I know that you can't hear me, but baby I need you to save me tonight

Sunday rolled around and one Keiran Hayes found himself waking up for the fourth or fifth time, and again it was too early. The sheets were cold, lacking the body heat that he was so used to, and just like the other times he had awoken, he registered just what day it was. His eyes opened, staring at the ceiling without emotion until he finally blinked and told himself to sit up. Pushing the sheets back, he pushed his fingers through his hair and decided it would be best just to get ready early rather than trying to fall asleep once more.

The clock informed him that it was only yet eight o'clock, but he had seen six, and five-thirty, and something around three fifteen among other numbers in his restlessness. His feet dangled off the side of the bed for a breath before they touched down and he pushed himself up. It took too little time for him to actually get dressed and ready, so while showering and making sure he had something nice on was all good and well, Keiran found himself without anything to do until their eleven o'clock meeting.

Theirs. Keiran's and hers. His and Millie's. Oh hell.

Some days he wished he hadn't said anything when Millie offered the olive branch. Rather, he wished he hadn't asked questions. But most days he wondered how they had ever worked at all. What had they changed? Whatever had gone wrong had not been there in the beginning, and Keiran couldn't help but think it was the school. If that was true, it meant that their impending divorce was his fault. It had been his idea only partly, but he felt the need to take the blame on his shoulders. Yes, the affair had pushed them to that point, but the affair wouldn't have happened were it not for him changing, right? They had never been quite made for each other, but the Ministry was apparently thinking otherwise. Or the had been when they claimed that he and Millie were best suited for each other than anyone else available. Maybe there just hadn't been the right people and he was her second best. Maybe that's all he was.

If so, this divorce was the best thing he could do for her. She could have a chance at finding someone who wasn't just okay. Keiran, though, wasn't interested in the idea of re-marrying. It sounded like weakness when Keiran considered it, but after everything he had been through, the man hardly felt it was a dramatic call on his part. He had always thought he would be better off alone, if only because he had always wanted to keep a busy work life. Apparently, he would get that chance again now that things weren't working out between himself and the woman who was still his wife. She wouldn't be for too much longer, though. And the meeting would be far more difficult than simply telling her that they should split. Actually going through with it would be... painful, really.

But go through with it he would, because Millie had agreed, and that in itself was a bad sign. So he did his best to get breakfast down, and wasted time reading The Prophet until he could leave without being shockingly early. Keiran heaved a sigh, closed his eyes briefly, and turned on his heel.

---

The kids were actually insane if they thought that Keiran was going to listen to the rule they set forth. They were certainly Slytherins, though, so while he wanted to be surprised, he couldn't truly manage it. "They may be in my house," Keiran returned, gesturing towards the door, "but that doesn't mean you didn't have a hand in all that."

The corner of his mouth pulled upwards, but the amusement was put to the side when her hand came up to rest atop the fabric of his shirt. Just as Millie reached up, Keiran's fingers traced the fabric of her dress and he tilted his head to meet her part way. The smile was back almost immediately, working its way onto his face as she greeted him officially.

"Well," he began, keeping his voice low in case either or both of the twins decided it would be fun to listen in. His arms wound further around her back as he stepped closer, his expression one of thought and consideration. "I've been... impatient. A little anxious, I'll admit. But mostly impatient. So we should head off, before I forget that I had something planned and decide that we need to go out. After all, you're dressed up and I'll feel bad about just taking you to my flat if we don't get going."

A pleased smirk took over, and Keiran made sure he had a good hold on her before taking them back to his. Before she could get impatient, herself, and try to open the door for him, Keiran stepped forward and took hold of the handle. "I should warn you, I might have gone a little overboard."

When he opened the door and stepped aside to let her in, he had to admit that yes, he had definitely made it a bit much. But maybe Millie liked the ridiculously cheesy side of relationships. After all, what did he know? Just as he was starting to consider the fact that he might should have questioned Kelly about the whole thing, the door closed behind him and he resigned himself to the fact that she could very easily make fun of him. Or think he was insane. That could happen, too. But either way, the room was set with blankets and pillows, their plates already set with warming charms to keep the pasta ready.

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Keiran waited for some sort of reaction, feeling oddly unsure for a grown man his age. Especially for a man who had been married to the woman standing in front of him. "Is it... okay?"

That fateful morning, the front door of Number 10, Yeats Street, opened to a crash sounding upstairs. Bright, shining blue eyes lifted up the staircase and inside stepped a man returning from the corner shop down the road with a bottle of fresh milk and a newspaper. His flat cap was resting on a thick head of silvery white hair and as he shut the door behind him with a kick of his foot against the plastic he lifted his hand up to take off his glasses, new ones, that were already beginning to give him a headache. As the raucous upstairs began, he took a moment to sigh and reached with a wrinkled hand to pinch at the bridge of his wide nose. Another crash came from above and he looked up, turning away from the hall table to glare up the staircase.

