You're Like Me. I'm Never Satisfied.

[ooc: I'm about to PM you an idea/an example of what I picture the library to look like.]


It wasn't the most awkward thing he had ever done. Deciding that he and Millie would be better off on their own? That was pretty uncomfortable. But offering an arm to this almost-stranger was quite something. And setting his hand on top of hers once she'd taken hold, just in case, was even more bizarre. Merlin, how lucky was he that Millie hadn't decided to poke in, and that Oliver hadn't returned early.

Keiran had no idea what to expect, really, when he got home. But it was fine in the end, apparently, because Millie and the kids weren't there. The children, he suspected, were with Avery and her daughter, out back. He did hear laughter and a woman's voice, and they seemed content enough that he left them to it, deciding that he could go out and check once he decided what his mum wanted to do.

"Avery?" Bridget called out from the kitchen, sounding confused.

"No, mum," he replied, releasing the Rosier woman without ceremony. "It's me. And I've brought someone you need to chat with."

His mother appeared in the hallway with a furrowed brow, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. Somehow, he always seemed to come home when she was baking. Flour drifted aimlessly towards the floor and her expression changed to one of surprise rather than confusion.

"It's... Rosier, isn't it?" Bridget asked, eyeing the younger woman curiously. "It's been a while. I- Aiden's not-"

"She knows," Keiran cut in sharply, shaking his head. "She wants to look at one of his books. I know where it is, but, it isn't my house."

He tried to convey with his expression that she didn't have to be polite, didn't have to be helpful, didn't-

"Oh. Of course. It's probably in the library, isn't it?" She asked. "Keiran, go ahead and show her where it is. I'm making snacks for Avery and the kids, so if you come back down I'll set some out for you two."

Keiran frowned, disliking the idea that he had to play host. But that was what his mother was hinting towards. "Are they staying the night, or just visiting? Avery, I mean."

"They just stopped by. Thought it would be nice."

He nodded easily, unable to come up with anything else to delay their trek upstairs. Bridget saved a couple of seconds, though.

"You're welcome to stay until dinner. But we've got quite a few little ones that we'll need to sort out tonight, so that might be time to call it a day," she said, far more bluntly than Keiran himself could have when it came to someone he had known in the past. But there was a slight edge to Bridget's voice and he narrowed his eyes at her, only to be ignored as she gave them a nod and turned back to the kitchen.

Keiran took a deep breath but also turned wordlessly, starting up the staircase and leading her into the library. He hesitated in the doorway, just long enough to feel awkward about it, and then strode across to the desk where he'd sat after learning of Aiden's murder. Where he'd stared mindlessly at the books in front of him only for them to snap back into focus when he decided to find out what had really happened.

He'd never actually done it. The trail had gone cold with Mai and Scorpius, and he trusted her to some extent. Enough to stop pushing when her intended marriage fell apart. Hers had done so in a manner vastly less devastating than his own, in Keiran's opinion. But that wasn't a topic that was open to discussion.

So he reached across, pretending there wasn't a stream of light falling through the window on the shelf in question. Millie would've said it was a sign, probably. The idea made him sick. "Here," he said finally, lifting the text from its spot and dusting off the top a little before holding it out to her. "You can sit wherever," he told her, waving a hand vaguely towards the desk and the armchair-side table combo off to the side.

"I'll go see what she wants," Keiran added, stepping towards the door. "I don't doubt she'll have questions."

The last sentence was a warning, but he didn't wait to see what she decided to do, heading downstairs instead.

[I’m a cheese-ball, I couldn’t resist. Also- pm’d you back!]

As she reached out for the arm offered to her, she felt the barest spark sting the tip of her fingers and pulled her hand back, alarmed. Entirely unexpected, for sure. The first proper instance of physical contact she’d had with another person since her arrival and her hand actually fizzled at the touch. How gauche.

Barely missing a beat, Phaedra shook her head and set her hand gingerly on his arm again, cool fingers curling into a gentle grip. She didn’t look to see his reaction, and he didn’t give any indication of having felt it. Good. Somewhat embarrassingly, she found she couldn’t look at him, staring straight ahead instead, her expression forcibly stoic. She couldn’t decide if she should be happy or not about the fortuitous turn of events. She wasn’t even sure she wanted the book anymore, if it meant dredging up the past so painfully. For both her and them, but mostly on account of her own demons.

Then, they were there, and she barely registered the sounds of mirth coming from elsewhere on the property. The sight of the house gave her a peculiar feeling, an unpleasant sense of displacement that only made her feel worse. It was a small comfort, finally finding herself somewhere familiar, but the fact that it wasn’t her home, her family, or her mother who appeared at the end of the hallway almost made her feel sick with grief and anger. Not that Elisavetta Di Medici would ever spend time in the kitchen, or…. bake.

