Eagles Belong Where They Can Fly

Keiran sucked in a breath at the boy's name, and even though it shouldn't have mattered to him, there was something that he felt connected him to the boy because of it. He probably should have released Millie, but he didn't know the men in front of them, particularly when the other surprised Peter and made Keiran hold her even tighter instead. He wasn't sure if it bothered her, given the fact that she held on right back. But it made him feel safer about it, at least. He was surprised, too, to find that she was so insistent upon her attachment to him. Perhaps she didn't mean it that way, he conceded. But it made the anger in his eyes spark with something like pride.

At least, until their children were mentioned. The twins were only a few months past their first birthday, and Darcie hadn't even made it that far. Merlin help him, but he was glad she was with Bridget. That house was boarded up like mad, what with Keiran's wards and then Jack's and Theodore's. He would have tried to whisper to her that it was fine, that they wouldn't be in danger. Not right then, anyway. But it would have come off like he didn't give a damn about the boy in front of them, which was a lie. Keiran may not have known the child, but that didn't make him heartless.

In truth, he needed to get whoever that Tom bloke was to leave in hopes of finding their daughter. That was one less enemy to worry about. So he let his face show just how worried he would have been if they had been in true danger. It seemed to be enough, because the man he had spoken to took off, presumably to find Keiran's apartment. Best of luck, mate, he thought blandly. He actually hoped the man went to Jack's too, if only because she would tear him to bits if given the chance. Hoping he would get a brilliant story about it later, Keiran gave Millie a squeeze, unwilling to allow the smirk he wanted to release. He just had to hope, as well, that his girl understood what he was trying to tell her.

He gripped his wand more tightly, entirely aware of the fact that they had three on their side, and with only the one gone, that still left six that they had to take out. Finley was held on either side, so they really only needed to knock back one of those to surprise the other. But the three others plus this Nasir bloke? Those would be the real problems.

Merlin, he was about to break so many laws. The only good news was that, whatever he broke, he could easily fix it back.

He was still irked that she had offered herself up, even though he understood why, especially when he decided on his first move. His lips found her ear, a quiet "I love you" reaching just far enough for her to hear, then he released her and stepped around in front of her. At the same time, his wand reached across his torso, aiming for a shelf full of old vases, which he sent flying towards the four men standing between them and Finley, waiting for the shatter when they hit their targets.

Blind fear had consumed her to the extent to which she felt light headed and almost dizzy despite not moving since she had been drawn to her husband. Impossibly, her fingers seemed to tighten around him and now it was her wand’s turn to start to burn that all too infamous verdant. If she even dared to throw it, she risked hurting Finley and so though the spell tripped over her tongue, desperate to be released into the air, she held her nerve. Peter had been right all along about the risk that Urien posed. Only, Urien was positively pleasant in comparison to Nasir.

When Keiran’s arm curled a little tighter around her in a momentary gesture, Millie looked down. The sound of a door slamming confirmed Tom’s departure and Millie stood up a little straighter, her panic abating only slightly. Keiran seemed calm – or at least behind her he felt it. It had been a quick squeeze, a reassurance. So, was Darcie fine? Were their children at no risk at all? She knew she couldn’t let that slither of hopeful relief show on her face. She had to swallow back the bubbling feelings of triumph because there was one child who really was very much at risk.

Finley.

She turned her head when she felt his hot breath ghost across her ear. Her eyebrows knitted together curiously, a little smile toying at her lips as she let the mutual feeling show on her features. She didn’t trust her voice in that moment. She felt as though it would connect with her wand instead and her aim was still off – regardless of however much she wanted to try out an Unforgivable on Nasir. She had come close enough with Stephan. She was beginning to wonder whether it was time to give into that temptation now.

Keiran’s approach was a little more impish and definitely more her kind of style – even if the use of the vases made her flinch. They would have looked nice with some wild flowers from the Forbidden Forest in them. This really wasn’t the time or place to start thinking about that, though. Nasir got clipped first, desperately in the way that he was. The vase shattered and Peter ducked out of the way, grabbing the man’s wand before heading for the last two, determined that they were going to be suitably maimed by the end of the evening.

Finley, showing his familial credentials, used the momentary distraction of his captures to resume wriggling and his kicking legs soon caught hold of the proverbial crown jewels of one of the men. As he collapsed down in a groaning pit, Finley wrenched his other arm out of the still-standing man’s hold and hurried to the side of the room. Millie shot off at a sprint from behind Keiran, her footsteps clattering over the tiles as she followed after Finley down one of the aisles. He whirled around once he reached the dead end and, upon seeing it was her, launched himself into her waiting arms. For a moment she just held him close, her face in his hair, her embrace tight around him.

“I’ve got you, Fin,” she whispered. “We’re not going to let anyone hurt you, I promise. You’re safe.”

