got blood on them.” Cerelia laughed sourly and shook her head.

The girl tipped her head forward again, allowing herself a second or two before shaking it and moving her hand to brush through the curls her grandmother had set upon her head that morning. She tore the useless pearl pins from the back as best she could and after a moment as allowed to shake her hair free to fall about her torso. She threw the pearl pins away from her, the little bit of magic she sent with them seeing them to land on the desk next to a paperweight. She huffed out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding and fiddled with the necklace at her throat while she contemplated what she should say to make him see.

“He wouldn’t betray you,” she told him stonily. “Me, I doubt he has any qualms about. I invoke no sense of loyalty to him. They didn’t ask about him. The Aurors didn’t want to know. They wanted to talk to me. Me for heaven’s sake when I’m the go-between! I’m his bridge to you because he doesn’t care enough to actually leave his bloody castle and come here to talk to you. They should know that. They should see that. But,” she laughed again, that same, bitter, resenting laugh. “Bridges fall don’t they?”

The girl stepped away from Augustus, suddenly feeling stuffy and flustered. She reached down to slide her shoes off her feet and relished in her ability to step down out of the shoes and just drift across the soft carpets on her own skin instead of leather and heels. She tugged a little on her hair, her fingers absent-mindedly twisting a handful of locks into a French plait as she walked off the numbness in her feet.

“Takes a special kind of man to hit his daughter thrice but miss the fourth time, doesn’t it?” she asked rhetorically, her hands dropping from her hair to pull and wring together. “To miss...” She echoed to herself before shaking her head.

“Adolphus has not told them.” She told Augustus carefully. “But he has not owned up to his part. He is blameless as far as the Ministry are concerned. As ever. Because of this,” she held up her hand and rubbed her thumb against her index and middle fingers: money. “I know it’s not ... it’s not a problem but I feel as though because you’re predisposed...but that doesn’t make any sense because they all know...I’ve seen his sodding file for Christ sake. Oh... Merlin...” Cerelia’s hands dug into her hair and she closed her eyes tightly. “I’m sorry I just...I’m worried.”

How much therapy did it take for you to admit that? A sly voice in the back of her head crooned.

“Your wards changed, didn’t they?” she inquired carefully after a thought. “I don’t think they can get in, can they? Not that ... well, I...” Cerelia bit down on her lip before returning to Augustus’ side.

She exhaled heavily. “I’m afraid.” She admitted quietly. “I’m afraid of what he’s told them. I’m afraid of what the Ministry knows. I’m afraid of Azkaban. I’m afraid of my father. I’m afraid of going home. I ...” It dawned on her then what she had actually done. She’d left. She’d walked out, well, apparated, without his say-so. She’d left of her own accord. “Oh Merlin I can’t go back there.” Her eyes had grown as wide as saucers as she looked at him, a deer caught in headlights. Her words were barely above a whisper, “Please don’t make me go back there.”

There were certain risks attached to being Pureblood. If you were born with the desired lower regalia then life tended to be much easier for you; though no less painfully restraining than if you happened to be a girl. Born a male and you were groomed to become your father’s heir and business champion in everything from legalities in the Ministry to the illegalities outside of it; and, more often than not, within. That in itself bred the risk of Azkaban and the Death Eater activities that were prescribed as ‘character-building’ exacerbated the situation further still. As a woman it was a different ball-game. You were to learn the art of flirtation, the art of drawing a decent husband and, more importantly still, keeping him. Needlework and charitable donations were considered a must while being overzealous while spending on clothes was considered a necessary evil. For the two roles to collide was unheard of.

In the Valley of Avery there were two kinds of that evil: the men who learnt how to trap women and the women who learnt their father’s business. Cerelia was a potent mixture of the two but had seemed to have - in her brilliance or perhaps naivety and foolishness depending on your point of view - absorbed neither side. In that she was both invaluable and valueless as her father liked so wickedly to remind her. The true mixes were in that of her cousins whose alluring, catty smiles and flush, full chests did not betray so much as a lick of the hidden agenda masked by cool, emotionless eyes that, behind the lust that they wore so splendidly, was truly all there was to see. They were of use. It was for that reason that Cerelia made such an excellent go-between for her father and uncles. She couldn’t snatch someone with wealth to balance the books and she couldn’t do business; so, she’d be the messenger, simple.

Of course, things were never, ever that simple.

Part of Cerelia wanted to cry some more, scream and sob and just curl up in a ball to await death. She’d learnt long ago that it never came. She’d spent hours underneath her bed as a child, curled up as tight as she could manage with her eyes screwed shut, hiding from the maids, her tutors, her governess – anyone and everyone; especially her father. He always found her though. Always. The confliction of allegiances had never reared its head until she’d truly come to work amongst the other ‘businessmen.’ Of all of them, only Augustus had truly claimed her respect. Jude took from her what he could on a basic level. Elijah was simple enough and easy to please as long as he had a glass of wine in his hand and a cigarette in his mouth. The others were equally as grotesquely self-indulgent. It was Augustus who had gotten her attention; for both the right and wrong reasons.

Somehow their relationship had changed. It no longer felt bizarre to her: the fact that she’d once merely been his daughter’s best friend. The inseparable nature of the girls had dragged the Averys from their own fortress and into another for a time. It was that time that released her mother in many ways and it was clear that Talia adored Cordelia; for the latter had such a greater freedom. To have those hours when the girls could play and be teased by Kendall and all of the older boys was a miracle in itself for the witch but once she’d died things changed. Adolphus saw no need to maintain relations on behalf of his children and Cerelia only saw Katarina if perchance her grandfather wanted to do business with Raghnall; at which point he’d take her and her brothers along for some much needed time away from their father and away from their uncles.

