Moving Pictures

Having done different and having lived through hard, it seemed ridiculous that Athena Goyle should have felt any measure of reluctance to don Muggle garb in a more stringent capacity than she already occasionally elected to and truly join their world. It seemed strange to her that she should question it when it was really for her a chance to be someone else. She wasn’t so much of a recognisable face there. As far as Azkaban officials were concerned she’d died. Then, when she miraculously popped up once more she was cleared of it anyway. Yet the wizards knew. Everyone seemed to know. It was as though she had the Dark Mark imprinted on her forehead, not on her arm. The Muggles wouldn’t. She wouldn’t have to explain. She wouldn’t have to flounder and find the nearest exit. She could just be herself – whatever that meant anymore.

Sliding her arms out of her cardigan, her creamy, freckled flesh coming into view, Athena folded up the material and slipped it onto the back of her chair beside her. She brought her cup to her lips again and found herself smiling around it, glad of it as a muffling fixture to hide her pleasure at his words. She did have him, she thought as the bitter liquid dribbled down her throat. It was more than she felt she’d had in a long time. She didn’t know if she’d honestly ever had her husband. She could remember time, punctuated with brief spats of happiness and the disaster, punctuated in one long row like a score of a knife through parchment with consistent misery. Now she had someone who she’d spend time with hopefully in a neutral capacity, punctuated with elements of real human experience. Real laughter. Real smiles. Real feelings.

“To be honest,” she broached gently, “I might forfeit helping with the school. It’s awkward anyway and I want to actually see my children grow up. As helpful as I know you will be, I don’t want to miss anything. I might if I let myself get pulled this way and that and… they don’t really need me. They’ve got enough washed up Death Eaters trying to make good with themselves hanging on for dear life. Any more than necessary and the kids might start thinking it’s fashionable to be one.” She yawned a little, bringing her hand to her mouth.

It was strange to think of it that way but washed up Death Eater she was indeed. Those convictions like so many others she possessed had gone by the wayside when she had conceded that her life wasn’t going to pan out quite the way she had first imagined it. She had never quite considered, however, that those convictions would melt into a very likely possibility of entering the Muggle world as, well, a Muggle. What had happened to the slinky little Death Eater that could melt in and out of a moment and leave behind debris for the eye to see but not to determine whose wand it had come from? Who had replaced her? This strange shadow that was the beginnings of decency and righteousness who would come to be more like Molly Weasley – but hopefully not around the hemline – than she ever would have allowed, let alone thought about. A matriarch. In her own right. Not a woman under a man who got her kicks from torturing Mudbloods and Blood Traitors. That was a different person now. She was different.

“But I am definitely going to take you up on your offer, Albus,” she let the barest shadow of a smile inch past her control and slowly set about getting to her feet, setting her coffee down, pulling out of a chair, reminding her knees they were knees and not strange pivots upon which she would orientate herself betwixt two irregularly shaped cobbles that cut in one side, crushed on the other. The bones snapped at her in warning and she glanced down at herself, not realising she had tightened her grip on the table edge. Her knuckles had whitened with the force, nail marks, sharp and clean, dug into the surface of the wood. She extricated herself from the table at once and brushed her hands across her stomach, flittering away any lint that, truly, didn’t exist upon her.

She let a breath of grateful, relieved air hiss past her lips when her fingers curled themselves around her newly empty mug and her knees did not falter. She took a step, another and then another and she relaxed, returning to the kitchen space enclosed by the counters, taking one last sip out of the dribble that was left in the bottom of her cup before setting it down in the sink. She reached out, her fingers twisting the handle and a cool jet of water reached out into the basin from the spout. She picked up the sponge that was still a little bit damp from earlier on and ran it around the rim of the cup, the inside and then around the sides, taking away the coffee stains with an almost ease of precision. She faltered a little around the handle, her hand slipping briefly, a trait of the near constant anxiety she kept within her or perhaps like her prematurely aged bones a gift from Azkaban – the prison that just couldn’t keep from giving.

“You might want to retract it though,” she offered, reaching for a tea towel to wipe the cup round with. “They’ll be insufferable.” She reached over to hang the towel back up before lifting her hand, opening up the cupboard to replace the mug back inside in its home. “The best policy is to do enough in the morning that will make them want to sleep away the afternoon and feed them enough in the evening so they don’t want to use all that afternoon energy they’ve stocked up. Case in point, I suppose: today. Moved home,” she laughed a little for it was ludicrous really. “Fed them to bursting. They’re out cold. The only problem is that they’ll be up at the crack of dawn. That is one I haven’t worked out just yet.”

Although, the policy for crack of dawn wakeups had been to get them into her bed where they would sleep for another handful of hours. Especially after Kendall had made it his business to be anywhere other than their home, Athena welcomed the company. When the boys had learned to crawl, they would, having escaped, caw at her, grabbing onto the bedclothes to wake her up and she’d reach a hand out from underneath, pull them up by the scuffs of their necks and drop them onto the bed where she enveloped them both into her arms for cuddles and kisses and they would, indeed, sleep. The girls came a bit later, struck by nightmares they bounced in belatedly, the boys squaring around to glare at them sleepily before they too settled. She hoped that wouldn’t change but she had a curious feeling that, being the shiny new toy, Albus would be subject to the morning wake up calls and with a bit of luck, she’d be left to bask in her bed. That was going to be so very, very unlikely.

Upon thinking of bed, though, Athena yawned again, her hand rapidly coming to stifle it, her cheeks reddening.

“I’m sorry,” she admitted with a wry sort of smile. “It has been a long day. Strange day. Wonderful day,” she amended at last. “Perhaps you could help me look for a possible place tomorrow. I’m excited. Terrified, but it’s really possible, isn’t it?”

She was going to get somewhere, at last. Of her own accord, too, for Albus couldn’t help her pass her class. No, that had to be her. It would be her. And, whether he liked it or not, she’d feel grateful forever that he’d been so kind.