Peter, meanwhile, was determined to get his revenge. After stunning one of Nasir’s lackeys he headed for the man himself. He didn’t bother using magic. Instead he sufficed with punching him, Nasir crumpling immediately to the floor. The others commanded a little bit more attention, however, and soon there was a firefight erupting around them with Peter switching between both wands, his own and Nasir’s, in his attempts to both protect Keiran and dispatch the other men – not that he was too concerned about the former’s ability to look after himself.

Millie had no worries about either of the men. The assurance in her mind that they would be alright reminded her that she still had a job that needed doing, even if they had all been rudely interrupted. She lifted Finley up onto her bag and hopped through the aisles. After telling him the number of the case they wanted the pair began to look intently for it, squinting at the red tags in search of the correct one. Finley found it and Millie immediately wrenched open the case with a spell before, without a second thought, emptying the contents into her bag.

“Ah, ah, ah, witch,” Nasir’s teasing voice called out, Peter’s left hook clearly not having been as effective as he’d thought. “Where do you think you’re going?” Nasir asked, appearing before her with a sardonic smile. “Especially with all of those gems.”

Millie took a step back. Finley gave a soft cry in her ear as his back hit one of the shelves. She shushed him involuntarily and drew her wand, watching Nasir carefully. She summoned everything that Robert had instilled in her and all of the silly little spells Elijah had taught her when he’d been bored during the afternoons at the Ministry. As Nasir moved forward, she felt it all leave her and she impulsively held her wand out, pressing it against his neck in order to keep him at arm’s length. Finley whimpered, clinging on tighter to her.

“As far away from you as possible, Nasir.” Millie ventured, sufficiently finding her words.

His hand whipped up and wrenched the wand from her grasp. Millie let out a strangled sound of her own then as she found herself looking down the end of her own wand. His smile was feral and he had a look of self-satisfaction on his face – the belief that he’d won – and for a moment Millie felt as though he had.

“Hope you said goodbye, love,” he teased and Millie’s eyes widened as his lips began to form the first syllable of the most unforgivable curse of all.

If there was one thing Keiran had promised himself he would never do, it was cause or allow Millie any physical harm. But now, he was the one being protected while she rushed around the room in search of the items they had come in for. One of Peter's spells shoved an attacker away and Keiran was actually surprised for a moment. Why would this guy who had always hated him try so hard to protect him? Particularly when the man's son was equally in danger?

A bombarda was sent at a column behind one of the men, and Keiran immediately regretted making such a mess. Merlin, but he would have to call in Avery and Robin at this rate to enlist their help on the cleanup. It was efficient enough, though, because the git fell forward and let out a pained groan. A spell caught Keiran across the jaw a moment later, drawing a stunning spell in response.

But then he turned and saw Millie lose control of her wand. He was under no illusions, either, as to what the man in front of her would do if given the time. Fear and anger and panic dove through his veins, bringing him to do something he had never imagined himself capable of. The moment he heard the first sound, Keiran knew. It was this man, or his wife. And if his wife was gone, that boy would be right behind her. Beyond that, though, he knew that he would be lost, and his kids would be lost, if she were gone. He would be beyond confused and so unsure of himself if she wasn't there to tell him not to be.

He didn't see another choice. It was now, or later. This man wouldn't just leave them alone. He wouldn't let her go. And Keiran didn't want to ever have this moment happen again. He should stun him. Keiran should use his new position at the Ministry to get him shoved into Azkaban for the rest of his life.

"Avada Kedavra."

The wand hit the ground first. Not his, but Millie's. The glow from Keiran's was still fading when the other man fell. He felt a twinge of guilt, but only because Nasir's back was turned. That isn't how he would ever have wanted to take someone down. It had never been even a thought in Keiran's mind. Silence fell next, and Keiran released his own wand, stepping away from it. He stared at the man he had just done in, unable to look at Millie despite almost definitely having saved her. He didn't expect to feel so uncomfortable about it. Was he sorry for having done it? No. Not really. But he did feel sorry for doing it with Finley right there, and he did feel wrong for having done something that was literally termed 'unforgivable.'

"I'm sorry," he muttered to Peter after he caught his breath. "I shouldn't have done that in front of your boy."

“That was some damn Lily Potter shit you almost pulled there, Mills.”

Elliot’s chortle would later be paired with an affectionate ruffle of his big sister’s hair and the press of his lips in a kiss to her forehead. He would tell her not to try and do it again, sombre in his words, before laughing incongruously and pushing her back to Keiran. Then he would plop back down on the carpet to play with the children and they would delight at having someone to play the bad guy in their games. They could play because the real bad guy wasn’t out there anymore.

Later on, once the proverbial rug had been pulled out from under Urien and he was staring out over the Wizengamot who would sentence him, they would all be able to sit and laugh. In that moment, though, there was nothing funny about what was happening at all.

