Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth.

The door to the Ollice + Ariel flat swung open to let in a sort of stumbling version of Oliver and Alice. Ariel was out for the night for one of the Quidditch matches, and despite the time, Oliver realized that he was probably staying the night on the grounds. It certainly explained the quiet in their flat. In an instant, he realized that Eric and Lemon must have been getting antsy about their humans being gone so long. Leading Alice into the main living area, however, he found them both curled up in Eric's blue chair, thankfully asleep.

Neither of the two who had just come home seemed quite okay. Alice, obviously, had gone through something that had terrified her, and both of them were beat up a fair bit. He had wanted to suggest that she return home instead of heading to the Inn, but he knew full well that she wouldn't appreciate it. Especially after the conversation they'd had when he told her he was stepping up to take it on. They had essentially promised not to abandon each other or force one another to stand back when they were hurting.

Oliver could admit to being more concerned than usual, though, given what the Rookwood man had apparently uncovered about Alice. He didn't know who the Andersons were, and he hated the fact that she had been so frightened. But asking her about it would just make things worse. Prying or forcing his opinions on her had never worked, and had only made her angry with him. He had learned his lesson, to say the least. So his main concern was - and had to be - with getting her cleaned up and feeling safe again.

"Allie?" he began gently, turning towards her. He reached out to push her hair away from her forehead to check for any more cuts there, the movement slow and hopefully comforting rather than frightening. "It's late. Let's get you changed and cleaned up a bit, yeah? Then I'll put up some extra wards just in case."

He probably should have made it more about them doing things together, as a 'we,' but he didn't care that he had a painfully obvious (and just plain painful) cut along his cheekbone, thanks to Augustus. And he didn't care that it had opened up again. The absolute last thing he wanted was for Alice to shut down on him, or hide away because she was scared. He needed to know she would be okay before he even considered getting some sleep. He still wasn't confident that they knew what the Death Eaters had been after, but for the moment, Alice needed him. And he knew the Order would have been useless if they had tried to dive in without knowing anything. They needed the night, and then they could focus in again.

"What can I do?"

Home. They were home. The smell of sulphur seemed to abate almost instantly, replaced with the sweetness of the fresh washing that had been done during the daytime and the hot permutations of, simply, them. It was a comfort that was second to none and it stilled the anxious heart that was beating erratically in the chest of the young Frenchwoman. As adrenaline replaced itself with weariness and started to make the cuts and scrapes ache, her heart slowed too into a relaxing hum that still ticked off the odd beat of fear. There was undeniable safety within those walls, though. There was a sense that no matter what, nothing would get them in there. They were safe. They were home.

Exhaustion. She’d never really felt it before, not truly – or not that she remembered properly. She wasn’t sure she felt this, either, but she knew what it was. All that hurt was all that had been cut, scraped or which was purpling to bruise. The rest? She couldn’t feel a thing. Even with the healing charm, her temple still ached where Rookwood’s curse had sliced by her. Her mind was frazzled, like woven material pulled from the whole piece, left to fray and decay. With him, though, with Ollie, she still had her anchor. Warmth seemed to suffocate the flat, reminding them that it was summer. Even that was comforting, in a strange sort of way.

His voice drew her out of herself, into the room, grounding her at home, by him. She looked up, her saucer eyes finding his, and she leaned into him, moving into the feel of his fingers across her forehead. She nodded a little and scrunched her arms up to tug them out of the top she was wearing – what was left of it. She was sure it was just mud now, and blood that she wasn’t even sure belonged to her. Alice tugged it over her head and bunched it up in her hands, twisting it up until it was this little ball. She then looked up and felt her breath catch somewhere at the back of her throat.

“I just … can you just stay with me?” She asked softly, her words barely ghosting over the air.