Beauxbatons was the biggest difference, though. Being cast off by her father allowed Cerelia to forge for herself a different personality. While still timid beneath his shadow she’d found for herself a resilience she didn’t know she’d ever possessed. Her grandparents ensured a truer, stronger magical ability could brew within her and she became something a little bit less Avery and quite a bit more wild in that respect. She was not her father’s daughter; not his canvas to sketch upon his crude renditions he called ‘art.’ That was the game changer; just as it had been for Talia when she’d run away home to Germany where she belonged. Austria was much of the same; the same German just different hills.

The return had forged a somewhat distant relationship between all parties involved and Cerelia was content to be removed from most of the Rookwood family barring the children. Kat had accepted her with open arms and Kendall was as ever a better brother figure to her than either of her true-born brothers. What she hadn’t expected was to encounter Augustus again on a personal level; and much less the level that they found themselves on now. The unsteady ground beneath their feet was something they all trod on; a mixture of ruined infrastructure and crushed glass. They all did. Athena and Kendall. Elijah and Katarina. They all walked on the same path. It was just interesting to see how long it would be before it fell from beneath them all with nothing to cling onto but each other.

The first cracks, certainly, had already begun to show. In all of them.

Cerelia ran her hand over her face, pulling a little at her nose before tapping the tips of her fingers against her lips. She blinked a little at Augustus, her mind trying to reformulate the brewery and the testing process. She nodded slowly after a moment, hesitant and unwilling to commit to a full answer. She was concerned about the potion and its affects; potentially more in the way of side-effects than actually what it did. They were lucky in the point of fact that they’d only tested it on Mudbloods and Squibs. All appeared a little hesitant to mix it with their blood – just in case it didn’t work.

“I could write to D’Eath’s potion gremlins and ask them to move it,” she offered as her fingers fluffed through the front of her hair, her eyes unseeingly focusing on a patch of wallpaper as she tried to think of possible solutions. She exhaled heavily and bit at her bottom lip before looking about herself. “Is there somewhere we can put it? Like in the basement, perhaps?”

An investigation? Cerelia barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes. It would not so much as ruffle Adolphus’ feathers.

“What do conmen do?” She asked rhetorically before giving the answer. “They lie.”

Part of Cerelia wanted immediate retribution but like in all things business, the business came first and questions would be asked later. But she was sure that on her part it was not so much the current betrayal, more the culmination of it all and the knowledge, however internal that may be, that she wasn’t tied to him. Not anymore.

“A garden maze made of brick and mortar,” Cerelia joked with a smile. “But aren’t they all? At least your fortress doesn’t have guard towers and turrets.”

Cerelia moved back towards Augustus, feeling a little bit more relaxed that she did before but notably still on edge. She pressed her hands against the ruffled dress and pressed her lips together absent-mindedly, wondering where Athena had gotten to with the clothes she’d promised. Cerelia couldn’t wait to feel human again and less like an obnoxiously fluffy cake.

The blonde watched as Augustus poured himself a glass of Absinthe and couldn’t help but smirk a little to herself, raising a curious eyebrow at him before laughing a little. The other eyebrow shot up to follow its sibling as he spoke and a small smile curved at her parted lips as she tried to discern how he could possibly know that. But of course, he was the Lord of this part of the manor, sure enough. He had to know.

“Where’s the little bird whispering in your ear?” Cerelia murmured, twinkling her fingers either side of Augustus’ head as though to scare away the birds. “I think that was a guess. A surprisingly accurate one, as well. Athena healed the cut. It’s too bad she didn’t numb it though.”

Cerelia smiled despite herself and let Augustus draw her to him, no longer feeling the need to resist on the basis of pacing out her frustration and her fears. Her hands found his shoulders and she allowed herself to rest against him, letting her muscles melt a little and her resolve crumble as she felt a calmness wash over her that she hadn’t felt in her bones for a long time. She felt as though it was the house, kept ship-shape and orderly by Athena who in her frazzled sort of reserve managed to have everyone washed, dressed and fed without them even realising it was her doing it. The reassurance that Rookwood Manor was in fact a fortress had also allowed her to relax; as though before she was waiting to Apparate away and hide in France with Gisele or in a different Irish village with the French woman’s other half.

At his words, Cerelia nodded against his chest, for once actually believing it. She felt safe. Athena was right in that sense. With them she was safe. No, with Augustus ... with Augustus she was safe.

The girl leaned into his kiss and smiled a little to herself as she closed her eyes to his touch that warmed her skin from head to toe. She inhaled a little as she was pulled against him with even more intensity and her hands brushed up to his neck as he captured her lips with his own. She gasped a little but could not help but smile into the kiss. A second gasp followed after a moment though this one tinged with pain as his thumb brushed against her cheekbone. Her eyes screwed shut tightly as she rode out the twinge that roped round her ears and muddled through her cheek. His thumb was replaced by his lips and though the twinges still rattled through her in spite she felt as though somehow she was being healed with each one a little more.

Cerelia’s fingers looped into the dark locks at the nape of his neck and her nails flecked lightly across his skin, drawing together from spread fingers into a point, all of her fingers brought together at the very bottom. She inclined her head towards his and pressed a kiss to his jaw, her lips initially hesitant but sure in their movement across his skin.

“Thank you, Augustus,” she whispered, bringing herself as close to him as she could manage, revelling in the absurd heat his body was giving off for her cold bones to take in. One of her arms looped under his and she lowered her head to the crook of his neck, content just to be held; revelling in the fact that she was safe, actually safe.