The deeper the lie, the more truth in its echo. [OPEN]

"Papa!" Abraham's voice called from somewhere in the bookshelves. "I drop it!"

Erik hadn't been paying enough attention to his boy to actually realize, at first, what the thing Abraham had dropped was. In truth, he probably should have been more aware of what the two-year-old was up to, but Erik was in the midst of pretending to work while reading an old Muggle classic. Nearing on his third year, Abraham had yet to grasp any sense of grammar, but his curiosity and attempted conversation was endlessly amusing for his energetic father. When the bookmark fell into place and Erik looked up, though, he remembered what Abraham had picked up and attempted to move across the storefront.

"Don't move, little man," he called, setting the Thoreau novel down. "Try not to step on any of the glass."

Erik wondered as he crossed the room why he hadn't heard the vase shatter, but he supposed that it wasn't entirely unusual for him to get so sucked into what he was working on that he was able to ignore everything around him. Certain things, like his son's voice, could pull him out of it. Apparently splintering vases were not included in that list of things.

He crossed the store and bent down to lift the little blond into his arms. "Next time," he said as he pulled out his wand, "leave the merchandise where we're asked to put it, eh, mate?" Abraham agreed with a laugh while Erik repaired the vase. "At least there wasn't anything in this one," he conceded, setting the boy on his feet before taking the vase and returning it to the shelf at the back of the store. He was just turning to ask Abraham if he wanted lunch when the bell above the door chimed to alert him to someone's entrance.

Margo was dressed like she had been in a coma when she had chosen her outfit. And indeed, there had been little brain activity going on when she had lazily picked out the clothes. The shirt had, once upon a time, been purchased by Marvin who had forgotten that he wasn't as cheeky as he thought he was. He had only been brave enough to wear it once before she had salvaged it from the bottom of his closet, cutting it off to rest in a more feminine style upon her curvy figure. The dinosaur shorts and button and glasses had also been rescues, though they had been saved from thrift stores instead.

However, she had not worn the shirt or the shorts in ages, as they had just been resting in a pile of her ever messy room, with the intention of being donated again. But she had stumbled home at five in the morning, and hardly had her head hit the pillow before Marshall was waking the house to announce he was back at home and ready to take his little sister to Diagon. Margo had forgotten her plans to get brunch with her eldest brother - because he had never exactly given her a chance to agree. So clothes and glasses were donned and scoffed at, and the brother was promptly ditched at the nearest possible convenience.

Man, oh man, was the shirt feeling accurate.

She recalled a troubling conversation she was beginning to repeat with her friends. She knew she was in the right, but she would be lying if she didn't admit her curiosity had been tickled by their lack of faith. And, putting that small errand aside, she needed a coffee. Marshall would find her eventually and she would need the energy - and if her hangover was gone, that'd be absolutely fantastic. She was out of the potion.

She slipped into Fleurish, nose wrinkling at the overwhelming fragrance that wafted into her sinuses. She walked over to the counter, dropped her elbows onto the desk, cheek resting lazily on the heel of her palm, pushing her sunglasses more firmly over her eyes. "Coffee, please. Black," she clacked her tongue on the k-sound. "Also - odd question, I know, but do you have any books on mobsters? Like, modern British mobsters and how to tell one from your, like, dunno, just how to pick one out of the crowd."

That's when she realized she was speaking to a child.

"Oh. Right. Hello... child." She flashed a smile.

The door opened with a rush after the Ravenclaw entered. In burst a Rookwood, albeit in miniature. His big, ocean blue eyes were widened to comical proportions in order to take in all of the sights that the little Diagon Alley shop had to its name. Fleur-ish. The books and the coffee added the –ish factor. That was why it was Fleurish. The shop was one that the miniature Rookwood’s mother had a little soft spot for. The bookseller was, naturally it seemed, attracted to more books. Really though, she was attracted to the flowers. There was one thing that had made Rookwood manor sufferable and that had been her flowers. There was hardly the space at Albus’ house to coax blooms into life. She found any excuse she could to sit amongst them.

That day, Athena needed to take Aurelia to get some new shoes for school that September. The thrifty witch had already shined up the ones she’d grown out of for Cecilia. Though she conceded that she could have just enlarged them, she wanted Aurelia going to school for her first day in an entirely new uniform. Her youngest daughter would be scruffed and muddy after a day of play when Athena and Albus went to pick her up, irrespective of how polished she’d been sent. Aurelia was a little bit more exacting, emulating Athena in her desire to present a certain image. Cecilia was the free spirit, most definitely, and yet Aurelia had begun to lighten, to smile genuinely.

No one’s smile was broader than Athena’s, though, when she could take the shoes to the counter and pay for them with her own gold, painstakingly earned with her toil in Flourish and Blott’s. After purchasing them, she gave Aurelia the bag to proudly hold and wrestled her twins away from whatever mischief they were already in the midst of before shoving them out of the door. They were robust boys, clearly taking after the Goyle side of the family in build. Nevertheless, their makeup was deeply Rookwood, even down to the easy charisma which they exuded on a day to day basis. Entering the shop was no exception.

Aurelia and Athena hurried in behind. Cecilia was right behind the twins and though Augustus took a little bit longer than Archibald to get over the threshold, as soon as he was inside he was rushing after his little brother, much to the open dismay of his mother who managed to grab both by the scruff of their necks before they broke anything precious. The girls giggled and went over to sit down at a table and peruse the menu, Aurelia carefully beginning to read what it offered to her little sister. Athena smiled and steered the boys towards the table but before she could get them there, Archie ducked out from under her arm and hurried towards the little boy talking to the elder girl and jutted out his hand in the same way he’d seen Albus do when meeting someone new.

“Hi!” He chirped. “I’m Archie!”

Before Erik could notice, Abraham had returned to the front of the store, to greet the newcomer. Of course, the boy had no idea what to do with her question, and she could not, of course, expect him to make coffee - black or otherwise. From between the bookshelves, Erik emerged and moved to set one hand on the counter, leaning towards her.

"I don't know about the book question, I'm afraid, given I haven't exactly looked for those. So it's possible. Maybe try the history section? I'll star that coff- Athena!" he stopped, looking up as the door opened again and a familiar face walked in.

Really, it was almost amazing that the little ones hadn't met yet, given how Abraham's father was so friendly towards their mum. He smiled, regardless of the moment of terror he felt upon realizing she had all of the kids with her. He could handle his own, of course, but with several running about, he had a lot more to worry about, and that sent a streak of panic through him.

When Archie greeted Abraham in an entirely proper, adult-like manner, Erik's eyebrows lifted in amused surprise. Abraham seemed unsure of what he was meant to do, so Erik had to give a little nudge to convince the boy to offer his hand in return. "Archie," Erik offered, crouching down, "this is Abraham. He's usually more talkative than this," he added teasingly, ruffling his son's hair.

He left Abraham, who war frowning at his father, to work on making coffee for the girl who had requested it.