Summer Snowstorms

Summer was starting to be horribly stifling. Everything about it was working to suffocate Fiona Grimm. The waves of heat, causing her frigid blood to boil, her thin, fair skin to crawl and crisp. Margham Castle, with its many, dusty room and no light, no light, no light. Orpheus with his expectations, Norman with his ironic optimism, Arthur with reminders of future plans - it all worked against the original intent of a student's summer holiday. Summer had ceased being restful for Finn. It had made her restless.

The saving grace of summer vacations in her stately castle had always been the natural privacy that the seclusion of the great stone Margham estate provided. Deep rooted in the country, surrounded by forests and tress and rolling acres of land, no one could get to her. But with the introduction of Arthur Yorke into their once uncomplicated lives, Finn found that she was no longer free to be. Dinners were now a formal affair. Finn was forced into social teas with Mr Yorke on a weekly basis, where they largely just sat about in silence, not even exchanging pleasantries because it would require pleasant sentiment towards each other. Finn still only managed to feel unease and anxiety towards Arthur, and his seeming indifference appeared to be unchanged. Anxiety and indifference was hardly the recipe for a happy marriage.

Yes, it had finally come out, finally been uttered and made into reality. Norman, of course Norman, had let it slip over dinner. Before any sort of discussion could be had, her father had lightly reminded her that duty to preserve family lines was a special joy reserved for heiresses, and that she should feel privileged to have been given time to grow into the role of wife. Most girls in her position did not get that luxury. It was all terribly modern for Orpheus' tastes, but he would do anything for his little princess, after all.

Except relieve her of this duty.

They had been sent on outings before, but this trip to Hogsmeade was horrible mundane, and horribly public... making it all the more horrible. Art gallery openings, fine. Vampire dinners. Aristocratic galas, whatever. But mundane was horribly real. After all, couples did mundane things and she did not want to be half of a couple that included Arthur Yorke. Walking alongside him went against all of her instincts to stay safely anonymous. If she saw anyone from school, they would very naturally wonder why she was out shopping with a man who looked a few years her senior. Finn did not exactly have a flirtatious reputation, so there was no natural explanation for her company. She was formulating a plan, a very stupid plan.

Her dress robes were being tailored as she perched on a small podium, while Arthur strolled aisles of new styles with a bored expression. Just as he was obscured from view by a particularly tall rack of robes, the tailor pulled Finn's dress robes from her shoulders. "All done, miss. Taken in and a bit longer." She folded the robes up and turned away to slip them into a bag for her, calling out, "And I believe we were supposed to look through some formal ballgown styles, am I right?" She turned around and her eyes fell upon an empty podium, no signs of the Grimm girl. "Lovely."

Finn knew Orpheus would be severely displeased if he found out about her queer behavior - and Arthur Yorke had the face of a snitch. But she needed some time away from the suffocation of her lonely summer. She needed to breathe. She needed to go somewhere she could be alone but not feel so... alone.

She was no longer sure that this loneliness was something she could actually ever escape. Everywhere she went, it was waiting for her - it had been her companion for so many years, following more closely than her own shadow, and with every year became a more familiar and more unwelcome guest. She was not certain what could be done to vanquish the feeling, but she could be certain of one thing - more time with Arthur Yorke would only make it worse.

She had ended up at the fence that barred people from the path that led down to the Shrieking Shack. The shack had been burned down a few years back. Finn had not known much about the incident, besides the fact that some people credited Henri Finch as the one who set it aflame, and that a d'Eath woman had died beneath the rubble. Someone had rebuilt it - another rumor said that reconstruction had been headed up by Jack Dyllan, guilty of her involvement in the battle and eager to give another hiding place for all the big, bad guys in the world.

Regardless, the Shrieking Shack stood, as old and crotchety as it had been before, a true testament to the idea that time could never fully erase the things that made people fearful.

"Fiona?"

Finn turned around, face flushed as her eyes fell on Arthur Yorke. He looked awkward, and slightly out of breath. He had followed her. Funny, she had thought he wouldn't bother.

He cleared his throat. "I must insist that we return back to the shop-"

"No."

Finn was more surprised than Arthur, she would bet money on that. Never had Fiona ever defied anyone, especially for her own sake. But if she didn't start taking some sort of voice in the decisions in her life, she would find herself a wife and mother by the age of eighteen.

No, thank you.

Arthur blinked. "But-"

She shook her head. "Please. I... I need some time to just be. I just..." She wanted to cry because it was not like he cared, not when he was just a scavenger snapping up her fortune and family ties with zeal. But this was what she cared for most. "I just want this summer to be over."

She looked ridiculous, dressed like a child and yet adorned in the jewelry of a duchess. She looked mature in her defiance, but young in her misery. Arthur Yorke watched the girl that was supposed to grow into his wife and shifted from one foot to the other. Orpheus would be very displeased.

"Meet me at the Three Broomsticks in one hour."

Finn looked up, but Arthur was beginning to walk away. He rubbed his fingers together, banging his right wrist against his thigh, before turning around, looking very strained. He chewed on his words for a second, before finally saying, "...I hate summer, too." He frowned a bit, and flicked his wand, heading back into the village.

She stared after him and suddenly felt something atop her head. And then again. She glanced up and gasped, holding her arms out in surprise.

Snow was raining down on her.

The flakes were small, but they were frequent, collecting on her eyelashes and lips and hair. A small layer was collecting on the fence, the trees, the ground. Finn tilted her head to the sky and a laugh bubbled out of her tired, lonely body in surprise.

Snowstorms in summer. Much more than she had expected from a trip to Hogsmeade.