The only direction that her mind could muster for her was the continued desire to protect Finley. Despite his protestations, Millie pressed him closer against the wall and shifted him in her arms so that no part of him could be clipped by the curse if Nasir’s aim was off. She had to protect him so that he could go home and grow up and live his life. She did not have the time nor the desire to mourn her own.

Her head wanted to conjure all of the things that she should have said and should have done that would have made a difference to her relationship with everyone in her life, but most of all Keiran. Staring down the end of her own wand, though, she knew she could not linger on those thoughts. Instead, she had to think about what she could still do and that was ensure that Finley would be alright. It would be the last thing she could do and she was determined to do it right.

Before her lids slammed shut over her bright irises, she took one last look at her husband. She wanted the last image in her mind to be of him, not of that jet of verdant light. She wanted to remember him. She tried to summon images of their children, too. She wanted to remember her family and desperately she held onto the last picture she had of them altogether. She pushed it to the forefront of her mind because keeping it there meant that she still held onto hope – hope that somehow it would be okay, even if her own hour glass was running dry of sand.

It was a worthy end if it was for someone else. There was something admirable in that – something very Gryffindor.

The incantation chimed out and left a ringing in her ears that seemed to pierce at her very brain. She seized up, waiting, poised for the impact that never came. Her breath caught in the back of her throat as she heard the clatter of a wand against the tiles. Silence stretched out, interrupted only by the faint clump of someone joining the wand on the floor. Was this what it felt like? Was it silence and darkness? She stood, frozen by the wall, for a few long minutes. Then, she heard Keiran’s voice. It was an apology. To Peter.

“I am in your debt, Keiran,” came the Hufflepuff’s solemn response. “I don’t care how you did it. I’m just glad that you did. Thank you.”

“Millie,” Finley whispered. “You’re squishing me.”

Her eyes snapped open and Millie released the breath she had been holding tightly onto. She looked around, colouring creeping back into her sight as the world flooded in around her and she carefully drew in a few more breaths before stepping out from around Nasir. She abandoned her wand. She couldn’t even bear to look at it, knowing that it could have so easily felled her and Finley. Her own wand, a traitor to its mistress.

Millie lowered Finley back to his feet and like a bullet from the barrel of a gun he shot off towards his father. He scampered over the debris and the brutes’ unconscious on the floor and launched himself into his father’s arms, only to squawk that Peter was squishing him, too. Peter could only give a watery laugh and as Millie began to move herself she heard him tell Finley he would always squish him if he meant he’d be safe.

The blonde staggered over the debris, her footing not nearly as sure as her nephew’s. She tumbled quicker and quicker and half fell over the fallen column before throwing herself up into Keiran’s arms, not caring whether he was prepared to catch her or not. Her arms wound around his neck and her legs about his middle and her lips collided with his.

“Gross!” Finley called out, making his father snort with amusement.

Everything she had within her, she threw into that kiss. Every apology she owed him, every declaration of love that she should have given but forgot to, and every ounce of feeling she held within her heart for him and for what had happened that night. But, most crucially of all, she went into it knowing that she was safe, that he had saved her and that he would always save her and she trusted that because she fully intended to always be there to save him, too – even if he could clearly handle himself better than she could.

“Thank you,” she whispered against his mouth as she lifted her lips away to take a breath. She kissed him again more chastely. “Thank you. Thank you. I’m sorry,” she whispered, leaning her forehead against his. “For everything, I’m sorry. I should have told you before but I was too … stubborn, too pig-headed, too … I don’t even know. I love you. I need you. I…” she took a shaky breath and kissed him again, just enjoying the feeling, enjoying the ability to do it and knowing that for at least another few evenings yet, she would be able to. They were both alive. “I don’t want us to be broken anymore.”

Life was just too short for it.

Keiran was so glad he had said it. He was so grateful that the endearment had been given before she was almost taken from him. He felt sick, though. He hadn't caught the looks she sent him, his focus so narrowed in on the man he hated without having to think about it. Well, the man he used to hate. If Nasir had a family, Keiran would've been surprised somehow. But he didn't feel right about potentially taking away someone's parent, someone's husband. Someone's son. Finley.

He turned to watch the lad cross the floor, darting into his father's arms. Darcie. She was safe. Liam and Kelly. Theodore wouldn't ever let anything happen to them. Merlin, he regretted being so cold to his cousin when they first met and realized who they were. He regretted being so easily offended by Millie's comments. The realization that he had been so irritated with her before leaving the cafe wracked him with another layer of guilt.

The breath left him all at once, because he had turned just in time to see Millie coming, and he clung to her like never before. More than he had after she had given birth - either time. More than after any of their fights. He wasn't sure he could imagine never doing it again, though. He couldn't get a word in edgewise until she seemed out of breath, at which point he realized something. Neither had their wand. Nor the children to stand there and tie them together. It was just them, just the fact that they were heartbroken over the idea that they might not ever see the other person again. No more. Keiran had seen to that, as much as it made him ache.

