When Danger Comes Knocking at Your Door

Oliver was sitting at his desk when Alice came back into the bedroom. Ariel hadn't yet returned from the World Cup events, but the other man of the house and his lady had finally accepted the fact that they couldn't just sleep the day away. Despite the fact that, the night before, they had come back with scratches and injuries, it seemed better to get on with things. He had just rolled up a letter and tied it in place when she returned from the bathroom. So Oliver stood and they went out to the kitchen to find food and to make sure that their dogs had not decided to make a mess of things. First, though, Oliver sent the letter off. If Alice didn't know who it was for, he would have been surprised.

--

On Monday, Oliver was still waiting for news about the attack on the Inn. Why had nothing gotten back to him yet? Surely the rest of the Order were curious. They had risked their lives to protect the Muggles living there, and Oliver had offered to help with the rebuilding of it so that they could move back into the Inn after Declan had agreed to set some rooms up for them in the space of time in between. Something was happening, and he felt at least a step behind. It was starting to drive him mad.

But it was Monday. And he had something important to do, even if Monday was the bane of most peoples' existences. Monday could change everything, provided Oliver didn't ruin it this time.

He wouldn't be able to meet Alice for lunch that day. Business to take care of, he said. Which was true, of course, so he wasn't lying. He just wasn't going to be too obvious. Or, at least, not more than he likely already was. Alice probably had him pegged from the moment when she realized he had woken before her on a work day. Even more than that, he had made breakfast to busy his hands, even though cooking was not at all his best skill, by any means. Alice may not have wanted him to make hers as well, but he had done so anyway.

Oliver's feet landed in front of the Rousseau household and he immediately put the portkey into his pocket, thanking Merlin that he had a new connection in the Ministry. He just had a feeling he would end up owing Keiran a favor for it later.

Regardless, the important thing was that he was here, and he had to be both level-headed and genuine. Otherwise he wouldn't be convincing. First, though, Paul had a right to know what had been happening in the life of his daughter and her boyfriend. Danger was all around, and while he didn't want to worry her parents, he refused to hide it all from them. A promise to keep them aware of how things are going would surely ensure that they weren't constantly looking for word of their daughter. Oliver couldn't put his finger on exactly what he thought the Death Eaters were up to, but they never really seemed to attack a specific location for no reason. And they had apparently got whatever they wanted, because the quiet from their side was almost deafening.

Drawing in a deep breath, Oliver glanced skyward for a moment before reaching out and knocking three times.

Paul-Henri Rousseau’s fingers were steepled underneath his nose, dissatisfaction plain on his face. His breakfast sat untouched on the tray set on a spare corner of desk that wasn’t littered with work. It was one of the rare days that he was home, Avignon often now a distant dream to him in Paris. The Minister had finally released him that Friday, though, and he had indulged in a spot of sailing with Marie-Elise that weekend. Monday, though, brought work once more. His wife had gone into town, sensing her husband’s black mood and lacking, after all of these years, the proper patience to get to the bottom of it. Instead she went out, hoping that a spot of lunch once she had returned home would brighten him.

Paul sincerely doubted it, if only because his work was going to be interrupted by his errant youngest daughter’s equally – in his opinion only – errant boyfriend. Cordial and polite though he always found the boy, Paul was guilty of still looking at Alice as though she was eight years old and still in need of his protection. She would always need him, of course, but many years had passed and she had grown up. She could handle things on her own and she could take new people into her heart without worrying about it. He had harboured all of the worry about whether Ollie was another David, perhaps so his daughter didn’t have to. Instead, she’d fallen in love, and he was happy for her, quietly, but no less cautious on her behalf.

If the day was going to go as he imagined it would, he knew he would have to let some of that cautiousness go. He knew in his heart of hearts that Ollie was good, even if he insisted on making life difficult for the boy. Marie wouldn’t hear a bad word said against him and, if Paul was in any doubt, it was clear how accepted he was when it came to dealing with Stephen’s money problems. Like he imagined Ollie would today, Stephen had come to him asking to marry Marianne. Paul wasn’t really in the position to say no so he allowed it. He allowed it and he watched his daughter marry a man whom none of them felt sure of but they had supported her regardless – and to their peril. Now he seemed to come every other week, with a request for a loan on his lips. ‘No’ had become Paul’s favourite word when he saw Stephen now.

Rémy and Jean-Jacques were, by comparison, leading easy lives. They had their children, their charming wives, and life was good for them. One of his daughter’s was getting steadily more miserable, married to a leech. He was determined not to allow the same thing to happen to Alice. He knew, though, that the leech would have been David. Ollie was good. He knew that. He knew that really – even if it took Marie telling him a thousand times. It was gradually sinking in. He wondered if this was it. He wondered if today was really, really going to mark the day he had to relinquish his baby girl. He knew it wold never be for good but at the same time he wondered whether it was – but that was nagging worry, not true belief.