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The clinking of silverware was always less obtrusive when it was real silver. The Grimm silver was ancient, and the scraping of silver against porcelain was almost musical. Finn remembered asking her father if she could polish the silverware as a child, enjoying playing the game of Maid. She would be the maid of the house that suddenly discovered a horrible secret, and she would slowly creep towards her father's library, one of the few rooms she wasn't permitted into, her arms' outstretched, silverware tucked into the pockets of her dress. She never let herself reach the door. Always conjured some apparition, pretended another maid had called for her. She would give the door a significant look, a promise to return.

She had never been in the library.

She could practically see the secret books in the shine of her fork, ignoring her own distorted reflection as she dipped the fork into her salad. She kept her face down, never lifting her eyes. Her father had invited some associates, associates she did not know and who had quickly lost interest in her after the usual questions about school and... that was it, really. She didn't want them to notice her and venture outside of that topic, so she kept her head down, using her silverware as a second pair of eyes.

She turned the fork in her hand and saw a flash of blue. She angled it back and slowly lifted her gaze to see Arthur looking at her. And then he was looking away, lifting his glass of water to his lips, keyed back into the adult conversation. She dropped her gaze again, but her hair suddenly felt heavy with the memory of the snow that had melted onto her hair, weighed her down. She had had to dry it before she had met up with Arthur, and they had said nothing else. Picked up her robes and apparated home.

She still had not worked out why he had done what he had done. She had not worked out how he had known to do just that. She had not managed to shake the small seed of happiness the snowstorm had done for her. She had not rid herself of the small grain of gratitude she felt for being allowed some privacy, for being given a relief from the stifling hot of summer. She didn't want to have any kind thoughts towards Arthur Yorke, but he might have been her only ally at this table.

At the conclusion of dinner, Orpheus asked the men if they would all like to retire to drawing room for cigars and whiskey. Finn had bowed her head to her father and turned towards the staircase, eager to escape, when Norm said, "Finn, why don't you play us some piano. Collins here quite enjoys Beethoven."

Her stomach turned as Norman clasped an eldery vampire by the shoulder, letting out a laugh. Orpheus' dark eyes glanced towards the men but he said nothing to contradict.

"Actually, I had promised Fiona a walk after dinner."

Her head lifted as Arthur slipped from the back of the small crowd, approaching her and standing alongside. He glanced to Orpheus. "If that's alright, of course."

Orpheus regarded the pair for a moment, before turning towards his company. "Gentleman, you may have to settle for my take on the instrument. I cannot deny my daughter her evening walk. If you please."

They all shuffled away, leaving Finn and Arthur alone in the entryway. She watched as Arthur once again performed that nervous tick, the bouncing of his fist against his thigh. He glanced after the men and then reached up, scratching his head. "Um, if you want, we can just... I'll just say we went for a walk."

This was the ideal. Being able to escape this uncomfortable dress and shoes, curl up in bed with a book, her window open and the night air on her face - it had been the exact thought that had helped her get through dinner.

"No, I... I like walks."

She didn't know why she would subject either of them to an awkward, certainly silent walk around the property. He didn't seem to understand why she had agreed either. But he nodded. "Right. Yes. Me too. Um..."

They stared at each other blankly, not sure what to say. How to start.

"Let me change my shoes," she said, deciding that was the best action. He nodded and she turned, hurrying up the stairs.

A few minutes later and she descended the stairs, comfortable boots covering her stocking-ed feet, an oversized jacket pulled over the silky material of her summer dress. She picked up the face, eyes on the stone of the stairs, finally glancing up. Arthur was bent over, peering into the face of a marble statue. He reached up and picked at the statue's chin. Finn found a smirk playing on her face as she hit the bottom step. Arthur finally heard her and turned, his face expressing visible shock as he straightened up, over-correcting and standing with too straight posture. She rolled her lips into a line, trying to hide the smile, though there might have been one dimple betraying her amusement.

Arthur cleared his throat. "Shall we?"

The sun was still out, though it had sunk beneath the treeline. They still had light to navigate their path, but it was that hazy blue that was sometimes ominous, sometimes peaceful - probably depending on perspective.

For a long time, they didn't talk. As she walked, she couldn't help but pluck a a few flowers, pull on some tall stalks of grass, and begin absent-mindedly weaving another crown, one similar to the one he had seen on her the first time they met.

"What is that?" Arthur ventured.

Finn shrugged. "A passtime."

They continued on in silence for a long time. And then.

"Thank you."

Arthur glanced over at Finn, her eyes on her creation, hands working meticulously. He almost thought he had imagined the words, when he saw her lips work to create more. "For today."

He cleared his throat again. "Yes, well... yes. You're welcome."

The walk was mostly silent, but it was nice. Finn eventually managed to point out small things about the estate, places she had named and come to know well. They finally headed back for the castle, as darkness began to overtake the landscape. The crown was finished and she put it on her head, and they walked the rest of the way. At the door, the crown met the fate that all the other crowns met and was dropped into the flowerbed. Arthur opened the door, and they slipped inside.

Loud talking could be heard from the drawing room. Arthur turned towards the door, swinging between the call of the men and his obligation towards Finn. "I... should probably join them."

Finn nodded, tucking her hands behind her, once again feeling the call of her books and her room. He rocked on his heels and then glanced around, jerking a thumb at the statue. "If you could-"

"I won't say anything," she said. "I... I never do."

"Right," he said. Again he cleared his throat. "Well." He held out a hand. "Thank you for a pleasant walk."

She hesitated, slowly unfolding her hands. She reached forward and took his hand. Warmer than she would have assumed. For a vampire, anyway.

And then the shake was ended and Arthur had turned and slipped into the sitting room, and Finn was ascending the steps... pretending like the day had not been a strange mix of cold and warm.