Impulse took Athena by the reins and she stepped forward, a brief, jaunty movement, before reaching up to wrap her arms around Albus. The abnormally tactile young woman seemed to have developed that streak within a day and she hugged Albus tightly. There for a moment she reflected how quickly a life could change – how quickly her life had all of a sudden changed. It would be better now. It had to be. There was no other option. If it wasn’t, she didn’t know what she was going to do.

It still prickled on his skin.

He couldn’t measure the exact number of days, minutes, seconds……since that scent had breathed past his nostrils, the warmth that had skittered past the skin on his arms, sinking into his bones, chasing away the goosebumps, coaxing out the tension that seemed knitted into the very fibre of his muscles. That made his shoulders sink down, minutely, just by an inch, the biggest concession they’d ever made; almost like giving up, if just for a while. That didn’t make his heart speed up inside it chest, but made that frantically, monotonously beating organ slow down in its tracks and settle, a reassuring, quiet thump that was echoed by its counterpart not two inches away. Like rest. Like relief. Like having a spot of shelter to duck your head underneath and wait out the rain.

But he didn’t have that shelter now.

No, he’d walked out of it himself, felt vicious satisfaction in feeling the acid shower from the heavens pound down his arms, seep in rivulets past his back. Self-righteousness had paved the path he had taken away from his biological family…..except on the way, he’d left back the people he hadn’t meant to leave, the two sweet girls, the two mischievous boys, the one woman who had been the first to hug him in over a decade, after his mum.  Resentment, that old, familiar friend, had clasped his hand and closed his eyes and welled up in the chasms of his chest- to keep him company, to make him forget he had once had better. That solitude was a choice, not a condition.

But he wouldn’t, of course, wasn’t even capable of filling Kendall Rookwood’s shoes. Wouldn’t give them the touch of cold, robbed of human company walls, when he’d offered; no, promised, so much more. Wouldn’t press a bunch of magical gladiolus into Aurelia’s shy palms, cradle Archie on his knee, christen Cecilia Rookwood as excitable, honest-to-the-heart Ceci  if he had been planning to draw away after all, renege on all the unspoken, but no less binding promises.

So Ceci had her pancakes and icecream once a week, because too much cream was too delicate a thing for even a Rookwood’s iron insides to digest. Aurelia had a book laid across her bedside table every night, and it was ridiculous to have your throat dry up and your feet fidget in worry over whether a small girl would like the same poetry and novels that you did, even if they were Muggle. (But he’d retrieved them with pages creased, and spines crinkled, and some of them not to be found at all- so maybe they weren’t so bad after all). Archie and Gus had the entire house to rampage in, and none of it to clean, and free reign in the kitchenette during cooking time when there was an adult to gently guide their stubby fingers away from the hot spatula towards the colourful containers and the bright red, yellow and green bell peppers that had taken on the proportions of An Enigma: to be solved by prodding and poking and kicking over the lopsided vegetables whenever one dared to approach. And Athena………she had a two feet tall stack of educational brochures perched precariously on her bed one night, and no chances whatsoever to wash the dishes in the following nights, no matter how sneakily she crept, unless she felt childish enough to dirty them immediately after.

(The boys were blamed for it, always, poor little sods. Albus knew better.)

It was fine, really. Everything was just swell. Dandy. Whatever other North American adjectives one would like to conjure.

But. There were no washing the dishes together sessions after tucking the kids in- and Albus refused to accept that was why he Scourgified every single scrap of melamine or plastic or steel or whatever else the utensil was made of the instant it was done being used, even though he’d always preferred to feel the soap suds sliding through his fingers and his knuckles graze against the sink with the force of scrubbing the plates down, the repetitive, calming circular motions of the sponge inside the bowls, the cold water that wrinkled the skin below his fingernails and made the nerves insensate. There were no discussions on green argyle socks and career choices, Death Eater or otherwise, no conversations on whether revenge was a dish where it was your own heart you hacked into on a plate, no talk of murdering fathers.  Now they smiled across tables, kitchen counters, from one end of the room to the other- and then Albus pivoted on his heels and walked out, padding up the stairs and slipping into the confines of his study, the door closing with a quiet, resolute click behind him.

And if the door ever remained ajar for a few centimetres, a few additional seconds……then his mind scoffed, and fingers remedied the mistake immediately, closing the gap.  It wasn’t even bitter. Just logical. Wasn’t like he actually mattered enough for his absence to matter.  The fact that punishment was being doled to the people who did nothing wrong, who didn’t deserve it was void: because this wasn’t punishment. The thought that he might be hurting someone by his absence….well, it was ludicrous.

But seven days had passed since James Sirius Potter had first crossed their threshold, seven days of polite smiles and ‘thank you’s and ‘if you please’s- and Albus woke to the touch of sunlight on his face, the light filtering in through muslin-thin curtains fluttering transparently in the breeze. His elbow joints cracked as he shifted upwards, cotton sheets sliding off his lower limbs, sticking to the skin; mussed black hair whispering across the pillowcase as his head lifted, departing from closeted warmth to the touch of cooler, fresher air. Fingers reached forward to snag the edge of the window frame that had come free during the night, that let in the world and its sounds and the morning wind made anew into the four walls of his room, curling to push the window close. Then they stilled. Tightened, and remained.

Ceci laughed from the lower landing, the sound skittering joyously across the polished tiles of the floor, the cold cemented brick of the walls, slipping through the gap beneath the door and spanning across the room to leap contentedly into his ears, settling with a silent, imperceptible warmth.  

The room seemed impossibly bright, whiting out under his eyelids that dropped periodically in a blink, the morning light clear and chasing out all remnants of shadows. The air left his rising chest, breathing past his lips with a strange lightness, back straight and muscles lax and restful- the undeniable sense of wellbeing that steals over a body after a night of dreamless, restoring sleep. His legs swung over the covers, the coolness that graced his bare heels refreshing- and Albus propelled himself to his feet, arms inadvertently rising above his head and stretching. The pleasant lack of ache made itself known,  something strange and foreign, almost like energy zipping through his limbs, through muscles that contracted and elongated without any tension whatsoever, through tingling nerves that were alert and yet not drawn tight. There was naught but the ghost of exhaustion, and, as Albus watched his fingers flex and felt cold air filling his lungs: a body that had forgotten its youth and had it sneak up on it unawares.