"Missie," he gasped out, one arm making something of a bench to hold her up with and his other hand delving into her hair to hold her to him. "I know," Keiran whispered back, trying to ease his racing pulse. "I'm so sorry. I never meant for it to get so bad. I'm so sorry.

"But, baby, Darcie's okay. I promise. I tried to explain, but- well... I was trying to surprise them," he explained, his forehead pressed up against her temple. "She's with my mum. We can go get her after we clean up. But I'm going to stay at the school and take off work for a while. At least until we know you're safe."

He pressed a firm kiss to her forehead, reluctant to set her down now that he had her back in his arms. "We need to get out of here before someone throws the alarm up, though. Peter," Keiran added, turning to the other man when he realized how very rude they had been to him and his son, "let's get the hell out of here."

It was so easy to get lost in life and forget to live. The petty nuances of humanity were easy to get blown up in. It was a Finnigan fate, it seemed, to be buffeted by life at the expense of those whom they loved. There were problems, of course. There were things that meant that reality wasn’t as perfect as dreams would conjure it as but somehow it was there sort of mismatched, cobbled together perfect. Amidst that pettiness and the misplaced feelings that had driven them apart, there had been a lapse in, particularly her, ability to recall why they were together in the first place. It transcended mere law.

It felt almost silly to require a near-death experience to remember – especially given how many of them they’d both had since they’d sat down in the guidance office that funny little afternoon, only then to go out for lunch or dinner, or whatever it constituted as. Why it had taken them so long to get to this moment, she’d never know. She was just glad they had. Admitting she was wrong, backing down from whatever strange torch she’d been determined to carry, knowing it would only pushing him farther from her, was something that she had known she had to do. Finally doing it though, whispering that she’d been wrong and that she, too, hadn’t meant for anything to happen as it had done … it felt liberating – as though they really did have a chance.

Clinging onto him, knowing that nothing in their world had been shaken, gave her that hope. Hearing him say that Darcie was alright, safe with her grandmother, no doubt in the midst of dreams, made Millie’s heart soar even higher than it already was. She, too, knew as Keiran did that Theodore was stalking around Hogwarts like a hawk, unsure about the credentials of a slightly off-the-handle House Elf and, yes loyal, but equally dopey dog as protectors of two rather too clever one-year-olds. For his trouble, his desire to keep an eye on them was finding him eating jammie dodgers on the floor and watching the Aristocats. So, it wasn’t all bad, really. Those were shoes, it was probably safe to say, that Keiran and Millie would probably have preferred to be in, maybe sans ‘dodgers.

She definitely wasn’t going to argue with him about taking time off from work. There was a part of her that wanted to argue the point. She wanted to tell him that he needn’t worry about her because in the castle she would always be safe. She also wanted to tell him that she didn’t want him to come away from what he enjoyed just to make sure Urien or Nasir’s ghost jumped out behind a suit of armour to get at her. It was pointless, though, for two reasons. Firstly, she was almost certain he had his mind set and it wouldn’t do any good to try and convince him otherwise. Secondly, selfishly, she was rather glad. Indeed, her grin betrayed that she was over the moon. Having him home was all she had ever wanted, since the moment he’d left. She definitely wasn’t going to ruin what modicum of time she could have with him by pointing out all the reasons why he shouldn’t go back to the castle with her. She wasn’t entirely mad.

When her feet found the floor once more, Millie felt herself itching to climb back into Keiran’s arms. They didn’t exactly let go of each other in that moment but she felt the growing necessity of distance which she felt distasteful of. She knew that even if he hadn’t declared having no intention of going back to London any time soon that she would have had to have settled that night wherever he had decided to lay his head. Even the separation of a hair’s breadth left her feeling jumpy. Had he not said it, though, she had no idea how she would have been able to ask. She supposed she would have just clung on and looked at him, not trusting herself to ask, not wanting to hear him say no. But until she was safe, he was hers in a space that was theirs. In a literal sense they belonged to each other again, not in a whimsical sort of distant way – a married way. No, they were going to just be together because they wanted, no, needed, to be. Knowing that made her feel, for the first time in a long time, truly happy.

“I love you,” Millie whispered, revelling, still, in her ability to be able to say those words.

Going. Leaving. Leaving alive. Leaving with exactly what they’d came for and more. It was a night of success, she knew this. Moving out into the open air, breathing in the dew-laded night’s breeze, was something that she cherished. Her hand remained clasped tightly in Keiran’s as she was determined to keep him close. Once the door was shut behind them, it would have been natural to part ways and Peter would meet her again in a few days’ time at the Hog’s Head, no doubt with Keiran as it should have been from the beginning, to see Michael and sort out the last of the arrangements for fencing the gems. His leaving gave her pause, though. Especially after all that had happened. She wanted to be with the boys, all three of them, a little while longer, just to make sure that it was etched in her memory just how safe they were.