She recognised Bridget Hayes’ voice. Of course she did. One did not easily forget one of the only muggles of one's acquaintance. As if a switch was turned on, she swept away any trace of turmoil and arranged her features into a pleasant expression. Opened her mouth to force out a polite greeting- something neutral, maybe even friendly, to make things go by smoothly and quickly. Only to find herself swallowing her words, offering a polite smile instead as the younger Hayes cut in, speaking about her as if she wasn’t even there. His evident displeasure at having to show her around wasn’t a surprise, but it only irritated her further. She wanted to snap at him that she could find the library herself, thank you very much. That she didn’t need his help or his disapproval. But of course, she couldn’t, because of course- she did.

Instead, she decided to tune Keiran out and pay attention to Bridget instead. Kids. Fantastic. Just what she needed. And a sister, or a girlfriend, or another undoubtedly smug and disagreeable friend of the Hayes family. Not for the first time, she doubted the wisdom of this visit, wishing she’d just left the bookstore earlier, rather than reigned in her pride in a misguided attempt at practicality.

There was an undercurrent to Bridget’s next words, but Phaedra couldn’t quite identify what was behind it. She understood enough to know that despite her words, she wasn’t really welcome at all. Of course, Keiran had made that more than clear, but it seemed Bridget shared some of his sentiments, though she was less transparent about it. For a moment, Phaedra considered leaving again. Never looking back. But then she pictured Caspian’s face and knew that the urge to escape would just lead her back into denial, into hiding from herself and the truth. And while she would comfortably give into pride, it would be an injustice to him to give into fear. No more. She had nothing to lose by staying, by holding onto her manners and not allowing them to see her irritation, just long enough to take what she needed. Then she’d never have to see them again. For Caspian. For herself.

So she just nodded back at Bridget and followed Keiran up in silence, moving smoothly on heels that had long ceased to be a hindrance. Then, before she could prepare herself, the book was in her hands and he was leaving, and she barely heard his parting words, looking down at the text she held. The first potions book she’d touched in 4 years. The first connection to that part of her life since that awful night so long ago, the part of her life that she missed and loathed in equal measure.

She couldn’t breathe.

The book was still in her hands, dust motes floating up into the ray of sunlight like fragments of a ghost as she tried to no avail to suck in some air. She was frozen, the book glued to her white-knuckle grip, everything about her caught in some awful breathless limbo. Her limbs felt leaden. Her mind cleared enough to wonder whether it held some sort of protective charm that had turned her to stone, stolen all her faculties. It was ridiculous. It was just a book. It was just a book. It was just a book.

She repeated this to herself like a mantra, closing her eyes so she didn’t have to look at it. She could still feel it in her hands. But then she could also breathe again, and the moment passed, the world around her jolting back into focus. One of her hands moved to the pocket of her robes, shaking as she pulled out her wand, breathing deeply and forcing herself to remain steady. But her mind was still blank. She couldn’t summon any of the charms that were so familiar to her, didn’t even know what she wanted to do with it in the first place.

Water. She needed something to drink. She needed to wash her face, jolt herself back into reality and out of this horrible sense of having wandered into a nightmare.

Dropping the book onto the desk was a small relief, but she needed to leave the room for a second, prepare herself properly before she even tried to open it. She needed to find a bathroom.

Outside of the library, she felt more like a person than a statue again. She moved to the closest door she could see, pushing it open but finding only a closet. The next one was a bedroom. Then, as she was about to turn, she noticed a second staircase at that end of the hall. It was closer to her than the library, and failing a bathroom, perhaps she could find a back door that would provide some fresh air. With careful steps, she made her way down, feeling a little steadier already, and even more foolish for having to do this in the first place. She was halfway down when the sound of conversation pulled her out of her thoughts, bringing her to sudden stop.

"So you brought her here instead of letting her borrow the book because...?"

"It's da's," he snapped, setting his palms on the counter. It wasn't a difficult concept, really, but his mother was either being oblivious on purpose, or she didn't care as much as her son did about Aiden's belongings. It was probably more that it was just one of many books in the library, but Keiran had always been more sentimental and protective than Bridget.

"You could've said no," she pointed out, lifting the kettle to pour the water into a couple of mugs. "What kind of tea do you think she likes?"

"Why are you making two? I hate tea," he pointed out, lifting an eyebrow. "And I know I could've. I was trying to be nice."

Bridget shrugged, setting a mug aside, making it clear that one would be for her, then. "I'm making Earl Grey for her. I hate to say it, but I've forgotten the poor girl's name."

"Poor? I let her come into our house when she didn't even know da was gone!" Keiran leaned forward on his arms, looking up at her at that point.

"Yes, well that was very Rookwood of you."

"Don't tease. Everybody else on your side is a proper nightmare, and I've only met a few of them. The only decent ones are you and Theo."