She turned, one hand coming to take hold of his, and she moved into the kitchen where she put the top in the bin. Departing from the kitchen she made a beeline for the bathroom, determined to get the evidence of the evening’s events out of her skin. The shower was switched on, the spray immediately shining down hot and steaming. She wriggled from the rest of her clothes, abandoning them in a neat pile on the floor. She stepped into the shower, ducking under the water which sizzled across her skin. She gasped as it ran over the cuts, making them smart. Her hands rubbed up her arms, gliding dirt from the surface, and she twisted around to look at Ollie, sad and expectant eyes reaching out for him to join her, to not leave her alone.

Oliver hated to see her so distraught, and that fact was practically etched on his features as he looked at her. "Always," he replied firmly. "I promise." And he meant it, too. His promise wasn't just for when she was injured, and he was starting to convince himself that she knew as much. He was starting to believe that Millie had been right.

It was strange. The last time Alice had so rashly taken off pieces of clothing in the middle of the living room, she had started crying because of a date gone wrong. This, Oliver could tell, was so much more to her than that. This hurt more. Whatever it was, it was tearing her up inside, and Oliver could practically see it happening behind her eyes.

Following wasn't even a question. If that was what she needed, he would do it. So his feet padded across the floor behind her, only vaguely surprised when she led the way towards the bathroom. He expected her to ask him to maybe heal her cuts before leaving her to shower and to add some wards that would be friendly towards Ariel when the werewolf decided to return.

But she went directly for the shower, and Oliver found that he couldn't blame her. He turned away as she undressed, pulling towels out of the cabinet to set aside for her. The fall of water suddenly sounded different and he lifted his chin, glancing over in time to see her expression change as she winced. It felt wrong, somehow, to be looking at her when she was so upset. Just as he was considering taking her abandoned clothes to add them to the wash pile, he caught her expression and hesitated.

Worry lines creased his forehead but he nodded and sent his own fabric into the pile before stepping forward. His first movement was the reach of his hands towards the water, scooping up enough to splash it over his face. His cheek stung but he ignored it, reaching out to cradle her cheeks in his palms. Oliver pressed a kiss to her forehead, then one to her nose.

"We're home, love. Okay? You're safe here."

Her nose wriggled, creasing in the middle, across the bridge. A little smile curled her lips and she leaned forward, her arms snaking around him as she cuddled against him. The shower’s torrents beat down over them, teasing out the dirt and the grime from their skin. It went a long way to making her feel better, too. As it coursed through her hair, she could feel the knots of her mind loosening, relaxing, and the overturned tables rocking around inside her head beginning to right themselves once more.

Reaching up, Alice rubbed her thumb gently across Ollie’s cheek, ghosting across the split in the skin. Leaning up as best she could, she brushed her lips along the cut. She lowered herself back down with a bit of a bounce and tipped her head forward, resting her forehead against his chest.

Eventually she lifted her arm and reached out to take the shower gel off of the shelf. She squeezed the soap into her hands and brought her head back up as she drew her palms across his chest. A trail of soap suds was left behind and the rhythm she found in just lifting her hands across his body made the tension unwind from her neck. This was mindless. Easy. It just was.

“I love you.”

He cared. For some reason, he cared. He’d always cared. So to tell him that was everything he deserved. She couldn’t not love him. Just feeling him under the pads of her fingers made her feel connected to him and as safe as he promised he’d make her. She knew she’d always need him, come hell or high water, and that no matter the problems they’d face they’d always be okay because they cared about each other. They mattered to each other. She knew if there was only one person in the world left that could be allowed to love her she would always want it to be him.

“Are you okay?” She asked, taking handfuls of water to wash off the suds. “Really okay?” She lifted her hand to his cheek again and frowned at the cut. “I’ll fix that,” she promised. “I’ll take all of the cuts away, I swear.”

Oliver let his arms curl and reach around so he could run his fingers up and down her spine. When she pulled back, he let his hands drift up to her shoulder blades, holding still while she focused on the task she had assigned herself. He of course had no reason to complain, though he wasn't sure he was meant to say anything. Until she spoke, that is. It was the first time she had done so without any sort of prompting from him, and he gave her a gentle smile in return.

He whispered the endearment back, sure she didn't actually need it to be said, but he couldn't leave her words hanging in the air unanswered. Her question made him frown, and he wanted to reply that it hardly mattered. Oliver doubted she would see it the same way, though.