Her request was simple enough. “Come with us,” she said, her voice being carried away a little bit by a sudden gust of wind. “I’ll make tea.”

Hesitance showed in Peter’s features. Finley didn’t look well, now that the adrenaline was finally leaving his body. The sickly look that had been hanging around him all day was draining the colour from his face and he looked about ready for bed. Peter had wanted to leave him asleep, having given him the last pepper-up potion he had to his name before he’d left to go and find Millie. Tea would do the little one some good, he knew that, even if he himself was after something a bit stiffer. She tempted him with potions, knowing that there would be some to make Finley feel better. The apothecary wasn’t open anymore and Peter wasn’t a dab hand at brewing anymore. He did need the help. He knew better, mind you – of course he knew better – but she was earnest and wanted to help. Call him weak, stupid, whatever, but even he didn’t want to be alone that night. But he should have picked better company than the very people he’d wanted to keep a wide berth from for far, far too long. He didn’t know why he said yes. He didn’t know why. He just felt as though it was, in that moment, the right thing to do.

Out of the chill of the capital’s night air, the foyer of Bridget’s house felt almost hot. Millie puffed a lock of hair out of her eyes and decided to wriggle out of her hooded jumper, letting go of Keiran long enough to pull it over her head. She then reached forward to hang it up on the hook before leaning down to pull off her boots, not wanting to track whatever was on them over Bridget’s clean floors. She then set about putting her hair back up in a bun, rather comically dismayed about the way it had come out of the bobby pins and hair bands she’d done it up in. It seemed as though the terror of what had just taken place was already subsiding. The vain worries were already returning and it was a pleasant return, almost. It meant the fears wouldn’t linger on, though the lessons would most assuredly be learned and heeded.

Once she was done fretting she reached back for Keiran’s hand, an impatient look on her face that reflected how caught she was between scampering off in search of their baby and clinging fast to him for fear that if she turned her back he’d disappear. She leaned in and pressed a kiss to the top of his arm, just beneath where it swept into his shoulder. She glanced at Peter, offering him a contented smile. If at all possible he looked more skittish than she’d ever seen him, as though being back in the museum was a more comforting place. She couldn’t imagine why. She’d always felt at home in Bridget’s house. Safety seemed to radiate from its walls, just as it emptied from Keiran’s pores and that of Bridget herself. She didn’t know how he could manage to feel uncomfortable.

She heard movement from further in the house, no doubt Bridget reacting to the pops of apparition. Millie could sort of imagine Keiran coming back at this time, weary of work, eager to go home with Darcie and bunker down for the night. Instead, a ramshackle bunch were stood in the foyer to greet Bridget and, most importantly of all, Darcie who was caught in slumberland, safe in her grandmother’s arms. Millie’s hand squeezed around Keiran’s, reflecting the way her heart constricted in her chest. She couldn’t wait any longer. Despite wanting to stay fixed by his side, Millie moved away to retrieve their daughter, enveloping the little go eagerly into her embrace and greedily inhaling the infant’s scent. She too seemed to have taken on that very Hayesian ability to give off the air of home – or perhaps it was just the way they all made Millie feel. Perhaps it wasn’t a special gift to anyone else but her. If so, it was doubly special.

Careful to mind squishing Darcie, the only child that wouldn’t be squeezed that evening, Millie opened and arm to hug Bridget tightly. She wanted to babble at the woman about everything and nothing but she knew that if she woke Darcie, no one would forgive her. She settled for smiling brightly at the woman and she leaned back when she felt belated tears reach into her eyes. Using the cuff of her top she rubbed at her lids, laughing a little despite herself. She apologised quickly, mumbling that “it’s just good to see you, is all,” and cleared her throat before gesturing towards Peter and Finley, introducing them to Bridget. If at all possible, Peter seemed to look even bleaker. Millie readjusted Darcie in her arms and held her hand out to take Keiran’s, returning to his side where she belonged.

“What’s the matter?” Millie asked Peter softly, leaning against her husband as she spoke.

Peter opened his mouth but no words came out and for the moment, silence reigned.

Keiran didn't expect Millie to ask Peter and Finley to come back with them, but he wouldn't have questioned it or said a word against it, particularly since Peter agreed before he could do so. But this man had protected him, this man had helped his wife. And this man had almost lost his son in the same moment that Keiran had almost lost Millie. There was a bond there, a connection there, even if he couldn't really explain what it was.

When they landed in his childhood home, he slowly began just following the motions. He copied Millie's actions, knowing that she was right to be tidy. It was ingrained in him, of course, but they were out now, they were safe now without risk of any of Nasir's men showing up at the last minute. They had what Millie needed, even if he was not sure that he really knew what those items would do. But he had just taken a man's life. He would never be able to take that back. That man would never draw another breath, would never open his eyes again.