The wards around the house rippled with the arrival of a visitor and as he got to his feet, Paul wondered when Marie had changed them. It could only have been after she had unceremoniously brought the boy home. He sighed, mentally cursing his wife, and left his office, gliding leisurely through the house to the front door. He unlocked it with slow hands and once he finally wrenched the door open he wasn’t surprised at all to see that he was right. In a funny sort of way he was glad that it was Ollie. The last person he wanted to see, interestingly, wasn’t the boy. No, he could well imagine some anxious politician turning up unannounced. Paul typically wasn’t the hex-throwing kind. He would make an exception for anyone but the Hufflepuff that morning.

“Come in,” he ground out. “Do you want something to drink?” He asked as he turned on his heel to make for the kitchen, feeling the need, himself, for a cup of coffee.

When the door swung open, Oliver had hoped it would be Alice's mother. Just for the safety that her presence would ensure. But it was hardly time for such fears, was it? Paul was standing right in front of him - or, the man was for a moment, because he turned quickly and led the way into the kitchen. Oliver glanced down at his feet, but followed as he had been expected to do, stopping to close the door gently behind them. Oliver hadn't expected Alice's father to be thrilled to see him, of course, so the rather standoffish nature of the man in front of him was not all that unusual. He hadn't quite expected a hello or handshake or anything like that. But he also couldn't bring himself to offer anything in return.

At the question, Oliver considered saying no, but he didn't doubt that eventually he would want something and feel as though he couldn't ask once they actually sat down and began talking. "If you were already going to get something," he replied by way of agreement. Although his tone was pleasant, Oliver was hesitant to have any sort of discussion in the kitchen. That had not gone so well the last time.

While Paul prepared whatever drink he was after and whatever he would choose to give to Oliver, the author started to think that it might be better to start with what had been going on, before he got into the discussion proper. Surely Paul knew why he was here? This wasn't his first time dealing with something like this. It was fair, though, to say that Oliver wasn't sure what Alice's siblings and their families felt about him after what had happened the first time they met him. Not only had he been sick, but he had essentially been off his jump when it came to trying to explain why he was so concerned that Alice would end up getting hurt. He didn't want to think that their initial judgement of him could not be replaced with confidence and acceptance.

"I'm sorry if I interrupted your day, but I felt that, if you haven't heard as much from Alice, it was important that I let you know what's been going on in London. I don't know if the news has reached France, since it only happened on Friday," he explained, frowning a bit. "I'm not sure if Alice would have said as much, but I've stepped up relatively recently into the position of Leader of the Order of the Phoenix. You probably won't be surprised to hear that Alice refused to let me head off into a fight on my own, but on Friday night the Muggles housed in Diagon Alley were attacked. I had to ask the Order to go and help. Alice is fine, but, um," he faltered, furrowing his brow and looking at the floor of Paul's kitchen.

How did he explain what he had done to Alice? How could he? Paul wouldn't forgive him in the way Alice had. Never would he give his permission after that came out. Oliver could live with his guilt, but he didn't think he could live without her again. So he cleared his throat and continued.

"Before we found out about the Inn, Alice was almost taken by Augustus Rookwood. Obviously she wasn't, given she helped to rescue the Muggles. But she said he dug through her mind. And when I got her home, she decided to explain what he had found there. She explained everything." Oliver leveled Paul with a serious look, one that said it didn't change anything for him. But it didn't mean that the same was true for Alice. "Rookwood has threatened to tell Elijah Krum what he found out."

Paul flicked the kettle on and set to work making up some hot drinks. The summer in the south of the country was still pleasant and Avignon's temperature, now beginning to dip, allowed for hot drinks to be ingested without the same discomfort one experienced in Marseille. Paul was always known for being rather difficult to talk to if he was bereft of coffee so that was what he strayed for, questioning, over his shoulder, what Ollie preferred.

The kettle boiled as the young man began to talk and Paul turned, splitting his attention evenly between the water and the man. His shoulder tightened with tension he had only just been able to loose from them. He had wanted to forget about what was going on in Britain. He had wanted to forget that his daughter was there, in amongst it, hopelessly under-protected by him. Hearing that she was foolishly putting herself in harm's way was everything he had feared.