"Even if you don't, it'll go away. And that's okay," he assured her, his hands finding her upper arms. "What matters is that you're okay. Inside," he clarified, a finger tapping absentmindedly. "What matters is that I have you here with me now, and that I have no intention of letting that change."

Oliver looked at her seriously for a moment, searching her gaze. "Alice," he took her hands in his. "I need you to listen for a minute. To consider something. Okay? I've done a lot of talking today, so I'm sorry for going on yet again. But I need you to believe me when I say I would never let anything happen to you. I am beyond sorry for what I did and what it caused. I adore you, more than it seemed like tonight.

"It was rash and foolish of me. I want to share my life with you, and I almost ruined that. I want-"

He couldn't. It would probably make him the worst sort of person imaginable. Asking something so important when she was feeling so down was just cruel, and he hated himself for considering it. He rubbed her arms gently before letting go, reaching for her shampoo and holding out for her to see it.

"I want you..." period. forever. "...to be happy. To be cleaned up, cuddled in your pajamas and sleeping soundly because you know nothing can get you so long as you're here, and so long as I'm there to stop it. I swear, Alice: I won't do anything that stupid again."

It didn’t cheer the tall, blonde witch much to know that the cut that marred her lover’s skin would one day fade. She would know it was there still, scar tissue peppered under the smooth, sun-kissed plane of his cheek, just as she’d know the rest of the cuts and scrapes would still be there, a map of Oliver’s toil. She felt as though she could already follow it with the tripping-trapping over her fingers. Each one she knew in time she could name by former appearance and position; the idea that he was hurt, chilling, the knowledge that he’d lived, priceless. Her own welfare was much less of a concern.

She wanted her wand. She wanted to take it to each one and erase it, to see each one gone with her own hands, her own magic. Healing was the purer magic, the stronger magic. It had nothing on the dark magic which had been levelled at them, to harm, to maim, to kill. She swallowed a breath and leaned her head in against his chest as the rivulets of water continued to tumble down over them, washing away the blood, the soot, the dirt, and much of the hurt.

“I will,” she whispered in an undertone.

Lifting her head, she let her fingers intertwine with Ollie’s and she let her gaze settle on him, managing a good-natured roll of her eyes when he said about how much talking he’d done. A little laugh bubbled up from within her and she found a smile for him as mirth began to sparkle in her eyes. For a moment, she looked her old self again. Leaning up onto her tiptoes, Alice kissed him – as simple as that. She lingered and only pulled away when she truly had to, reaching in the end for her shampoo.

“It’s okay,” she murmured. “I think … it …” she took a shaky breath. She’d forgiven him, at least. Whether it would be okay in the long run would depend on what Rookwood planned on doing, whether he’d share his information. Alice didn’t doubt that he would. It would only be a matter of time before he cracked, eagerly spewed his information and prompted Elijah to start knocking down her door. She closed her eyes at the barest thought, trying to conjure up the image of the carefree boy she’d known as a child. So much had changed, of course. Precious little was carefree about that man now.

“Please don’t do that again,” she asked, lifting her gaze again. “I know you said so but just … don’t, please. I thought … I thought … he’s a talented Leglimens,” she sighed. “And when you’ve got things you’d rather not think about …” her eyes flickered shut for a few breaths before she reopened them and said more strongly. “When you have things that you don’t want to relive and he comes peeling through your head like a freight train … overturning everything you’ve carefully compartmentalised to try and protect yourself … it’s terrifying. And … and for a minute there I was scared you wouldn’t get me back from him and that … that that was it. I know better I just … for a minute there…” she shrugged a shoulder, knowing it was pointless to go on.

She opened the shampoo bottle with shaking fingers and carefully squeezed a dollop of it into her palm before leaning forward to put it down on the shelf. She drew some of it through her hair first before reaching up and swiping it across Ollie’s head, a little smile appearing, chasing away the solemn sobriety of her words before. Her smile grew into a grin as she touched the soapy tip of her finger to his nose, leaving suds behind.