The kitchen door then opened, revealing the tall, slender figure of Jane Finnigan. She paused there, starting at the sight of her husband, home quicker than she would have imagined. Doug stepped forward, opening his hands in mock confusion, attesting he knew nothing of what was going on. She met him half way, the pair sliding into each other’s embrace at the foot of the stairs where the banister began. He kissed her neck briefly and then stood back, reaching up to curl a lock of her whitening hair behind her ear. He took a moment, letting his fingers drift across her cheek. She leaned forward impulsively and kissed him firmly, fiercely on the mouth before breaking away, the pair looking up as another bump from their new Boggart rattled down to their ears.

“Is her mother here, yet?” Doug inquired, reaching up to rub at his bearded cheek.

Jane arched an eyebrow at him, “Don’t be foolish,” she admonished before gesturing to the stairs. “That one will probably make the second mirror she’s broken up there.”

“Fourteen years bad luck, eh?” Doug chuckled, his eyes twinkling.

“Oh, Doug, don’t tell her that,” Jane complained, adding, “Elizabeth is in the kitchen, waiting, by the way.”

Doug’s easy smile fell and he grumbled, mostly to himself, before throwing his cap down onto the hall table. Jane laughed and Doug quirked his eyes open, glaring at her briefly before suffering a sigh. The Browns had arrived earlier on that morning. Elizabeth and George had been the ones foolish enough to make Lavender, albeit she’d been useful in making two of their grandchildren so there was some use for her. Nevertheless, the point was that Elizabeth and Doug did not get along. No, during one of the first meetings between the families he’d insulted the pureblood woman’s hat which was plum purple and had a peacock feather pushing out of the rim. He’d told her she looked stupid, glibly, and thereafter, they’d not gotten along and she’d hated Seamus. She had contributed to their children’s divorce in part but in having it out for Doug, she made the family reunions highly entertaining – for him, at least – but she was hard work.

“Where’s Art?” He asked gradually, picking up his bottle of milk and newspaper once more, tucking the latter under his arm.

“In Diagon Alley, buying Hogwarts things with Charlie and Georgie,” Jane explained. “He’s steering well clear of all this but Harriet appears to be a glutton for punishment and Lauren and Rueben came too.”

They parted, then – one going into the kitchen, the other hopping upstairs in search of their granddaughter. When Doug entered the kitchen, he did so not quite expecting to find it as full as he did. Elizabeth and George were sat away from the others. Harriet was trying to get some form of breakfast underway and at the table playing cards with Reuben was Jane’s mother Melissa and her husband Monty. Lauren meanwhile was sat idly reading a pregnancy magazine, the first swells of life within her beginning to show up on her narrow fame. She’d been one of the law ones, married off to an ostentatious pureblood that detested her. She hadn’t had the same luck as her cousin, the luxury of falling in love with her spouse, though that said, that hadn’t been so much of a lucky strike as they had thought given the reason why they were there that morning. She had the intelligence – or perhaps mercenary gall – to hold him to ransom over the child they’d managed to make. There was, after all, a reason why Lauren had gone to Slytherin rather than Gryffindor. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder whether it might have worked out – for both girls – had things been different; had it been better.

Upstairs, the aforementioned mirror was found splayed across the landing, thankfully not one that Jane particularly prized. Wielding her wand she vanished the mirror and replaced it back in her cardigan pocket before making her way into the bedroom her granddaughter had been carried up to by the girl’s brother the night before when the two had returned home having managed to return to old ways – their only coping mechanism – the one that had gotten Jane’s eldest son killed. She marvelled in the children’s inability to learn from their parent’s mistakes – in all ways. She found the girl sat on the bed, head in split and bleeding hands. Make up things had been tossed about the floor, foundation and eye shadow turning the beige carpet a distinct, mottled colour. Her stockings had been just about pulled on after a fashion but that was all she could manage. Resolutely, the girl had given up, on so many things.

“Alright sweetheart,” Jane knelt down before the young woman, wincing as her knees clicked in protest. She brought her hands forward and curled her long fingers around Millie’s wrists, pulling her hands down away from her face. The girl sat back and turned her head away, shame and upset colouring her cheeks. Jane reached up and wiped away some of the mascara that had begun to stream across the milky skin. Her thumb came back black but she couldn’t find it within herself to care, more concerned after the wellbeing of the young woman before her.

“I can’t do this, gran,” she hiccupped pitifully, her glassy eyes turning to fix upon Jane. “I can’t face him. I can’t sign it. I can’t-”

“You can and you must, chicken,” Jane reminded her gently, bringing herself back up to her full height, lifting Millie up with her. “As much as it might feel that way, this is not about you. This is about those little people. For them, you need to work this out, poppet.”

Fourteen years later, fifteen in fact, and the little bit of bad luck was changing and some good luck was finally coming the way of Melissa Finnigan. It was puzzling to her that her luck was turning back in the direction of her former husband. It had been so long. So many years had passed with her worrying after their children, using them to orientate her life, give it drive and purpose and prevent herself from sliding into ruin. In focusing on providing for them, in focusing on making a life for them that was comfortable and welcoming, a place that they knew they’d always be loved, she’d kept herself sober from disaster.