The light rain that peppered the skin of his cheeks and moistened his pores when he flung the window open was whispering things that maybe, it was finally time for him to lend a ear to.

The minty fresh taste of toothpaste was lying fresh on his taste buds when he paused on the last stair that led to the ground floor, and heard sounds of human movement and life that extended to beyond his own. He would be lying if he said that his heart followed the same steady beat, that it didn’t speed up in the slightest when laughter, deeper and lower than the birdlike treble of the children’s, like forest streams and wildwood rushes, drifted out from the main room ensconcing the kitchenette; and lying again if he denied taking its help to quash the insistent voice that said this wasn’t necessary, that he was making it out to be bigger than it was, that they probably wouldn’t even get it when he swept into the room suddenly, in a self-conscious storm and stood there within the doorway, motionless, for several seconds.

He didn’t look at the occupants. He didn’t look anywhere else except that cloudy patch of glass, part of the windowpane that stood behind the radio. He only heard an imperceptibly wavering voice announce, “I’m going to go get paint for the girls’ room.”

Then, in a gesture he wouldn’t have executed if his life had depended on it had he been conscious of what he was doing, Albus rubbed the palm of his hand over the back of his neck a la James Potter, and abruptly realised he’d forgotten to comb his hair. He probably looked like a fright. So the voice rose again to cover it up, except bravery wasn’t one of his predominant traits, at least not enough to ask if anyone would care to come with him. So he didn’t. “I’m going to the departmental store two blocks down.”

Yes yes, Albus Potter, His mind scoffed, because if familiarity bred contempt, then he knew none better than he knew himself, and so could despise none more. Like you’ve announced where you’re going every time you leave the house like a recalcitrant child till now. This isn’t abnormal or weird at all. Well the f*cking done.

“Mum-mum, wake-y up now.”

Morning invaded the bright azure gaze that was musty with slumber. Turning, Athena lifted her arm out from underneath the heavy duvet she had curled beneath the night before. She blinked a few times and as the world came into view and she leaned up on her elbow to see her boys sat at the end of the bed with their toy giraffes. They grinned at her toothily and crawled forward into the embrace that opened up for them. She pressed her lips once to each forehead and drew up the covers around her babies, whispering her good morning in a throaty, weary voice. They mumbled in reply and snuggled in tightly against her, lowering their lids on the eyes that they shared with their father and grandmother. Her lips found their foreheads again briefly before they all committed themselves to half an hour’s extra sleep. That, of course, did not last long, mind you, because before long Augustus and Archibald were wriggling once more, giggling to each other and attempting to wake up their mother.

“Mum-mum,” Archie chimed in her ear. “Mum-mum wake-y up please.”

Athena cracked open an eye, a slow smirk spreading over her lips. She sat up once more on her elbow and raised an eyebrow at Gus who was playing idly with the ears of his giraffe which he’d sat in his lap. He grinned toothily at her and she shook her head briefly before scooping up Archie out of the bed. Turning, Athena took her legs out from under the warmth of the duvet and dropped them over the side of the bed onto the fluffy mat. She looked around herself for a moment before glancing at her boys, wondering to herself how they’d managed to climb up onto the bed. She didn’t mind too much, though, and while she was interested to quiz them about it she was still weary and managed to extend an arm to pick up Gus before rising out of bed.

“C’mon little monsters,” she murmured affectionately to them, cuddling them close to her. They grinned brightly and slowly she made her way out into the hall. The girls, she noted upon sticking her head around the door of their room, were already up and had made their way downstairs if the sound emerging from there was evidence of anything. So, continuing her way, Athena made her way downstairs, chatting to the boys as they babbled brightly at her. Once they were down in the hallway once more, Athena made her way into the kitchen where she set them down and reached for the kettle to fill it up fresh with some more water. Under her feet they wandered, opening up cupboards which she nudged shut with her hip.

Once tea was brewed and milk was warmed to distract the boys who retreated in after the girls who were in the living room, Athena was allowed a few moments to herself to wake up properly. Between yawns she managed to drink half of her tea before making her way into the living room to kiss good morning to Aurelia and Cecilia who grinned at her, uttering their good morning’s before turning back to whatever they were watching. Athena rolled her eyes and inquired over her shoulder whether they wanted breakfast which was an affirmative statement so she wandered back into the kitchen to scrounge up something.

This set the boys after her and Athena managed to cycle between them as she put on toast and tried to decide whether she should scramble or poach the eggs for the girls. The boys, she warned, would get nothing if they didn’t leave her alone and that sent them scrambling off. Soon after, she wished they hadn’t and though the girls did wander in to deposit their cups, the last person she wanted to see was the man who walked in through the door. Athena turned away from the pan, having decided on poaching the eggs, and took in a hasty breath through her mouth, her eyes widening imperceptibly.

He was angry with her, still. Or, well, that was what she’d deduced. She hadn’t imagined that relations between members of the wonder family were as strained as they were shown to be. She had known. Of course she had. Yet, it had never occurred to her that it was as bad as all that. She’d thought it was exaggeration – unnecessary hearsay. But James’ cold sweat and Albus’ standoffishness – the desire to fight in all three of them. She’d never been presented with as much hostility – even within her own family. Trying to make it better had only gone on to make it worse, it seemed. She was sorry. Yet, she had no idea how to say as much to Albus.

Stepping away from the pan, Athena put down the long spoon she’d been using to ease water over the top of the yolks. She brushed her hands over the front of the long white top she wore and glanced down at herself, desperately wishing it hadn’t been a warm night and that she’d elected to put trousers on rather than shorts, the bright pink colouring only just peeking occasionally out from underneath the hem of the top. She moved across the room and planted herself before Albus, her eyes flicking to his imploringly.

“Have breakfast with us,” she murmured, reaching out hesitantly to brush her fingers across the back of his hand that was still down by his side. “Please,” she added. “Then perhaps we could all go,” she offered. “They’ll want to help to pick the colours.”