He stifled his feelings by pouring hot water over the contents of the cups. And it only got worse. Paul nearly dropped the kettle and though he didn't lose his grip on it, the kettle hit the countertop with a bit of a bang. Rookwood. Krum. One knew. The other would follow soon enough, no doubt. His reflexive response was to demand that Alice come home and finally give up the charade with Britain. He wanted to find her a job in the French Ministry or at a law firm in Marseille, anything as long as she was with him where he could protect her.

But she wasn't a baby anymore. He couldn't do that. She'd never forgive him.

"I didn't think we'd lose all our cards because a Rookwood wanted to play them," he admitted, shaking his head. "I remember there was one time when she was still a slip of a little girl and we took her to Paris. It was while Krum was still there, a painter amongst the artists there. He was a runaway from Durmstrang. By all accounts, he couldn't bear the way he was treated there and he hid on trains across Europe until he reached Paris ... and there he stayed until he was taken home a year or so later and sent to Hogwarts in relative disgrace..."

Paul shook his head.

"I remember seeing him in a market. Too big for the boy he he was - tall, broad-shouldered and strong. His father's son. A Beater, though, not a Seeker. Being his father's son meant that he couldn't ever have Alice. That is not to say her will does not match his. She is two of him, you'd agree with me I'm sure, but that family is one you should guard against. He has always tried to distance himself but he is them. His pedigree is his persona. The same is for Alice, if you take care to really look. She hides it well. She's had to. Most can spot an Anderson."

"There was always going to come a day when Elijah would find out. It was never a secret I truly thought I could keep from him forever," Paul bit the inside of his cheek briefly before suffering a sigh. "She has learned her fear of him from me. What she can remember has always been at odds with what I have told her. He is not to be feared but if the man who orchestrated everything that happened that night, that ultimately brought Alice to me, then he is dangerous by the virtue of who he is."

"Did she show you the scar?" Paul raised an eyebrow. "Because that's what she's been left with. They wanted her dead, Oliver, it was no incidental botched job. If he is still alive, Elijah will unwittingly bring him along too. I don't need to stress to you that we need to keep him away from her. The question is, what do you want to do about Rookwood?"

Oliver didn't mean to, but he found himself frustrated once again as Paul explained. If Alice had been as young as everyone claimed, why had Elijah been so set on her? And how did they know, anyway? He of course chose not to voice those questions, as they would only come out as petulant and possessive. To be fair, those adjectives would make sense, given his train of thought. But he didn't need Paul to know that, did he?

So, instead, he took in all of the information that he was offered about his Deputy Minister, rathet blissfully unaware of the meeting that would occur later that week with the Hayes, an ex-Hayes, and Krum himself. When the conversation turned back to Alice, Oliver's face fell into a dark and, this time visibly, possessive frown.

"She did, yes," he replied, nodding. Oliver looked down at the cup Paul had made him, turning it a bit between his hands. "She told me to ask for a... a box. She said you would know which," he added, glancing up. His frown had been replaced with an oddly (for him, anyway, as of late) vulnerable expression. "Sir, I- ...I don't know how to protect her if I don't even understand why they went after her like that." Oliver couldn't bring himself to use the work 'kill' in relation to Alice, but he was trying to get his point across as best as he could. "What is it that she knew, or- or saw? If Alice herself doesn't know, then- I don't see what Krum would expect. I can obviously swear to you that I'll sooner hex him than let him do anything to her. But what if he knows things we don't? Maybe it would be better to tell him, ourselves. If we get the chance, that is."

Shaking his head, Oliver looked down again. "I'm tired of making mistakes when it comes to her. I don't really even want to look through the box, because it feels like I'm prying or showing her that I don't trust that she has told me the truth. But I also can't protect her if I don't have all of the pieces of the puzzle, so I suppose I have to." He transferred his cup to his right hand, running his dominant one through his hair before lifting his chin once more.

"I want to be the sort of man that she deserves, but I never seem to get it quite right. In truth, I came here to warn you about Krum and to ask about the box, but there's also something else. I didn't want to get it wrong this time, and perhaps I should have been brave enough to not ask her, as it's hardly the traditional way to go about it, but I did. I needed to know that she wanted the future I was offering before speaking to you about it. But... Unless this ordeal with Krum goes sour and she changes her mind, I'd like to think she really is okay with it all. Which is why," his speech slowed as he wondered whether or not Paul already had him figured out, "I want to ask you this now, before anything else crazy happens. I know that now isn't the time to do it, but... When I do find a time where I think she feels safe enough to make the choice that's best for her, would you be supportive of my asking her to marry me?

"She loves you more than anybody," he went on more rapidly, "and you just accepting it wouldn't be enough for me to feel right about it. I would understand, I guess, if it was just that, or even less than that. But it doesn't mean I wouldn't show up at your door down the road to ask you again, after I've proven myself more fully."