“As long as you’re with me, I’m happy, Ol,” she murmured to him, twisting her soapy hair onto the top of her head. “Do you think it would be totally remiss of us to spend the entire weekend – and possibly Monday – in our pyjamas and in bed sleeping, pretending none of this ever happened?

"No, Alice. I'm the one who was wrong. It seemed like he was more concerned with getting in, and I thought I could- and, I mean, I did get him. But I might not have. I can admit that I don't have the best dueling skills. I hate to admit to how much of a risk it was, especially since you're upset. I almost-"

Oliver stopped, almost surprised by his own inability to speak. It was mainly because it hurt to admit the stupid risk he had taken, but also because she should have hated him or been afraid of him, but she wasn't. Or she wouldn't admit to it, anyway. He considered telling her as much, but he couldn't. Oliver wasn't sure if that made him selfish, but it felt like he was.

"I guess that depends," he replied gently, stepping back enough to reach up and concede to the fact that he was going to smell vaguely of Alice's shampoo in the morning. "I'll need to get in touch with a few people and see if we can figure what needs to be done next. But even if I can't, you're welcome to.

"Even if I have to go, it hopefully won't be for very long. I'll check in as often as I can, if nothing else. I wouldn't dare ask you to... I mean, if you need rest that's more important."

Oliver leaned his head under the showerhead to rinse the lather away. The anger he had expected to feel towards himself had finally kicked in and his jaw clenched. The truth of the matter was, if they had to deal with Death Eaters, Augustus had escaped and could be there, too. The poor Zabini boy was probably still beside himself with grief for losing his wand to the Rookwood git. But that was nothing compared to what Oliver had done, it seemed, and if Death Eaters were around, he didn't want Alice to have to be afraid.

"I know I promised not to ask you to stay home, but I'd rather you tell me if you're frightened. I'd rather you feel like you can, and I hope you know it wouldn't make me think less of you. In fact," Oliver added with a near scoff as he crossed his arms over his chest almost protectively, "I'm fairly astounded that you haven't told me to piss off entirely. I'm glad you didn't, but I wouldn't blame you, either."

Admittedly, Alice deflated a little when Ollie declined to humour her. He should have known that lying about in bed wouldn’t nearly have the same appeal if he wasn’t there. She’d grow restless. She probably wouldn’t steal the Monday or if she did she’d swot Ariel away when he came home and sort through his dirty clothes and do all of the washing the flat had in order to preoccupy herself. Without Ollie, the sort of rest and recuperation she’d imagined wasn’t really going to take place. It would just be business as usual. In fact she’d probably pester his father for another case. At least at best she could holler at a few docked witnesses over a morning. It would be as though the whole debacle hadn’t happened. In some ways, that way of dealing it was probably better. It certainly fit the workaholic better.

She decided against letting the disappointment show. Instead she busied herself with the soap and scrubbing her skin clean. At least by the time she came to rinsing out her hair, she knew that once she was out of the shower and pyjama clad as Ollie had wanted for her she’d smell like herself again. She could curl up with the book she’d been reading all week, fresh from the bookshop that Monday gone, and she could read until sleep finally came. She didn’t feel tired yet. She supposed, though, that once she was in bed it would come almost immediately. She had no fear of that. Then, come Saturday, things would resume as normal. She’d go for a run. Maybe she’d go climbing because Merlin knew she hadn’t been in a while. Rest. Who needed rest, really?

“I’m not frightened,” she shook her hair out, washing the last of the suds away. She raised a wry eyebrow as though to say ‘don’t tempt me’ and smiled a little before putting the soap back on the shelf. It felt odd to say it, really, that she wasn’t frightened. It felt almost like a lie but it was true enough. It wasn’t Augustus Rookwood that had scared her. She’d dealt with his kind before in better circumstances and worse many times over. She was immune to that sort of bad boy aristocrat. No, what scared her was his power to determine what she had thought she’d moved past, what she’d thought she was over and was behind her. He’d called her Anderson. She was five years’ old again. Had she even been that old?