A squeal broke Athena’s train of thought, followed by a resounding crash. She turned around to see Augustus and Archibald stood either side of a bookshelf – thankfully a small one that had a mixture of CDs and DVDs on it, though longer - sprawled across the floor with its contents spilled out in a fan around it. Their hands slapped to their wide open mouths and though they feigned shock and surprise their eyes twinkled with mischief that made their mother blanch and look as though she wanted to either strangle them or pick them up and cuddle them again. She settled with glaring at them, causing the boys to bid hasty retreat, their giraffes following along after them through the air. Magic, it seemed, was becoming a definite part of their mischief.

“Sorry,” Athena bit her lip and brushed past Albus, her long fingers coming around the bookshelf before easing it back up onto its feet once more. Bizarrely, it looked dazed, almost, and she apologised to it, also, before trying to scoop up some of the CDs, in her rush to bring the bookshelf back to equilibrium failing to remember that she was actually a witch. Another bang in the living room followed by the shrieks of the girls made Athena drop the CDs she had in her grasp and, crouched on the floor, she dropped her forehead into her palm. Then, resolvedly, she rose up to her full height – which, granted, wasn’t much when barefoot and she was hardly imposing in her pyjamas – and marched into the living room to find yet another bookshelf and her shocked boys as culprits.

“Archibald Rookwood!” She exclaimed, throwing her arm out behind her, livid. “Get into that kitchen right now and apologise to Albus.”

Archie’s face fell and he trundled past her, his footsteps retreating into the kitchen. Gus by this point in time had dived underneath the sofa and Athena leaned over, dragging him out by the ankles much to his half-delight and terror. Righting him, Athena held the pyjama-clad boy out before her. He grinned wickedly and Athena shook her head, scowling at him openly which soon wiped the smile off of his expression. He wiggled and she dropped him down onto his feet once more, hissing at him to do the same as his brother.

“They’re messy,” Ceci said knowledgably, sitting back down beside her sister who was still leaning over the arm of the sofa, inspecting the mess of books on the floor.

“They are a pain in my backside,” Athena retorted glibly, pulling up the shelf once more. Aurelia got up, offering to help but Athena turned her back around. “Watch your program,” she pressed a kiss to Lia’s head. “I’ll fix that when I fetch my wand. Breakfast will be done soon.”

“You love them.” Ceci reminded Athena with a knowing smile.

“Like a hole in the head,” Athena laughed, moving back into the kitchen, hands on her hips.

“You two are nightmares.” She accused the boys before scooping up Gus, Archie extending his arms for Albus to pick him up. “You are a nightmare, aren’t you?” She cooed at Gus, tickling under his chin as she moved back to the pan where the eggs were more or less done for the girls. “A little monster.” She reminded him with a smile, lifting the pan off of the heat.

She wouldn’t change them, of course. No, she wouldn’t change any of this. The only thing she’d adjust is Albus. Just enough to make him want to talk to her again.

“Have breakfast with us.”

I don’t deserve you.

Albus blinked, and shook his head a little. But the words remained, persistent, refusing to be dislodged, as if they’d been there all along. I don’t deserve you.

And that, that right there, wasn’t Albus Potter at all. No, Albus Potter was the selfish, entitled prat. Knowing you doesn’t make it any easier to love you, Albus. Lily’s words had been accurate, if a vast understatement. He didn’t think about things he deserved- or rather, he thought too much. His entire life had been a series of resenting people- his family, friends, heck, the entire world, for not giving him his due, for sweeping him to the side like something to be ignored or overlooked. Either people wanted too much from him or they didn’t want enough- no, no they wanted but never needed, no one ever needed….and Albus became embroiled in this wanting. Because you see, it never was as simple as ‘getting what you want’. It was about what to want and how much to want and whether in all this wanting, you’ve overlooked the terrible price to pay, somewhere.

So yes. That thought was as uncharacteristic as it could get, yet it remained; as with a high-pitched giggle and a tumultuous crash a solid rose shelf met the cement and colourful plastic cases scattered over the grey, and the wonderful woman standing before him huffed and went over to gather It’s A Beautiful Life and Finding Neverland into her bare, goose-flesh speckled arms.  And it didn’t even make much sense, it wasn’t like sh- like they, they were his to even deserve. Like any rights existed in this situation. Just a friend sheltering another in empty rooms and a metaphorically leaking roof.

As Athena was apologising profusely to the bookcase (he was going to have to check that piece of furniture for sentience sometime), something caught at the edge of his vision, something bright and blue and mischievous, and Albus barely had to turn his head to see two stubby pairs of legs propped against the floor beyond the living room doorway, chubby hands pushing at another wooden frame. This one seemed a bit more resilient though. The bright blue eyes fringed with coal lashes turned, pink lips puckered up, chin almost wibbling- won’t you please Mr Albus?

As you command. And before he could second guess himself, or get a grasp on anything that was happening really, an involuntary shake of the sleeve brought a familiar rod of rowan sliding into his palm, and the flick that followed was almost imperceptible.

The bookshelf fell. Archie glowed in gratitude.

“Archibald Rookwood! Get into that kitchen right now and apologise to Albus.”

His lip didn’t twitch, not even a tiny little bit, when the reprimanded boy meandered over to the doorway. Albus nodded gravely. “Your mother’s right, you know. It’s not very nice to go around wrecking bookshelves at home.”

Archie shot him an unimpressed glare, and extended his arms. Albus knelt down and scooped the child off the ground, setting him firmly against the shoulder, something in his chest settling at the knobbly knees poking into his ribs, the limpet-like feel of arms hooking around his neck, the warm, milk-scented breath brushing his shoulder. His throat unwound and he exhaled, almost mindlessly pressing a butterfly kiss to the soft, sweaty nape of the boy cradled in his arms. Eyes lifting up, he saw another, darker pair watching him- and Aurelia turned back to the program, something unreadable flickering in too-old eyes.

At home. Something clicked in his mind, several seconds too late, and a little absentminded. Probably should have said ‘people’s houses’. Home.