To return to him, quite as easily as she had done, had flagged up so many warning bells for her on that first day afterwards when she’d turned over, away from the pillow that smelt like him, that she’d been clinging to throughout the night as she’d slept. It was danger, wasn’t it? Though they’d promised each other they’d take things slow they’d jumped into bed together without a second thought. It had been too easy. Part of her wondered if it would be just as easy to tumble into the same problems they’d had before. But she rationalised, as the week went on, that whilst she had been a child when they’d first been together, she was now an adult, one who could look after herself and, importantly, make crucial decisions. But those hadn’t changed much since she was eighteen. Her decisions would always take their children into account and never be her own.

So for that reason, she was now somewhat reserved and tentative. Yet she couldn’t help but revel in the novelty of being in his arms once more. It was familiar but so very different. She loved the feel of his smirking mouth against hers, to see it on his face knowing that it was in particular for her. She adored the way that his arm curled around her and he lowered his voice, making it all seem very much like a conspiracy. She smiled at him, unable to stop herself. Her eyebrows knitted together expressively and she looked down at herself shyly.

“Oh, no, it’s alright. I didn’t know what …. So I just,” she licked her lips. “I like dressing up,” she sufficed. “It’s no biggie.”

And with the tug behind her naval, Millie closed her eyes, edging closer to Keiran instinctively as they were carried through the apparation tube. Then, they were reassembled once more on his doorstep and Millie took a moment to gather herself and settle her stomach. She would never, ever like apparition, she was certain. Reopening her eyes, she blinked around and found him with an almost sheepish look on his face. She opened her mouth to attest that she didn’t mind, whatever it was. She was just glad to be there at all, she wanted to say, but it didn’t quite come out.

Millie looked at him suspiciously but kept from saying anything, electing to step inside before she commented. She moved over the threshold and stopped just inside when she realised what he’d done. She brought her hand to her face, her fingers curling into her cheek, her little finger coming to rest on her lower lip and she smiled despite herself. It was a little slice of a comfortable heaven. She turned back to him, her smile rising as her hand fell back to her side and she stepped further in.

“You did this for me?” She asked, even though it was obvious that, yes, given she was here, he had.

In truth, Millie hadn’t known what to expect. She had known she would not be disappointed, that whatever he’d planned he would have thought about it. Romance had never been something that Keiran had struggled with. No, the obscenely thoughtful man would never struggle on that front and when it came to thinking of her, he won that argument every time because had she thought of him more, things would have been different. Her own selfishness and inability to see past her perceived ‘needs’ had cost them their marriage. But even so, knowing him as she did, she still hadn’t really expected what she’d walked into.

Millie looked at Keiran again hesitantly before stepping over to the plates and the cushions set up to sit on. She smiled again, the curl of her lips being a frequent appearance now, insatiable on her face. She put her bag down on the nearest chair that had been moved and she slipped her feet out of her shoes, unwilling to ruin any of his cushions with her heels. She then stepped over the cushions tentatively and sat herself down carefully in front of one of the plates.

“This is perfect,” she assured him, setting the skirt of her dress over her knees. She trailed her fingers over the cushion beside her. “Sit with me,” she prompted with a grin, enjoying the novelty of being seated on the floor and the novelty of being with him – the bizarreness of being with him again. Her husband – former, former husband. They were dating.

The day was crisp and chilly, indicative of a brutal oncoming winter. Such was the misery of the day, in both a pathetic fallacy sense and what the day itself would serve to bring with it. Stockings donned finally the right way round, dress pulled on and hair readjusted so that it was half up, half down and thus gave her an air of steady agreeability, it was just the make-up which was left, to be replaced here and there where tears had washed it away. Then, regrettably, Melissa Hayes – soon to be Finnigan again – was presentable and placed before the only mirror she seemed to have not had the chance to break – the full bodied one in the master bedroom. The same of it was that she looked quite beautiful, with rosy cheeks and a certain poise that came from being dressed by a woman that had it rather than possessing it herself. She looked put together, ready to deal with any and all disasters that came her way. It was just too bad she didn’t feel that way inside, that the tumult inside of her closely matched the brooding skies outside.

Many offers were given, upon her entrance into the kitchen for a cup of coffee, to take her to the office. Her aunt was the most insistent, Harriet buzzing about her like a fly with its wings on fire, eager to do anything and everything for her to ease the tension of the room with activity. Doug had found his own cup of a dark Italian roast but had retreated to the racing post, finding no desire to get involved in the lobbying for who would get to see the office. In the end, it was decided when a weary, boxer-clad Elliot walked in through the kitchen door, grunting that he needed a sobering potion and a galleon of whatever Doug was drinking. Much to the dismay of the elder Finnigan twin, he was the one selected to go ferry his sister to and from the lawyer’s office. Rightly, Elliot asserted that she could do it herself and Millie half wryly wanted to insist that, indeed, she could – and she didn’t need a lawyer, either. She was shushed before she could even muster a word, however, her brother sent off with a firm word to get dressed – oh, and sober too, mister, right this second.