“I’m not frightened,” she repeated testily before slipping by and stepping out of the shower onto the rug. She pulled her towel off of the rail and wrapped it around herself, wishing that it was true. He’d known. She’d been frightened by that. He’d known and she felt as though her entire world was being dragged out from underneath her, as though she was being split irrevocably from Ollie. Only there hadn’t been such a schism. If anything, there was the complete and distinct opposite. People were going to be brought back together again and what frightened her was definitely the knowledge that sooner or later, Augustus would tell and soon after that she’d be looking Elijah in the eye and telling him the truth of what had happened.

“And I’m not going to stand idly by, either,” she told him, stripping his towel from the rail and holding it out. “But if I’m dead weight …” she averted her gaze, supposing that in a funny sort of way, she was. No, it wasn’t even funny. Not even mildly amusing. She was dead weight. A liability. She’d come out mostly unscathed from the battle but that was about keeping Death Eaters at arm’s length. Up close and personal, she was a wreck. She was always a wreck. Her father had always demanded strength from her, as though habit would somehow breed it into her where it seemed unnatural. Had she even been useful in that battle? She’d gotten a few advancing folks away from Ollie. She’d helped James and she’d rescued a cornered Victoire. But had it helped anyone, really?

Crippling self-doubt was not something that was unfamiliar to her. Wondering after whether he was enough for anyone or for anything seemed par for the course unless she was at work where she knew her own person and was arrogantly aware of her own worth to the law firm or to the Ministry, wherever she happened to be. It was something she was good at. The boundaries were simple, clear. The rules were unchanging. The cast of characters altered occasionally, the motive often bizarrely skewed. But she always got to the bottom of it. Always. She’d never had a problem. Yet this? All of this? Where on earth was her place? Where on earth was her use?

Alice left the bathroom and wandered into their bedroom with a furrowed set of brows. She found out a pair of pyjamas and slowly donned them before folding up her towel and sending it was a flick of her wand back into her bathroom. She turned her wand on herself then and dried her hair before plaiting it with a few rhythmic flicks. She set down her wand and reached up to rub at her forehead, passing a confused look in Ollie’s direction.

“Am I helpful?” She asked all of a sudden. “Out there … with the Order, I mean? I’m not … I’m … I’m only frightened of what might happen to you and what …” She plopped herself down on the bed, at a loss as to what to say next. “I’m not scared of my own shadow or of Death Eaters but I’m … I was scared what happened today and I was scared of what might have happened to you if I wasn’t there to make sure … I don’t …” she took a breath. “I don’t want to be a liability but I also don’t trust any of them to watch after you, either. I know … I know you can look after yourself but I don’t …” She shook her head and flopped back against the pillows.

“I don’t even know what I’m trying to say,” she complained sourly, draping her arm over her eyes. “I guess … I don’t want to be bait for Augustus Rookwood or for any other Death Eater. I want to be useful to you and the Order in other ways, in ways that mean I’m worthy of being there,” she sat up again, dropping her hands into her lap. “But if I’m not … I want you to tell me. I can swallow any fear but if I’m not … if I’m not helping. I need … I need to know, don’t I?” She lowered her gaze and sighed. “If there’s one thing I am frightened of then it’s losing you, Ol, and I hardly want to be responsible for it, nor do I want to not be there if it means I can stop it … so I just … I dunno.”

She stepped out and in the moments before she turned back to him, Oliver reached up with both hands to pull at his hair almost desperately. He hadn't meant to insult her. She just didn't understand. But she held out his towel so he shut off the water and took it, pulling the material around his waist. He opened his mouth to backtrack, or.. chide, or just something, but he didn't want to make it worse again. And then she walked out.

If she heard him slam his hands down on the counter in frustration, she didn't seem interested in saying anything from the other room. Oliver stood up straight and moved towards the bedroom, knowing she was probably still upset, but unwilling to drop it or abandon her when she was so torn up inside. As she spoke again, he wandered into the closet to find himself something to wear as well. When he came out, dressed more fully than he usually would have been just to sleep, she was still trying to explain and was sat up on the bed.