Athena bustled over to the kitchen, pink shorts looking neon bright against the white upholstery of the counter, and seemed to prod and poke at the pan, steam curling up in the bright gold sunlight that filtered in from the window and frizzing up the little bundle of curls at the top of her forehead. Albus followed slowly, the smell of toast and syrup and eggs filling his lungs, Archie’s heels kicking slightly at the sides of his thighs, and paused three steps away from her shoulder. Standing here in early morning daylight, with a boy sucking a thumb contentedly into his cherub-ish lips over his shoulder, the sounds of apparently Princess Leia calling Obi Wan Kenobi for help drifting in from the adjacent room, the sound of sizzling eggs and Athena’s distracted humming- his thoughts from the week before seemed ludicrous. The thoughts that insisted that it didn’t matter if he ate upstairs or downstairs, that it didn’t make a whit of a difference. To them at least, if not him. Why should it?

Ludicrous though it seemed…….it was still a thought process conditioned into a mindset for years. It wouldn’t leave that easily.

But a bird whistled outside the sill, loud enough to heard in the middle of bloody frickin’ London, and…….maybe all this was pointless. Maybe he didn’t deserve them, maybe the question didn’t even arise. But one thing he wasn’t conflicted on anymore was if he wanted this. Whatever this was supposed to be.

And. Well. Slytherin. When had the question of whether or not he deserved something ever mattered? If he wanted this, he would bloody well have it, self-flagellating conscience or otherwise.

“As tantalising as that smells, what about……” The words drifted, as he settled his hip against the counter, adjacent to the stove and adjusted Archie into the crook of his elbow. “…we put a Stasis charm on that. I’ve always wanted to have breakfast for lunch.”

And then he looked back across the doorway, the back of the couch where the two sisters were bundled clearly visible, and raised his voice to ensure it was perfectly audible. “Diner on the 44th. Or fast food stand on the curb outside, whichever really. I’m having a hunch that the greasiest, unhealthiest burgers in the entirety of the city have our names written on them, this fine morning. Then we can pop into the departmental store two blocks down and get the groceries and the paint and pretty much whatever strikes our fancy really.”

And then his face turned a little to the side, smile small but present and the uncertainty cloaked by more than two decades of masking. Two decades were proving to be too short, of late. “Is…is that alright?”

I want to make up. For these days, even though I’ve no idea why you’d mind. I want to make up.

There was something wonderful in domesticity. She’d always scorned it, desirous of a life full of excitement and wonder with men at her feet and spells in her mind that, if they weren’t already kissing her stilettos, would make them. She had been a teenaged girl when that dream had seemed to her the only one worth possessing in her mind’s eye. She’d been more confident then. The world had not seemed so happy when she was rolling out of Elijah Krum’s bed and straight into Scorpius Malfoy’s and then from his into that of her husband-to-be’s. To her then, life was a simple cycle of bedding and exalting at being who she was. She had been the apple of her father’s eye. She had been the heiress to a small portion of the Goyle fortune. She’d been important. Now, she was a mother and she had never been happier than when she had her children her arms.

It was a terrific sort of metamorphosis. These were the only creatures in the world she felt saw her, even if it was through mummified goggles. They didn’t zero in on the Dark Mark, desperate to locate it beneath Glamour Charms. They didn’t feel out for the raised bumps in her skin where the Azkaban guards had been imprecise and had wounded rather than imprinted as they were meant to do, though managed to do the latter all the same. They saw her. They knew her not for what she was perceived to be but for what she was. Even Kendall had possessed these strange expectations of her that he could never fully realise. She would have ultimately disappointed him. Only, he had chosen to disappoint her instead. Her children would not, of that she was sure. As ruinous as it was to think like it, she felt secure in knowing they wouldn’t leave, the boys especially, for at least another decade.

Albus’ words tugged her from her thoughts, reminding her that she was not alone and that there was another person in that house who she felt she was transparent under the Evans gaze of. Swallowing a deep breath, she put down her fish slice and looked up at him, suddenly feeling rather small in her socks with a baby on her hip. Augustus was amusing himself with her hair, stuffing fistfuls of it into his mouth. It was long enough, now, for her to notice very little of his actions and it made her concede it was time to have it cut. She pulled it out of his hand, all the same while she tried to decide with a scrutinising eye whether Albus had forgiven her or not.

“If you want,” she replied finally in a stiff, clunky fashion, as though she was unsure about whether or not her speaking would exact further silent scorn from him. “I’ll um … I’ll need to get everyone dressed.” She glanced down at herself, turning her sock-clad foot onto its side as she looked at what she was wearing. She needed a bit of a shower too, realistically speaking, and as used to Muggle-ness as she was becoming, her heart did give a few reluctant flutters upon his suggestion they find burgers. It wasn’t something she was used to eating, to say the least. When she’d been pregnant, she’d had a craving for quail – half to be irritating and half because she actually wanted it. Not to mention pickles – she still loved pickles.

“Albus I—” The witch coloured and brought her lips together as Cecilia bounded into the kitchen. She shrank back, setting her son down onto her feet, and listened only a little as the girl badgered Albus, excitably running off a list of things they could do that day. Athena was, in truth, grateful for the interruption. She had no idea how she was going to form an apology for him. She didn’t feel bad for it – she wanted the Potters to get along because they were brothers and in her mind should have loved each other and ignored all of the hurt that often made that difficult. There were some things that were more important. She believed that.

“Isn’t that right, Thea?” Cecilia rounded on her now and immediately a smile lit up the witch’s face as though a button had been pressed and she nodded, appeasing the child who ran off, declaring she and her sister were getting dressed. Aurelia passed a look to the grown-ups, one that Athena couldn’t identify, and followed her sibling at a much more leisurely, sleepy pace which had the grace of her breeding in her gait. She was still a Rookwood, it seemed, even if you took her out of the house and the out from under the shadow that followed them wherever they went. Cecilia was becoming much more Potter-like, albeit no one really realised that yet.