With the worst hangover he’d had since he’d been fifteen rattling around in his skull, Elliot Finnigan donned a suit of some kind he was sure was Reuben’s but smelt like his grandfather’s, and side-along apparated his sister to the office in Bishop’s Square, London. They appeared in the alley and strode out easily, both holding on to each other tightly – Millie for fear that she’d run away and hide somewhere to prevent the whole thing from happening, Elliot for fear he’d fall over if she dared let go of him. Somehow, they made it inside and found the place abuzz with activity. It wasn’t a family law firm. In truth, he doubted the lawyer they’d hired was even licenced. Knowing their penchant for the wrong sort, he was probably a drug dealer, too.  Vaguely, something in the back of Elliot’s mind registered the hope that whatever the man sold, it had better be decent. However, the shininess of the place and all of the slinky secretaries suggested that maybe he was a bit wrong about the bloke whose number they had been given – albeit, the man who had given it to Elliot had been a drug dealer but those were all technicalities.

“Err, hi,” Elliot grunted at the nearest secretary, squinting over the top of his glasses at her name: Grace Parker.

The woman that looked up floored him, near literally for if Millie’s grip had not tightened, he was sure he would’ve tumbled onto the marble. She was not traditionally beautiful, he was sure, but Merlin, was she pretty. She smiled at him, her thin lips curling up over prominent, white teeth. It even reached her deep set hazel gaze, seeing her little, pointed nose wrinkle a little. Her hair, dark and thick, was pulled up into a pony tail and on top of her head rested a pair of thick framed glasses which fell down onto her nose with a bump. She raised her eyebrows in prompting and Elliot opened his mouth, words struggling to get out.

“I’m looking for Rickard,” Millie piped up finally. Grace sat back in her chair. “I have an appointment.”

Grace nodded briefly and with a few clicks on her computer, pulled up the date and the appointment at hand. She then took a sticky note and wrote the room down – “there’s been a change, Butler burnt a hole in the carpet” – before handing it over to Millie with a smile and a pleasant “good luck.” Nodding, Millie looked to Elliot who was sagged against the high desk. He smiled at her warily and Millie sighed testily, breezing past him, not pausing as she shoved her fist into his gut. He gave a strangled groan of pain and though many people stopped to look round, Millie kept walking to the lifts where, after waiting for the doors to open and stepping inside, she faintly heard the lasting comment – and opening chat up line – of her brother.

“So would you represent me when I take my sister to court for assault? I really need someone to help me lick my wounds – and think of all the dinners we could have with my compensation.”

Millie rolled her eyes briefly and the doors fell shut. Then it was barely a blink of an eye before she was on the right floor and moving down to the particular room that she and Rickard Butler had been plopped into for their liaising with Keiran and his lawyer. Millie bristled at the thought but kept walking, determined to fill her mind with something else. She’d recite pi if she had to, not that she knew anything bar 3.14, she just needed to do something other than think about what was to come. Upon walking into the office, however, Millie could think of nothing else.

“Hiya,” Rickard called out without looking up from the papers on his desk. “You ‘right love?”

“I’m bursting with excitement,” Millie replied dryly. Rickard glanced up then and capped his fountain pen.

“You want anything to drink?” He asked, watching as Millie sat herself down on the windowsill, pushing along his bonsai tree with her bum. She shook her head and tossed her bag onto his desk before folding her arms over her chest. Rickard rolled his lips together briefly and nodded before shuffling excess sheets together.

“I’m getting divorced,” Millie announced as merrily as though she was talking about the weather, though there was an underlying cynicism there that even a complete fool could not miss. Rickard studiously chose to ignore her words, desiring not to get involved in a bust up just yet. He didn’t want to argue with his client, desperate though he was to point out that she had agreed to it, despite how miserable it made her. No, he would have rather preferred the husband and wife argued instead and he and the other lawyer rather than he and his client. He did want the best outcome for her, after all said and done – even if the whole thing in the first place was messed up.

“Figure out what you want to do with the children yet?” Rickard asked, putting a few sheets together with a paperclip.

“Dunno,” Millie sighed, putting her hands down either side of herself.

“What did you parents do?” Rickard asked distractedly as he set things down in a pile before wiping off the desk for them all to work on in due time.

“One died, the other ran away with her Italian tennis coach,” Millie replied drolly.

Rickard barked out a laugh before turning in his chair to look at her. “No, really.”

“Really,” Millie hissed in reply, looking at him glaringly. “Can I have that drink now?”

“Sure, darlin’,” he murmured, getting up from his chair.

After setting out the other next to his and making sure the two on the opposite side of the desk were in place, Rickard left his office to go in search of something hot to drink – for everyone, not just his client. Millie took a minute to breathe while he was gone but in truth only really wanted to cry. In an effort to preserve the make-up, though, she steeled herself and moved away from the window to take her place in the chair next to her lawyer’s. It was wrong. So wrong. Even when Rickard returned and pressed a mug of coffee dashed in with a coffee liquor of some kind – “you’ll need it, sweetheart,” – she couldn’t think of anything else. This shouldn’t have been her life. And besides, she was woefully in lack of an Italian tennis instructor if she was going to be act two of her mother’s life.  

“Is it too early to start drinking whisky?” Rickard inquired rhetorically as he swivelled in his chair.