"And you?" Bridget asked, pulling down a plate and setting it in front of him. He reached out to pile a couple of the scones on the plate, but she smacked his hand away. He hadn't given them enough time to cool apparently.

"I met her less than an hour ago and here she is. I'd say I'm pretty nice, considering."

Bridget froze, the teabag swinging back and forth over Rosier's mug. She didn't ask him to elaborate, though. She knew he meant Millie and Aiden and everyone else he had lost over the years. Merlin, did she know. So she turned back to making the tea, pulling out her wand to levitate it over to him while she stacked the scones on their plate. She didn't pay very close attention, though, because it nearly fell to the ground rather than the edge of the counter and Keiran let out a cry of distress.

"Hell, mum, you can't just pass it like a normal person?"

"I'm not as practiced as you are with magic, Keiran. Twenty-nine years without it is a ridiculously long time. Longer than you've been alive," she flicked her tea towel at him, making him flinch away.

"Yeah, yeah. I know." He cooled off then, though. "Dad loved you for it."

She turned away, back to her cup, and he knew that although he had said the right thing, it was time for him to head upstairs. So he kept quiet as well, picking up the plate and the woman's tea that she probably wouldn't even drink, and started upstairs again.

"...that was very Rookwood of you."

"Don't tease. Everybody else on your side is a proper nightmare, and I've only met a few of them. The only decent ones are you and Theo."

"And you?"

Phaedra froze again as their voices drifted out of the kitchen, not entirely sure she was hearing correctly. She was still disorientated, her mind a little cloudy, her thoughts unsteady. But she'd heard enough to gather that Bridget was calling Keiran a Rookwood. And he was... calling her one too?

Impossible. Bridget Hayes was a muggle. She'd known her for two years and she'd never seen her use any magic. Aiden had said she was a muggle. Her parents has said she was a muggle. Her grandmother had said something a little more descriptive, but to the same effect. There was no way.

No, she concluded. It was just a strange comparison. She must have misheard, or misunderstood. She wasn't thinking straight, and she couldn't trust herself, given the events of the past few minutes. Before Keiran could reply, she was already on her way back up the stairs, bathroom and fresh air search abandoned. She didn't want to risk wandering into anything she wasn't supposed to, since this visit was proving enough of a strain already. She had no intention of complicating matters.

In her distraction, without even thinking, she'd cast a silencing charm on her shoes as she made her way back up, so as not to alert them to her presence. And just like that, the mental block was removed and she was finally able to breathe properly again, mind clear. She went straight back to the library, bracing herself but feeling a little calmer than she had earlier.

She paused infront of the desk, looking down at the book. It worried and unsettled her that such an innocuous object could have such a strong effect on her. It was just a book. She didn't have long with it. She'd had 4 years to muster up the courage and she'd be damned if she would hide away now.

She still needed a drink of water, though. Absent-mindedly, she picked up a pen off the desk and lifted her wand, then paused, catching herself at the last minute. Instead, she put the pen down and pulled out one of her earrings, setting it on the desk and pointing her wand at it, watching as the diamonds morphed into a sparkling crystal tumbler.

"Aguamenti."

Once it was full, she redirected her attention and wand to the book, narrowing her eyes as she weighed up her next move. Perhaps it was best not to touch it again, at least not for now. With a small flick, the book and glass levitated as she walked around and pulled out the desk chair, sitting down and turning the heavy tome around to face her, before setting it and the water down with a flick of her wand. She took off her outer-robes, made herself comfortable and took a long sip from the tumbler.

Then, she leaned forward on one elbow, wand poised over the book. She flicked through the pages with her wand until she got to the section she needed. Poisons. The section that she'd covered in notes in her own dog-eared copy, spidery black ink crowding every margin. Aiden's copy did not betray such an interest in this particular topic. She paused, taking a moment to picture Caspian, pushing aside her fears and strengthening her resolve. It had been 4 years. She had to start somewhere. And if she'd worked through the section so enthusiastically for her own amusement before, she could very well study it now for his sake. Or was it hers?

With a deep breath, she gathered her hair and pushed it over her left shoulder as she read, sinking into concentration and barely noticing the door when it was pushed open.

He told himself that he didn't feel like anything strange was happening in his childhood home, but he knew better. All was no longer right with the world, and he was hanging somewhere in the abyss, waiting for a sign that things could look up again. Unfortunately, he would not find any such sign inside Aiden's library.

When he reached the top of the stairs, he passed his room, and pushed open the door with the heel of his shoe, stepping in just enough to halt suddenly, nearly dropping everything he was holding.

Some people might have noticed the glass first, not half because the way the sun ran through the windowpane to send rainbows across the books and the pages and the floor and the person who was definitely not Aiden. And that's what Keiran actually noticed. No living, breathing human had been inside that library since Aiden's death except for Keiran. He thought so, anyway, and would be ruinously furious to find out that Peter had wandered in while he was away. But he didn't know, and wasn't expecting the pang of seeing someone else sitting there.