Under other circumstances, would he have made a move of some sort? Almost definitely. Or she might have done. But Oliver didn't like the fact that he was messed up on the inside now, too. He didn't have the right to be, and Alice had been through too much. He didn't want to answer her properly, because that proper answer had a high possibility of upsetting her further and of sending him out to the couch for a while. Not because he wanted to say she was, indeed, useless to the Order. No, because she would realize just how much of a risk he had taken, and how bad he would be at protecting her when he really had to. He was the useless one, when it came to that. The lines across his chest, the ones now covered by his tee, were proof enough of that. Her anxiety was, too. Perhaps more so.

So Oliver looked at the floor and just kept quiet for a while. His fingers curled into fists for a moment, but he released the tension there just before inhaling and finally speaking.

"Alice..." He attempted, shaking his head and continuing to watch the floor. "You don't understand. It's not that I think you can't do it. You could silence the worst lawyers with just a word if you wanted to, and you would probably have an easier go of trying to get someone in that damned Order to work with you, nonetheless respect you. This isn't about you, really. I mean, obviously it centers around you, but...

"I just mean that it's me. I'm the one with the issue, okay? I'm assuming a bit here, but I would guess that you'd be surprised if I told you just how badly I did in school. I know that sounds odd topic but just.. Bear with me for a bit," he added, lifting his hands slightly.

He finally glanced up at Alice but immediately regretted it and turned to look at the doorway, wondering vaguely why the dogs hadn't woken up. Did this qualify them as one of those fake 'old married couple' types?

"I made Ariel swear years ago to never mention it. But I'm rubbish at magic," he continued, crossing his arms over his chest. "You have no idea how stupid I was tonight. In the moment, I was sure. But as soon as he touched you, I wasn't. I thought-" his words caught and he stopped to swallow and shift his weight. "It was really damn stupid. It isn't you I don't trust. I was hoping to disarm him so I had the slightest upper hand.

"You can come if you want to. I just didn't want to push you after everything else I'd done. I just can't promise that I can protect you anywhere else but here. I wanted to-... Well. You know... But I wouldn't dare try to stop you."

Oliver shrugged noncommittally, reaching for his wand. "I'm just... gonna go set up more wards," he tacked on, leaving the room.

It would be foolish for the blonde witch to claim that she did not prize academic achievement. Attainment in that regard was all she cared about once upon a time because she knew that it was the antithesis to the sort of vapid lifestyle she would have lead, flirting with Krums and other Eastern European purebloods. Ollie was literary, though. It had seemed almost obvious to her that he should have been a diligent student. It hadn’t even been something she’d supposed about. She’d just, yes, assumed that it was so. But she hardly reacted when he corrected her. She blinked, exhaled but little more.

When he left the room, she sat there for a few moments, gathering her bearings, before shooting to her feet. She bounded across the bed and hit the floor at a little bit of a canter which saw her half fall around the door frame. She kept to her feet though and launched herself at him throwing her arms around his neck. She didn’t kiss him, though Merlin knew she wanted to. Instead she bopped her nose against his and frowned at him.

“You are not rubbish at magic,” she stated firmly. “You can do whatever you set your mind to as well as you believe you can and if you don’t believe in yourself then I can do all of the believing for you. Look, how were you supposed to know that he would do what he did, hm? I didn’t, you didn’t. It is okay, I promise. You weren’t stupid, either, and if anyone should know it would be me given as I was the safety belt.” She raised her eyebrows and smiled a little. “It was a calculated risk – and am I angry with you?”

“No,” she sang in clarification. “Ollie I love you no matter what and more than anything. I am always, always going to believe in you, too. I am a big girl, too. I don’t really need protecting, per se, but I do need you. But I know you’ll try to watch out for me, just as I’m going to for you. It’s what I am always going to do, whatever happens. But just don’t talk like this, okay? You can do anything. You really can.”

She kissed him then, a soft, chaste peck before she asked, “Can I help with the wards?”