“Too early to do anything,” Millie replied quietly.

At that point, the door opened and Millie put down her cup. Rickard rose out of his chair beside her but ashamedly she stayed seated for a moment too long. A pinch to her shoulder by the aforementioned law practitioner forced her upwards and she managed to raise a quick curl of her lips, a shadow of a smile that would not come. Rickard shot out a hand, shaking Mairen’s warmly, his other hand coming forth to take hers from the other side, assuring her that she was very welcome. A dark thought crossed Millie’s mind that no, actually, the young woman was not welcome what so ever. Rickard could also, sod right off. She loathed the conductors of this farcical orchestra number.

“Right, good,” Rickard smiled before putting a hand on Millie’s shoulder. “I am going to try and translate the pattern of glares into a list of things my client would like and hopefully we can come to a hassle free agreement, can’t we?”

Pressing on her shoulder, Rickard sat Millie back down and handed her the cup she’d been nursing before. A pale look had come over her, somewhere between nausea and terror and he was determined to save her from getting involved too much. He was half afraid that she’d either burst into tears or run out and manifest her feelings physically so he left her with the drink and took out a notepad, brandishing once more his fountain pen. Millie swallowed a mouthful of the coffee before bringing the mug down to rest on her knee.

“So essentially,” Rickard began, “I’ll let you go first,” he amended briefly to Mairen before continuing, “But we won’t be wanting anything. I want to flag that up before we even begin, to be honest. No money in any form – either as a settlement or in continuing child support. Don’t mistake me, my words imply the assumption that it would be given. I am unaware of your client’s intentions on that front but I want to assert now that, regardless, my client will neither take it nor will we be pursuing it, either. She intends to stand on her own, as it were.”

Rickard glanced in Millie’s direction and wondered not for the first time how on earth the young woman intended to do so. Since she’d been guided into his office on that first day, clinging onto her brother for dear life, she’d aged somewhat. It wasn’t in her face, per se – no, her youth remained. It was in the way she carried herself. There was an overarching sadness about her that made her look almost weary but not in a way that you could attach a perception of age to her. He supposed the right word would be ‘matured.’ She’d had to have her brother speak for her though she’d filled out the paperwork without fail. Then, during subsequent visits he’d watched from an outsider’s perspective as she stood a little taller, got colder, and seemed less and less able to find happiness in the small things that he imagined would have enchanted her only weeks before. No more happy girl, it seemed. But still, even with the misery of womanhood upon her, he didn’t know how she’d look after herself – or those babies.

“Right, then,” Rickard tapped his pen on the notepad, lifting his gaze off of Millie and back to Mairen. “Over to you, love.”

There was always an interesting line to tread when it came with dealing with marriages – or, rather, divorces. The desire to protect the autonomy of the client was always a difficult one and in desiring to do so, the lawyers could be guilty of tying the former lovers up in more of a tighter knot than they’d already garnered themselves. As a rule, Rickard had to deal with the slightly older ones – women who had married younger men, the latter of whom wanted to marry a younger woman in turn and it was a woman like that who had burnt a hole in his carpet.

This case was different and puzzling to him – in the sense, most definitely, that he felt as though he was missing something. Still, he hadn’t asked for the particulars when she’d come to him. He’d asked for what she wanted. Therefore, it was now time for him to thrash it out with Keiran’s lawyer who was, from Rickard’s point of view, barely an adult. Trained, however, she appeared to be and so he wasn’t going to openly try to argue with her. For the sake of the frazzled nerves of the young woman beside him, Rickard would play nice.

As it was, she didn’t want anything anyway – there was no use arguing.

Once Mairen had finished speaking, Rickard slid an eye around to Millie to see what she thought about the thing. He tapped his pen idly against the paper and sighed briefly before pulling the top few pages off of his stack of documents. Millie reached out, snatching her cup off of the top of them before he did so, and he smirked a little upon seeing the ring in the middle. She passed an apologetic glance to him and he reached over to pat her arm before clearing his throat and dropping the sheets on the table top.

“Right, love,” Rickard cracked his neck from side to side. “As I’m not representing the cats,” his lips twitched, “I can’t speak for them. However it is greatly appreciated that your client has thought of them.”

Millie bristled a little at the cynicism in Rickard’s voice and she looked up, glaring at him briefly before running her nail around the rim of her cup, returning her gaze back to the liquid inside it. Rickard picked up his cup and took a sip briefly himself and set it down again before shooting out a hand and turning the pages he’d picked up around for Mairen and Keiran to see.

“To return to the idea that my client wishes to do things her own way,” Rickard began, “I’d like to point out that her retaining the deeds to the properties is counter intuitive to that point. Regardless of whether they are in her name or not she did not purchase them and thus is dependent on your client’s …. charity,” his hazel eyes jumped to Keiran briefly before setting back on Mairen. “So I must ask you to think again on that front. She doesn’t want them. She will not sell them either – before that becomes an option – because whatever she’ll get ultimately belongs to you, Mr Hayes. For better or for worse,” Millie winced beside him and Rickard briefly closed his eyes, wondering himself why he’d chosen marriage verse, “she would like to be financially autonomous. Whether that means dirt broke or not, ultimately, is up to her. That’s the point.”