Stepping forward, Athena leaned around to press her lips to Albus’ cheek, a brief and almost-lingering touch of her mouth to his skin that she half-regretted by the time she stepped back. It was then that she apologised, the words coming out as earnestly as she truly meant them. She was sorry. She really was – but more because Albus had been upset. She added that. She’d been remorseful because she’d upset him. Though, she didn’t really add anything else to it. She felt the fact that she wasn’t relinquishing any feeling of having done the right thing in inviting James in the first place was implied.

“We should pick up desserts and pastries from that patisserie off of Oxford Street,” she offered as an afterthought, rubbing her thumb across his cheek. Had she been wearing lipstick and left it in his skin the action would have been logical. She realised with a start that in a way she was just doing it for the sheer pleasure of the action. She stole her hand a way quite quickly at that thought.

Athena was……Athena was ridiculously tactile, really.

It didn’t make much of sense. Of course, no one knew better than them that last names and stereotypes were shit, but he was still the Potter here. The one who’d actually grown up in an environment where hugs were commonplace, where siblings bounced on each other’s beds at the crack of dawn to wake them up, tucked their younger brother’s head under their arm and distributed noogies to kingdom come, children received kisses on their forehead from Grandmum Weasley and one on each cheek from Aunt Fleur on Christmas Eve dinners and Christmas Day breakfasts. Potter-Weasleys were meant to be…….affectionate, free with their touches and expressions of love, which of course meant that the gene had skipped Albus altogether.

Not that he was precisely uncomfortable with physical expressions of affection or anything. Never initiated them, but could deal with them well enough when they came his way, like an occupational hazard of being part of the clan. Of course, the fact remained that it had been……..years, since he actually had to deal with any of that. He was ridiculously out of practice.

The kids were easy enough, they seemed to pull at a tiny part of him that he had presumed non-existent, a well of affection that made him cradle Archie’s head close to his chest and brush his lips across a sweaty scalp without thought or fear (like he’d done for Lily all those years ago). Athena though……just, wouldn’t stop. She’d brush a hand against his knuckles without a thought, trace the contours of his cheekbone with a warm palm (Albus, you are so loved…), press her lips against his cheek like a fountain of affection that just wouldn’t stop giving, no matter how much the world had taken from her.

Albus, he………he had a counter, yes? Of how long it had been since someone had hugged him willingly, how long it had been since they actually meant it, how many times- suffice to say, with Athena around, even his analytical brain had a hard time keeping count. She didn’t just mess up the system. She ran it into the bloody ground.

At this point, Albus was pretty much just holding on for dear life, really. Sometimes, he didn’t know what would be worse. Scampering in the other direction the next time she decided to press a lingering kiss to his jaw, or leaning into the touch.

Scratch that, the latter was the worse option. Always.

Maybe he could blame that, for remaining stock still while she delivered her…..apology. (What? What?) In a typical Athena fashion, she continued to apologise for things that weren’t her fault but that he, to be completely honest, longed to blame her for but…….couldn’t. Which of course was a feat in itself, because when had Albus Potter ever shied away from blaming the people around him? Except he wasn’t a complete moron, and she had had no idea about his family history, except for what little he’d confessed about his father on the bridge, that night.

She exited the room not long after, dressing the children with a gentle-handed, swift competence that still stunned him, and not too long after, they were walking in the sunlight- shoe soles clicking against the pavement as the high rises of London surrounded them like modern day wonders. A motley crew of six, with Augustus balanced expertly on Athena’s hip, Aurelia trailing sedately behind, her steady pace belied by the wideness of her eyes as they took in the cacophony of Muggle London. Archie was nibbling contentedly at Albus’ collar, balanced against one shoulder with a steadying hand pressed into his small back, while Ceci continuously strained against his other hand, something almost soothing to the constant stream of questions.

“Yes, that’s a car, it runs on fuel…….that’s a kind of energy, like how magic is a form of energy, no Ceci, I do not have one, I’ll remedy that lack of foresight as soon as possible. Foresight? That means………what that means isn’t impor- no, all the black and yellow ones don’t belong to a Hufflepuff, Muggles don’t have Hufflepuffs, they’re cabs, kind of like the Knight Bus? They drop you off wherever you want if you have money. Yes I have money Ceci, but we don’t need a cab to travel two blocks. The bright lights are traffic signals, meant to make sure the cars don’t crash into each other when they pass through crossings- actually that’s a brilliant idea, why don’t we use that, so whenever I say green, that means you can walk as fast as you want, yellow is slow down, red is stop- damn, red, red, Ceci, do not try to cross the road like that again- “

The scary part, Albus reflected a while later, was that he wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed when they finally reached the store.

He barely got started on the g of the ‘green’ before Ceci tore her hand out and took to her heels, sprinting across the parking lot, Aurelia following and shaking her head in her wake. They were safe, for a while. He finally turned to the woman who’d come to a halt just a pace behind him, then, like a coward whose time had finally run out. The sun streaked through her hair, like golden beams trapped in a net of brown, and the words were supposed to be more difficult to get out, but strangely, they weren’t.

“I’m sorry.” His mouth began, and then decided to proceed on entirely without his brain’s permission. It was almost terrifyingly liberating. “I’m sorry for letting you apologise, because it wasn’t……..isn’t, your fault. My screwed up family, my issues, I shouldn’t have dragged you in between it. Tried my best not to, actually, but that might have given off some wrong signals, along the way.” And then it stopped, before the most difficult part, because what would he say next, really? Apologise for holing himself away, but that was terribly presumptuous, assuming that she’d…..they had even noticed, that it bothered them. Hell, her entire apology might have been composed due to politeness, of being a guest in his house (even though they weren’t), and letting someone he wasn’t…..quite fond of under his roof without asking, or something equally as ridiculous. But then, she had quite specifically mentioned the part about hurting him (and here it should have stung, to his male pride for showing hurt, for being so horrifically transparent about it, except it was entirely the other way round, yes he didn’t want to show hurt, but not out of a false sense of dignity, but because he didn’t want to seem weak, not to them, her, ever.) So Albus just opened his mouth, and closed it again, completely lost as to how he who’d woven masks out of barely an emotion to spare and always knew how to divert, to say the right thing for a given definition of it, had come to this moment now, uncharted, out of his depth.