When Bridget came in, he registered it, but he could hardly react. Millie released him, and it was like he had lost the weight grounding him, and it had taken off and left him floating without a place to put himself. His hand flew out to help him stay standing, bracing him against the wall.

"I-" Bridget's voice caught his ear and Keiran only just realized that Millie had left to take up Darcie into her arms. He blinked, turning to try and discern what was the matter. She spoke again and confusion flashed across his face in less than a second. "You're alive?"

It wasn't directed at him or Millie, though. Because how would she know they had been in trouble, unless it was just based on how frantic they were? Mind, he chose to forget that Bridget had a bit of the same talent that Millie did. But she was staring at Peter as though he had just ripped her heart out, but then dared to be alive so she could stare at him in pure awe.

"Mum?" he asked slowly, looking between her and Peter.

But Bridget ignored him, stepping between Keiran and Millie to stare at Peter up close. "You-... I don't understand." Finally, she seemed to register that Keiran was just watching her with pure shock on his face. "Keiran, did you know? Why did you bring him here?"

"What? Know what, mum?"

Bridget shook her head, her mouth opening and closing a few times before she sighed and didn't even bother trying to hide her tears. "Keiran.... Love, this is Conall. He's your brother."

"I'm sorry, what?" he asked, his hand falling from the wall, his eyebrows lifting.

"I won't even get into the stupid names your father gave him. Merlin, they were worse than your own. But why do you think you've got Conall stuck in your name? It was meant to be just the one, but when we thought... What could we do, really?" She shrugged sadly, looking between both of the boys.

Keiran backed up against the wall, practically sinking to the floor. "Bloody hell."

As soon as the foyer melted into view, Peter knew that he’d made a mistake. Dimly, he recognised that Millie and Keiran were taking off their outdoor things but, rooted to the spot, he could only really shed Finley of his coat and coax him with a gentle tap to the little boy’s shoulder into taking off his shoes. He moved over to Millie, asking quietly what he should do with them. She smiled and, in a way that only a parent could, managed to juggle the babe and curl her am around Finley to lift him up so that he could put his coat on the hook with the others. The broad grin that followed lightened some of the turmoil that was raging around in Peter’s gut. Because where was he? Home, of course. Twenty-five years, it had been, and he still remembered.

He side-eyed his son who was stood, looking between the adults curiously. In a funny sort of mirror, reflecting the slightness of her age, the woman whose hand he’d crept his into was doing much of the same. Stood in their socks, they made quite the adorable pair. Yet, it wasn’t enough to distract from the events churning up around him. He so desperately wanted to grab Finley and go back to the pub and hide. He needed putting to bed and there was a bottle of Ogden’s behind the counter that Peter felt had his name written all over it after the evening that he’d had. Only, now it was going to get so, so much worse – and it started with that question.

The cynic in Peter wanted to tell his mother that he wasn’t really alive. Alive, he would have said, was a subjective sort of assessment. He wanted to tell her that he hadn’t been alive for eight years, perhaps even longer. Was it the first time he went to Azkaban? Was that when he died? No, it must have been earlier than that. When Amanda and Thomas died, it must have been. Or was it even earlier? Had he somehow left behind all that was good and happy in St. Mungo’s? Had he ever since been leading a strange sort of half-life mitigated only by the joy that his son brought? He wished he could have said that to her. With every ounce of him, he wished he could have apologised, too, and explained somehow. He didn’t have any answers for her, though. He couldn’t give her the reason why. He’d been rash. He was rash, still, to this day. Coming here had been rash. And he’d hurt her, again.

Instinct took over when Keiran spoke last and both Peter and Millie reached him in synch, both taking a shoulder to get him back up standing properly. He glanced at her and shrank a little as he found her blue gaze boring into him, as though trying to work out why she hadn’t gotten the connection. He wanted to smile. A part of him wanted to quip that he’d done a couple of decades of blending into nothingness so he could trick a young Seer with a penchant for getting far too involved in other people’s business. It wasn’t the time nor the place, though. He didn’t know if there would ever be a time or a place for that sort of joke.

“Keiran?” She murmured, her fingers skating across his cheek, concern writing deeply into her features. “Are you—”

“—Okay?” It seemed right that Finley should finish it off, almost. He was stood before the three of them, hands loose in his pyjama pockets, an expression similar to the one the girl wore. Peter stepped away. His son was always more of a people person, a trait he’d inherited from his mother. Once upon a time, Peter had joked that if the sun were ill, Sarah could make it feel better. Finley was no different. Dropping his hands down by his sides, Peter stepped away and moved towards Bridget, careful to keep space between them.