Millie licked her lips, her head falling absently to the side, some of her hair coming to fall down to tickle at her sides. Her eyes were lazy, weary in their sockets, and the red rims were still visible somewhat underneath the thin coating of eyeliner. She lifted the mug to her lips and could feel the liquor beginning to loosen her somewhat. She still felt tense but the calming, warming effect was doing the trick. She wouldn’t be intoxicated by any stretch but it did the same as a calming potion – and she was sure she’d guzzle more than her fair share of them in the coming weeks and months, years even.

“Okay, cats, houses – let’s talk the important stuff: the children,” Rickard sat back in his chair, abandoning his pen. He folded his fingers together and glanced over at his client who suddenly looked attentive. Rickard smiled a little. Women would never change, in his opinion. The Victorians were right, ultimately. Their brains were filled with babies but only their own.  They could have all kinds of other thoughts but when they had children they were like brown bears. Everything boiled down to them and any threat presented to them would be dealt with, permanently. He half wanted to point out that the husband wasn’t going to be the enemy in this.

“We’ll get to the juicy bits, shall we? Dig in right away. What I’m thinking is before we start bitching about who gets who when and where and how … we need to figure out work patterns and build around that. After leaving college this July coming, my client is going to read English in the coming September. Open university …” he read off his sheet, “six years to complete but can be completed quicker depending on work rate so, essentially, she’s going to have buckets of time. But she does fully intend to…” He flipped over the page, reaching up to scratch at his scalp.

“Go back to the Ministry,” Millie spoke for the first time since Keiran and Mairen entered. “I’m going to work in the archives and, um,” she scaled her nail around the rim of the teacup again.

“…that’ll be from six until twelve noon three mornings a week – weekends off – to begin with.” Rickard filled in for her, finding the appropriate part. “However, that’s just until such times as the degree is finished and then all horizons will be expanded.”

Millie nodded, mostly for her own benefit. Elijah had been nice – bending the arm of James Potter who owed him a mountain of favours. She was due to start down in the archives the following week and she was desperate to make a good impression. It paid well, too, because no one in the Department of Mysteries wanted to sort through the paperwork and left to her own devices with her music and boxes upon boxes of useless crap, Millie would be more than happy to do it.

“What is also pertinent, I believe,” Rickard went on, “is residence. Mills will be living in Limerick with her grandparents – Doug and Jane Finnigan – until further notice. It’s a lovely house – right by the sea – four bedrooms, lovely. Right, so. On behalf of my client I am going to ask your client to bend, Mairen. We would like for the twins to be based in Limerick permanently, or wherever Millie chooses to settle finally. By this I mean, they will attend their preliminary schools there until Hogwarts comes a’calling. Ergo, it would make sense for …”

Rickard rubbed his brow, coming to the bit he hated. There was never anything worse to him, than carrying off the rights of the mother in lieu of the father’s. He had to suffer that himself. He had three he only saw high days and holidays. Every other weekend he got them for Friday night, Saturday and Sunday morning. They had to be home by half twelve. It wasn’t a life – for him, or for the children. They’d all wake up one day and they wouldn’t know each other. He swallowed another mouthful of coffee.

“Let’s try again,” he suggested. “These children need structure. That is not to suggest one parent can provide that better than the other but I would put them somewhere semi-permanently and then have visits, weekends and holidays, perhaps, together regularly with the other parent. So, if for example, she settles in Dublin,” Millie looked up again at this idea, something registering briefly behind her eyes. “They’ll do to the Dublin School of Stout or whatever it is until Hogwarts comes. At which point in time…” Rickard brought his lips together, stuck.

“How do you want to do this?” He asked finally, bringing his hands down on the table. “Because whichever way we shake the stick at it, it’s not fair. What do you want, Mr Hayes? Because right now. This girl just wants to get up, leave and figure out her life and try and get something going to protect and raise those kids right. You, however, can stand to lose them entirely if she dares to even open her mouth to ask for it which I severely doubt she will. She wants you in their lives, most definitely. That’s the point of fatherhood, bizarrely enough. So many women fail to get it. Problem is, this one does. Problem further is, short of splitting them up, there’s a good chance of mucking them up royally because they can't do this or that because it’s dad’s weekend and come Hogwarts, everything will fly out the window because then no one gets to deal over who gets who and when. See my problem?”

“What,” Millie piped up unable quite to look at Keiran, keeping her gaze somewhere between the lawyer and her client, “we could do,” she continued gently, “is if I find somewhere, they can go to school wherever that may be and then we can swap weekends and during the summer you can take them somewhere, if you like. To begin with,” she drummed her fingers thoughtfully against the side of the cup. “When I work … those three days, you could take them if you’d like. Then I’ll have them for the other three and we’ll swap the fourth day, Sunday, for example. Does that work?” She cleared her throat. “Then, um. When they go to Hogwarts we can split the summer holidays. Two weeks each and two for them to spend time with their friends, perhaps.”