“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” And that would have to be enough, because Ceci was back like a whirling tornado, tugging his hand because apparently they had to get inside nownownow, and Albus relished in the helpless smile pulling up his lips almost like salvation. He had already been dragged forward a few paces, and he looked back over his shoulder, green eyes glowing with a warmth he hadn’t felt for a very, very long time.

“Ready to venture into the Big, Bad world of Muggles?” The question was thrown into the air, only half a joke, and the automatic doors slid open with a whoosh, air-conditioned air beckoning them in. Albus sent Aurelia and Ceci towards the line of trolleys, if only to see one’s increasingly excited, and the other’s increasingly frustrated attempts at pulling one of the contraptions out of the line, and he petted Archie’s curls absentmindedly, half-wondering when the smell of toddler had become so comforting.

“Have you been going through the educational brochures?” He asked, as the Rookwood sisters finally prevailed in their glorious quest and returned with one slightly banged-up trolley, no less triumphantly. “See anything that interests you yet?”

It seemed strange that the two most unlikely people to ever apologise – both Slytherins – would apologise to each other, no less, in one morning. In truth, Athena was more stunned by the fact that it had happened than by the details of the apology and she froze, with Augustus handling miniature fingerfuls of her hair as it fluttered about her in the warm spring air. She brought her lips together, determined that she shouldn’t gape at him, and straightened herself, bringing her heels together as she looked at him, trying to work out what the significance was and trying, simultaneously, to get over the fact that his last part of the apology sounded like Ceci when she’d done something bad.

The little girl stole Athena’s chance to talk to Albus about it and, with everything else that had buzzed about her – Athena was almost not afraid of the automatic doors. Almost. She did pause and then nearly get run over by an angry old man with a trolley full of potted plants but she hurried inside, determined to catch up with Albus and her children. She changed Augustus over to rest on her other hip and bounced him lightly, wishing that the great lump of a boy didn’t pull on her arms quite in the way Archibald clearly did not for Albus. Wiggly and desperate to get down and run around with his siblings, Athena eventually had to let Augustus go.

Sliding him down onto his feet, Athena took hold of her son’s hand and straightened up again, secretly quite pleased that the little one had gotten his father’s height – even if that thought alone terrified her. Kendall. Sometimes she did miss him. It was like the thud of a yearning heart that knew they should have done better. They should have had a family together, she knew. She should still have been holding the Rookwoods together by hook or by crook. She should have been able to have a stable family situation for her sons and for the girls. She couldn’t, though, and it was as much because of him as it was in spite of him.

Instead, Athena had Albus. She was sure now that he was the best thing to have happened to her – even if conceding that implied she wasn’t sure before. She was, though. Albus was highly important. In fact, he was quite possibly the most important person in her life outside of her children. He was probably her only friend, too – such was the disappointment of her social life. It was a funny kind of result, really. She was young, too young to be the woman she was. She should have been frittering away her father’s money in Monaco somewhere, laughing with friends. She wasn’t, mind. Obviously. She knew she preferred this but she’d never in a million years did she think she’d have them or him.

“Oh, um,” Albus’ question had pulled Athena from her thoughts and she looked at him as the girls returned. “Red!” She exclaimed, harking back to Albus’ light system as she pulled Augustus back up into her arms, narrowly avoiding him getting run over this time. “Come on, be careful,” she complained, watching in despair as the girls coloured ashamedly. Athena lowered Gus back down and he walked confidently over to Ceci, reaching for her hand. Athena wore a careful eye on them but took the trolley, determined to make a show of being able to deal with the big, bad world of Muggles.

“Right, go on,” she gestured, waving them ahead. “Stay where we can see you and mind the boys, for heaven’s sake. They’re not as quick as you.”

The girls shot on ahead but remained within eyesight as their mother had requested. Athena breathed a sigh of relief and watched them – like a mother hawk, as always – contemplating what Albus had asked her.

“A few bits,” she conceded. “I … I sort of picked the ones I liked but I left them because I wasn’t sure what to do next, to tell you the truth. I meant to ask but I … well, you were annoyed so I didn’t want to make a nuisance of myself.”

Albus had always liked the Muggle world.

It should seem strange, that one who’s grown up in a world populated with potions and cauldrons, self-washing laundry and moving portraits, charms to turn rats into goblets and back again, should find the law-bound world devoid of magic so comforting. But it was. There was something soothing about slipping on a pair of jeans and a cardigan and slipping into the crowd of London, watching the people buzz by chattering on cellphones and feeding the geese in parks and always, always rushing from or to somewhere that was……calming. Anonymity was a distant dream in the Wizarding world, but here, no one cared about yet another dark haired man tossing pebbles into the river from a tall bridge, slipping into public libraries to read fiction amongst the stacks, gold sunlight dribbling in and setting the motes of dust on fire. Wandering in midst of a city that seemed so……purposeful, filled with people that didn’t have enough hours in the day to complete half of what they’d set out to do, his own uncertainty seemed meaningless. It was so easy to get lost.

Now though, as they strode through the aisles, the wheels of the aged trolley squeaking on the clean tile floors as he pushed it along……….now he was a guide. He was pulling them into a world they’d heard of only in words, and none too nice ones. Loosening the blindfolds gently, shading their eyes from glare of things that shone too brightly, nudging their steps towards wide-eyed wonder. Never before had he been so acutely aware of the differences between this world and the next- the flatscreen mounted feet above, showing various customers bustling among the aisles for their groceries; the mild humming of machines, the quiet beeps from the cash counter, the bright fluorescent white lights, the air-conditioned air, the teenaged girl not three steps away, dressed in the bright orange shirt and black trousers that all the staff wore, eyebrows pierced thrice and skin of bared arms hardly visible under the tattoos. It had to seem…….it had to seem so different to Athena. Disquieting.

Before he was quite aware, the fingers of his right hand had reached out to tuck under the crook of her left elbow- a light, almost phantom, unmistakably comforting touch. Almost an anchor. She turned, and it took every scrap of bravery Albus had ever possessed not to pull away. He had pulled away the last time, so strong in his belief that she didn’t require him and look at where that had brought them. She thought she was being a nuisance.