“A homage,” he said, turning a little to look at his son who was grappling for something to make Keiran feel better and fell back on making silly faces which was drawing laughter from the witch, only making her colour as she tried to make sure she didn’t wake the slumbering child. “It’s the same reason why he was called Finley. It’s sentimentality, I suppose.”

The boy turned at the sound of his name and grinned brightly before screwing up his face into another mad expression that was appealing directly to the blonde’s sense of humour. It was beyond him at that time to put the dots together and work out he was stood in a room not solely with his father and his friends but with his grandmother and his uncle and aunt. To him, they were just people, special to him in ways that were different from the real reasons that they were connected. And here was Peter. After all those years of keeping one eye lazily on Keiran, making sure he was alright, that night he’d fallen easily into old habits and it had brought him home. Of all places, he hadn’t expected the Hayes’ to bring him here.

“I’m not going to say it because I’m here. It’s not because I’ve been caught or whatever else. It’s because I mean it. I am sorry … mum.”

He winced. He hadn’t said the word in years to mean either Bridget or Amanda. When Finley asked after Sarah, Peter was always careful to use her name or use ‘her.’ It was too much of a heady reminder of what could have been. She would have forced him into apologising eventually, he knew that much. Possibly after Finley was born and he’d gotten out, if she’d lived. He could imagine her, fired up with the injustice of his hiding and refusing to talk to him until he conceded that he would go and see his mum, his dad. Apologise and try to explain. Sarah had always sympathised, even if she didn’t always understand why he did what he did. It had been so long ago that now even he wasn’t sure but by the time he wanted to take it back it was too late. So, the lie went on.

There was a part of him that liked it better. He preferred that Conall Hayes was dead in Ministerial eyes. He preferred that Peter Howard was the one they kept their eyes on. He knew that had he been a Hayes throughout his formative years he probably would not have sat in Azkaban, whiling away his time. He wouldn’t have lost Sarah. Would he even have met her? Would he have had Fin? Probably not. Yet, would things have been different in that he would have been a better person? A part of him sincerely doubted it. He don’t know what he would have done if he had to meet his mother’s gaze through thin glass dividers. But then, surely, if he’d stayed, perhaps his N.E.W.T results would have matched his abilities. Perhaps he would have been sat in the Ministry, playing at a new kind of white collar theft instead of petty thieving. Or maybe not? Would he have had four kids, a dog and the proverbial picket fence by now?

The what-ifs were enough to drive him mad on the spot and he knew he’d consider them for the rest of the night. He wouldn’t sleep, would he? Nina would come in the next morning to clean and tell him to go to bed. The patrons probably wouldn’t see him until last call when he finally got up. Then he’d give Nina a bonus because she’d saved his ass when she really should have dropped him on it. He’d have a bouquet of flowers for her the next time she came in for her shift, too. She’d blush and he’d fall that little bit more in love with her, although he probably wouldn’t realise it. Perhaps he’d tell her about it and she’d probably interject at points, while others would have stayed silent, to tell him what a fool he’d been. He also knew she’d kill him if he didn’t make it right. Figuratively, at least. Fin couldn’t afford to lose another parent.

“I am sorry,” he repeated again, the words leaving his throat in a rasp. “I didn’t …” He sighed and looked down at his feet, like the errant child he was. “I didn’t mean for this. Every time I’ve wanted to tell you … I just … I thought it was too late. So I … I didn’t want to do this to you, to any of you. I had planned … I wanted to keep out. I didn’t think I had any right anymore. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

It wasn't that Keiran felt unwell, really, so much as he could not believe that his day had gone from boring reports and an annoying secretary to killing someone to save his wife and dealing with even more family drama. Hell, did Peter - whatever his name was - even know about the Rookwoods? Finley stood in front of him and Keiran felt a bit mad for reacting so strongly. Was he supposed to somehow be this boy's uncle now? That made no sense. He wasn't even good at the being a father thing. How could he also learn to be an uncle? That, plus Ariadne as his goddaughter. How was he supposed to have any sort of impact on so many of them? As a professor, he had known that most wouldn't take much away from him, especially when they had textbooks at the ready. But now there was almost no choice.

"Yes, fine," he lied, drawing his hand across the bruise along his jaw. He was far from fine. He wasn't even close to okay.

Keiran wanted a nap.

Peter said his piece, and while it was all well and good enough that his brother - holy hell - was apologetic and had wanted to do right by them, Keiran didn't understand why he had never heard of a brother. Why she thought he was dead. And, by the way, why hadn't Peter said anything? Sure, his mother was not known to be the most forthright or straightforward woman, given what else she had hidden from him. But this? He could have grown up trying to fix the family before dad-

"Oh, hell," he groaned, rubbing a hand across his face. Turning to Peter, Keiran frowned, still visibly closed off and shutters up. "Look, mate. I'm thankful that you've helped my wife, and for what you did tonight. But you're not part of this. Not with that name, not with your somehow convincing mum you were dead. Not when you haven't even considered why dad isn't home. So if you want to start making good or bridging the gap or whatever, you can start by getting rid of that debt you feel you owe me," Keiran demanded, his eyes narrowed as the instinctual protective nature inside of him burst through. "So how about you take your son home and decide if you want to be part of this. If so, there are a great many things you need to learn about-"

"Keiran!" Bridget cut in, her voice higher than usual.