Rickard turned to look at the blonde woman, wondering where that had come from. He shouldn’t have doubted it, really, but given how quiet she’d been, he hadn’t expected her to throw her coins into her hat. He picked up his pen and drew a stick figure absently in the margin, glancing up at Mairen as Millie spoke before.

“Mr Butler’s former wife hates him,” Millie explained softly. “He doesn’t see his children much. So he’s floundering. I apologise.”

Rickard smirked and sat back in his chair. Dutch courage suited the girl well, he decided. She didn’t look so much like a girl then, in that moment, though. No, far from it. Here sat the woman – the Finnigan - the one who would stand on her own two feet by hook or by crook.

“I don’t want your deeds,” she said resolutely, turning her gaze on Keiran. She blinked a little, her strength wavering as her heart began to ache but she steeled herself. “I won’t be living there and houses are meant to have families in them so it would be pointless.” She brought her hand up and curled a lock of hair absently around her ear. “I don’t want to let them either,” she held up her hand, “before you even start. They belong to you. You bought them. Do with them what you will – preferably take them back.”

So there, Rickard felt like saying. But he kept quiet, watching as Millie rubbed her hand across her inner forearm thoughtfully.

“I want the photo albums,” she said finally, drawing in the breath. “That’s it. The ones on the bottom shelf in the living room and the one in the wardrobe on the top shelf. Please,” she added. “I’d like to have them.”

“Anything else, poppet?” Rickard asked conversationally, breaking the silence as he shuffled the sheets around.

Millie shook her head, retreating back into herself. That would do for the moment. He was sure something else would come to her mind. He wrote on the photo albums. He supposed there were pictures in there including both of them. She continued to roll her wedding ring around her finger too, an absent-minded habit she couldn’t control. It would die hard, this, he was sure and, not for the first time, Rickard wondered why they were doing it at all.

Mairen huffed almost silently in contempt of the other lawyer's words, but Keiran caught it and had to keep himself from turning to look at her. She could seriously make things a mess if he let her say whatever it was she was getting ready to. Sitting forward, he clasped his hands on the table top, actively showing Rickard more attention in an attempt to either surprise or distract his own lawyer.

So Millie had found something for herself in the months they had lived apart. Keiran once again felt that incorrectly placed pride in his wife - which, usually would sound utterly bonkers, but in this case actually made sense. She was soon to be his ex-wife, and the term nearly made him wince at the thought. Blinking, his chin dropped for a moment, returning to its previous position once Rickard started on about locations for the children. As tempted as he was to cut in and make his point, it seemed like he would have little chance until they had finished. What he was starting to just hope for was an opportunity to get out what he wanted, and bolt before they could realize he had left the deeds. Better yet, he would just sticky them to her hands and walk out.

But that, of course, would be immature and very not like him. Not at all.

He sat up straighter when Millie finally looked at him, eye contact actually making his pulse rise out of a mix of shock and worry. The fact that she was facing him dead on all of a sudden made it clear that he had done wrong by her. And yet, he couldn't find it in him to care when all he bloody well wanted was to not having to remember those places, and yet be able to know that she had a better shot on her own.

One eyebrow raised almost threateningly before he began, eyes narrowing as he spoke. "First," he started, turning his gaze on Rickard, "I was trying to be polite about the cats. Sorry about the kids or whatever, but the nagging is not appreciated." He held the man's gaze long enough to send a dark scowl, then turned to Melissa, expression softening to one of slight apology. Really, though, he had a feeling that it might have still come off as frustration and generally cold temperament. It was the sour, snake-like personality he had so long attempted to hold in check.

"I don't care if you don't want the houses. I won't take them. Put the deeds in a bank or something and let the kids use them. The flat is in London, so at least they'll not need somewhere if they go to University there. Take the damn things and let me be rid of them." Pausing, he turned his gaze from her for a moment and tried to figure what the next point was that they had wanted him to cover.

Right. Who kept the kids what part of the year. He tensed, remembering the letter he had delayed an answer to, and hastily made a decision he wasn't sure he would actually be okay with in the future. "I'll take care of the twins whenever you want me to, except from September to May. Can't do those months, unless you intend to send someone to drop them off. I will be easily available by floo if you need anything, but you'll have to let me know if you want access - for yourself, or Elliot, or whoever, because I'll need to open it to you. The Headmaster's fireplace, as you would imagine, is more heavily protected than it has been in the past. But regardless, I can require that my classes be afternoons if you so wish. I just can't leave the grounds each morning.

"If you decide, come next summer, that you are okay with me taking them on full time, we can find a way to move them without either needing to bring too much. I've got spare rooms, anyway, just in case. I will be blatantly honest with you, Melissa," he continued, leaning forward as if it gave him the privacy he needed to say the one painful truth she might never forgive him for. "It would be better if we didn't actually have to do the back and forth with each other every time." Turning his chin away once more, he exposed the side of himself that only she had ever been privy too, tacking on, "We can't even discuss a flat or a photo album without getting angry. I don't want to live each week expecting the same thing over and over."