“I don’t….that’s not…” Albus paused to exhale, then let his lips curl inward in an unmistakable expression of dryness. “I was the one who’d suggested it, you’re not bothering me by bringing it up. As far as the annoyance….” A little flicker of wry humour. “Why not I just give you blanket permission to hit me on the head every time I’m being an idiot, hm?”

He reached up with his left and plucked yet another item out of the racks, a bag of prunes this time, followed by a sealed packet of nachos. God, there was so much he wanted to get for them. A clothing store next maybe….Ceci would probably adore the new fashions. And shoes- he was willing to bet she’d go bonkers over converse. Athena might want something too, she looked comfortable in the clothes she donned at home, if not jeans quite yet. Aurelia might like books. Games and toys for the boys- oh video games, why hadn’t he thought of that before? They’d love it. Maybe a few new DVD’s while they were at it, he didn’t quite have the largest stock at home, and they already loved movies. Like every other male out on the streets, shopping was not one of his favoured ways of spending time, look at the blank walls of his apartment before they all moved in, for Merlin’s sake. But there was something almost……exciting, something that lit a small ember of warmth in his chest at the thought of showering the world on these people that surrounded him. And well….Potter, and a published one at that. Wasn’t like he couldn’t afford it.

“Which ones did you like then?” They ducked between the people perusing the dairy products aisle, crossing three before pausing before the one they were seeking, his fingers still secure within the crook of her elbow. Mops, buckets, cleanliness and hygiene goods…….paint. Yes. “Anything science related will be a little difficult to pick up if you haven’t been to Muggle high school. History, literature, philosophy….the knowledge is transferable there and not so hard to understand, I’d like to think. If you’re confused, we could always go to one of the public libraries and borrow a couple of books on the subjects you’re interested in, just to see. Or buy them, doesn’t make much of a difference.”

The children were already fussing over the paints, and Albus had to let Athena’s arm go to crouch to knee-level and see what they all were squabbling over. “So?” He asked, a teasing quirk to the words. “Has the moment of truth arrived? Which shall it be? Mint green? Royal blue? Pink?”

If his past self of not even a year ago had seen him like this…..well. Albus was willing to bet between jaw-dropping befuddlement and complete unconsciousness. He was inclined towards the latter, most of the time.

The buzzing Muggle world was an assault on the senses and an assault on everything that the witch had ever imagined it to be. Coddled behind closed doors, apparated here, there and everywhere by House Elves or by her father or by her husband, the real world – even the Wizarding World – had passed her by. When going to work, she floo-ed to the Leaky Cauldron and in between brushing the lint from her skirt and the soot from her blouse she murmured her hellos to the barman and wandered through into Diagon Alley, but she rarely stopped off in another shop on the way to the bookshop and she never went into Muggle London.

Unceremoniously, she’d been cast adrift on what felt like an entirely different planet. The children fit in seamlessly as all children were wont to do. It was rare for them to fail to melt into their environment, their unbridled honesty of heart and their rampant, insatiable curiosity seeing them learn far faster than their cautious mother who, despite all of the progress she’d made and despite outlook she’d shirked, was too afraid to be running along with them, suggesting things for them to buy. Yet, Albus was there, making sure she didn’t drift away out to sea.

His fingers on her arm burned, though she knew it wasn’t out of the chill of her own skin. The sun was warm and welcoming of summer and it had drawn a heat in her skin that she’d not felt since the summer before last – it was the promise of sweltering months to come. Albus lit her on fire, though, and she looked, having to make sure that it wasn’t literal. She licked her lips, a smattering of colour appearing on her cheeks. Seizing what little bravery she had, she lifted her arm out of his grasp and caught her fingers with his, lacing her smallest around his as she had done on the bridge that first night.

She passed a small, hesitant smile to him, her eyes reverberating with the question of whether or not that was an alright thing to do. She had no clue, in truth, but she liked the feel of his fingers around hers. She always had done. Her smile grew into a broad smirk when he relinquished his right to go without assault and she squeezed his hand, all of her fingers lacing through his as a laugh bubbled up from her chest.

“You’re going to regret that,” she replied in a sing-song tone.

Walking through the store was evoking all kinds of strange feelings within her. It was a smorgasbord of items and she’d only ever come close to it that time she’d gone with her cousins to a market not too far from their grandmother’s house. This shop seemed to house the world in it, though, and Athena was in equal parts fascinated and terrified. She wanted to pick up some things, handle them and ask Albus why the Muggles would need such items – particularly the selfie sticks … she had no idea what a selfie was, let alone why it needed a stick. Muggles.

“I liked the History, actually,” she admitted gently, her gaze flicking to him, hurrying up to his side to avoid getting injured by a wayward trolley. “But I’m not sure. I wouldn’t mind the Literature course, either. I feel like hyperventilating at the moment, though, so I have no idea how I’d ever be able to go to a Muggle school.” She bit her lip and shook her head. She’d kept her voice level enough to admit it, even if it had gotten a bit breathy and teemed with her anxiety. It felt good, somehow, to admit that to him – that she was as out of her depth as he probably imagine her to be. She was scared, yes, but she didn’t feel any disdain towards the Muggles that wandered by – incredulous curiosity but not disdain and that felt amazing to her. It meant that the habits of a lifetime could and would be broken.

The loss of Albus’ touch was something she immediately mourned and Athena found herself looking down at her hand, a mix of confusion and unhappiness creasing her brows before she smoothed her features and felt a smile tug at her lips as he knelt down to talk to the children. His question didn’t resolve any of the squabbling and arguably made it worse as they all called out their different colours of choice. Athena had a vision of them having to divide up the room and paint a section for them each. She shook her head and approached the group, deciding to offer a tentative suggestion.

“We can do stripes if you can decide on two colours,” she tempted with a gentle, indulgent smile. She held out her hands as Archie came towards her and the little one was lifted up onto her hip as she looked at the other four. “Does that help you decide?” She asked. Immediately the arguments resumed and Athena rolled her eyes, returning to the trolley. Evidently not.