"-but we're gonna do this on my terms. I won't let anyone else hurt this family, even if they've done it before. Your kid? He seems great. You do, Finley," he told the boy, softening a great deal when he looked at his nephew. But then he turned back to Peter. "But I don't know you, and you broke her heart. Can't you see that? You can't do that again. I won't let you in only to watch it happen, this time. So, thank you, but get out of this house."

Hurt seemed to cloud their eyes in all the same way. Darcie’s little warmth in her arms was that anchor she needed – one that left her a bridge away from that moment in time to helplessly watch. A part of her was grateful for the distance but it didn’t lend to any objectivity. To put it mildly, especially in comparison to her husband, Millie was stunned. Peter had made a correct assessment. She was trying to work it out. Work him out, rather. Even in a shallow, almost crass, way, she knew Keiran inside and out. Indeed, while she was certainly lacking in the nuances, she had his carriage and his ways engrained in her memory. She hadn’t seen the same in Peter where there should have been similarities by the virtue of their genes. She felt she knew Peter well enough. That said, she knew Peter, not the man he was supposed to be. The man he wanted her to know. Here he was in a different light entirely. In a breath, everything had changed.

She wanted to tell Keiran exactly what he knew, that he wasn’t fine, but then she had asked the idiotic question in the first place when she knew the answer. How could anyone be fine after something like this? He’d had enough upheaval in his life in the last few years. Now this? The witch was a compassionate one but she couldn’t help the flair of irritation that welled within her. Peter’s chameleon-like changes had little impact on her life and so she cared little after her own feelings about the matter – but for the sake of Keiran and Bridget? It would be safe to say that she was rather annoyed indeed. An apology, no matter how sincere, just wasn’t going to cut it, was it? The realisation of that was cutting into Peter’s words. He knew how ridiculous he sounded.

Millie stiffened when Keiran began to speak, her grasp gently tightening around Darcie – not out of protectiveness but for something to hold onto. The little girl slept on, oblivious to the torment going on around her. Millie sorely wished she could have been elsewhere, perhaps asleep on the sofa or in bed with the infant. This was just a lottery of whose expression upset her the most. It all hurt. All of it. All of them. Peter looked as though he wanted to be sick. He didn’t say anything. He merely nodded and held his hand out to Finley who unsurely strayed towards his father. Millie tried to make herself useful, grabbing hold of shoes and coats as best she could with one hand.

“D-don’t, don’t Mills, I’ve got it, thank you,” Peter murmured, suddenly at her side, reaching for his and Finley’s things. She swallowed and nodded, stepping back. “I’ll see you later,” he added, helping Fin quickly into his coat before lifting him up. The little boy looked around confusedly and Millie offered him a reassuring smile which he didn’t appeared convinced by. He was old enough to realise that there was something deeply amiss but not quite old enough to realise what. Millie was glad for it, in a way. She wanted to hug the little boy and apologise to him for being caught up in the mess that was unfolding. She knew, however, that it wouldn’t go down particularly well so she stayed rooted to the spot after returning to Keiran’s side.

“There are a great many things you need to learn, too,” Peter addressed Keiran gently, his voice remaining even. “It’s not my decision though, Keiran. It’s yours – about whether I belong or not and what’s right by your family. I’m not going to hurt anyone intentionally. I never, ever wanted to hurt anyone. That was the point. I wanted to do right by this family, too. Stupid boy that I was, I thought it’d be easier. I thought I had made the right choice,” he glanced at Bridget and a soft sigh emitted from his lips. “And you’re right, I’m not a part of this. So maybe it still is easier without me. Your call, kid. You’re in charge here.”

And then, like that, he was gone. Millie exhaled and waited a few beats before finding her feet again. She murmured a nonsensical sentence and wandered through into the living room as though in a daze. She put Darcie down and the little girl did not so much as notice, not even when her mother’s lips brushed across her forehead. Millie brought a light blanket around her and then pushed away, wandering into the kitchen to finally get that cup of tea. Liquor would have been better but it wouldn’t have helped with clarity and she’d lost her taste for it lately – surprising though that was. She found some cups, filled them with hot water, and found herself letting hers over-brew even once Keiran’s coffee was made and she coloured Bridget’s with milk to the right shade. Brothers – and none of them had known except Peter. She couldn’t believe it.

"What did he mean?" Millie asked, bringing the drinks to her Hayes'. "He said he thought that he had made the right choice. What choice?"