Mairen frowned, eyes falling to her hands once more as she attempted to cover the ache she felt for him. She had always been more attuned to the emotions of others than her husband had been, but she had a feeling that even Scorpius would have caught on when it came to this. Keiran was only acting this way because it physically hurt him to be in the room, having to listen to the woman he loved refuse any manner of help -- outright deny him the chance to leave her with any sign that he had ever loved her. Any sign that he still did, and inevitably always would.

"Take the photo albums," Keiran told her, rolling his eyes. "Take the fucking cats if you want! Tell me when you want me to watch them or the kids and I will. Just don't expect me to change my mind about the house and the flat. I won't. And if you have ever cared a bit, you'll give me space once we finalize this."

Proper discussion was abandoned in the midst of finding nourishment in the plates of piping hot comfort food. Only the clink of forks and plates reigned as sound for some time and the distant, faint sound of chewing was interspersed in between. It was a peaceful sort of quiet and though both were content in their thoughts, it wasn’t clear whether or not it was an entirely comfortable silence or not. Food, however, served as a buffer and it allowed each individual, particularly the blonde one, to source some worth avenues of discussion amidst her thoughts and her meal.

As the pasta disappeared, however, it became clear that eventually someone was going to have to offer something by way of conversation. Time in between meetings had relapsed Millie to apprehension and despite it being, arguably, quite clear what was to happen between them she still didn’t feel sure about where she stood – or sat, technically. She set her fork down, unable to quite find room for the last little portion and she began to absent-mindedly roll the wedding ring around her finger with her thumb as she continued to think.

They’d never done slow. She and Keiran had never, ever been afforded ‘slow.’ Given it, however, she had no idea what to do with it. There was a part of her that wanted to climb into his lap, have him wrap his arms around her and just sit like that through the night. The twins could fend for themselves, she’d excuse, and there she’d stay until sleep stole her away. She couldn’t, though. There was a certain insecurity she couldn’t quite part with. She felt as though if she forced anything before its time they’d wind up in the same position they’d been fifteen years ago. That wasn’t the way it was supposed to be.

Small talk was an easy thing to throw out into the open air, though. It was her one saving grace. Talking to, essentially, herself for six days a week for the last five years had done her the world of good and she was sure she could chat up a roof beam and convince it to go out for drinks with her. The difference being with this little nugget of desperate grappling towards interaction was that she actually believed what she was saying, it wasn’t just said for the sake of making conversation. Well, partly, but she did agree with what she was saying all the same.

“You can still cook really well then,” she offered with an easy smile. “That was so lovely, thank you.”

Millie turned a little on her cushion, enough so that she was facing Keiran now. She unfurled her legs a little and curled them behind herself, the beginnings of numbness spreading up through her calves. She winced a little as her legs protested but she ignored it for the most part, electing to prop herself up on her hand on the floor next to her plate and she observed the man before her, taking in all that had changed in him. The little flecks of grey were what she kept coming back to, finding that it really did give him the air of a headmaster – not that he needed any more of that. It suited him, moreover, and did nothing to help her want to maintain that need for them to take their time.

“So, um,” Millie rolled her lips together, finding the only thing they had in common at that moment to be a useful topic, even if it was half narrow and somewhat self-centred on her part to bring it up.

Still, it was important. She didn’t do conferences like he did or run a school, she sat in a chair that spun round, feet on the table, tossing a tennis ball between her palms while she chatted to the city. Occasionally she’d play nice with a few celebrities that were pitching their newest songs or shows or whatever else but her usefulness started and ended in that room. Occasionally she’d get to go and fill in on chat shows when the usual divvy girls were off that day or on maternity leave but she preferred her room and her music. As a result though, she didn’t really get the same sort of recognition. This was it. So it was, really, very important indeed.

“Next weekend with the um… the gala and everything,” she reached up and rubbed at the back of her neck. “I mean I’ll probably ask a million times before then but you still want to go with me, don’t you? As good and as charming our son is, I don’t really want him to be my date.” She smirked a little bit and played idly with the hem of her skirt. “We don’t have to stay for long. I mean, there’ll need to be a little bit of mindless chatting after the whole ceremony bit but we’ll be sat for the majority of it so I dunno I mean-”

Millie, you’re waffling, a sarcastic voice in the back of her head commented. This was a date. It was pretty much decided there would be a follow up one which made her useless discourse completely redundant. Being as it was a date, there were certain things to go through, weren’t there? But bully for her if she had any idea what that was. She and Keiran were in the unique position of knowing quite a bit about each other already. The intervention of time, however, had changed a lot of it. It wasn’t clear what had changed and what hadn’t but even worse was the idea of asking after it.

“Did you see the Falcons game at the weekend?” She asked finally, picking a subject they both liked and both had to suffer as a result of their children. They’d managed to raise a mean couple of Quidditch players, clever ones in particular. Anything that they lacked in skill, Liam made up for the both of them in obsessive analysis of every feint and dive there was going on the pitch.

“I never thought the game would end,” she went on. “And there was so much bloody cobbing amongst those Chasers. I know Quidditch is dangerous and all that but once that one girl had to be subbed off with a broken arm it was too much.”

Quidditch was better than nothing, she guessed.