How many times had he brought up something for his father to eat when he was up early or late or was working all day and missed lunch? How often had he sat in the armchair that he turned his chin to look at, reading about Transfiguration because he found Potions too difficult? And, later, once he decided they were too simple unless someone was creating one the way his father had.

He'd never learned as much from his father as he could have, and that regret could not be undone. But it did explain why he had built a library into his own house to mirror Aiden's. Millie had never asked why or commented on it, but a piece of Keiran did wonder why. She probably could've thought it up herself if she'd tried, but that was Keiran being spiteful and wishing for more than he deserved.

He naively, but genuinely, believed that he couldn't have deserved Melissa's love. He hadn't earned her; the Ministry had forced her to be with him, and look where they had finally ended up. The pressure of being the Ministry's "First Success Story" had inevitably taken its toll, and he hadn't fully moved on from her decision to seek affection from another man while he did everything in his power to save the lives of her best friends. After she had gone and asked him to do so. He hadn't gotten past it before the train. The werewolves. The memory gap. Robin's death and his wand snapping. Millie's sudden ability to do spells that he himself had never come close to accomplishing, and her apparent enlistment at the Ministry as a spy. And so, so many stupid fights. So many times when she did something that confused him to no end, yet refused to explain properly or take anything back or to change even after she swore up and down that she would.

How long had he been standing there?

Keiran's best estimate was, essentially, far too long. A good half a minute if not a full one. By then, his stance had deflated, his expression had worn itself down, becoming a lost, broken sort of look. It wasn't until he remembered why he had gotten off on such a tangent that he snapped back, his jaw setting and his features hardening again.

Sod the tea. She already had a drink. Okay, so he had noticed somewhere in there, without really meaning to. But he did that a lot, really. Just noticed. It was how he had realized Millie didn't love him anymore, and-

Right.

He crossed the room, setting the plate down a bit too loudly, and then hesitated only a moment before he left the tea there as well. Just in case. And he surely wasn't going to drink that mess anyway, so he figured he might as well.

And then Keiran turned away, moved to the armchair, and sank into it. Knowing full well that she wouldn't be able to get a good look at him unless she cared enough to move around and do so, he dropped his head against the tall back and stared up at the ceiling, trying to pretend like his pulse hadn't been racing the entire time.

She felt his gaze on her immediately. The back of her neck prickled, something in the air pressing down like his eyes were weights he'd set on her. She hadn't heard him come in, and he still didn't make a sound, but Phaedra was more than familiar with the sensation of being looked at. She'd taken it for granted that she would always hold people's attention, for reasons that needed little explaining.

But this was not the same. It wasn't admiration, or curiosity, or even disdain. No, this was something else entirely. Something more intense, and not at all pleasant.  And it went on for longer than was comfortable, for longer than made any sense.

She peered up at him from under her lashes, giving his expression a discerning glance and looking back down again too quickly, unnerved.

For lack of a better word, Keiran Hayes looked devastated. And he was looking at her.

She had no idea what had caused such an awful, defeated look. She certainly didn't think she'd done anything between leaving the shop and this particular moment to elicit such an expression, directed at her, at that. He looked a little pathetic, standing there like a lost puppy with a plate and a mug. Which were for her, it seemed. She stilled as he set the plate down, flinching imperceptibly at his use of more force then necessary. Well. Evidently, something had indeed happened to further offend him. A drop of tea splashed out as the mug met the tabletop, and she wrinkled her nose distastefully, silently directing a cleaning charm at the small puddle.

She stared at the tea, not sure what to think. Was he trying to poison her? The thought came out of nowhere, and she almost had to conceal the small smile that threatened to quirk her lips- on instinct, it seemed. Almost. In reality, her face remained as still as a mask. It shocked her that she was capable of humour at this moment. But there was something bitter about the thought, because of course a Hayes wouldn't poison her. If anyone was capable of that, here, it was her. Suddenly, the last thing she felt like was smiling.

And then he sat down. Phaedra still hadn't moved, not even stretching out her neck to peer after him as he disappeared behind the shelf. She didn't display any outward signs of her confusion as she stared in the direction he'd gone. Was he expecting an apology? Waiting for her to make conversation? No, it was obvious he was in no mood for small talk. And unless he'd heard her on the stairs, she couldn't think of any reason for him to feel so strongly about anything she'd done. This was about something else. Something... to do with Aiden. It must be, because nothing she'd said or done had triggered as powerful a reaction from him as mentioning his father, and now she sat in his library, reading his book. Perhaps this was a mistake.

Phaedra didn't concern herself with other people's sorrows, as a rule. She rarely paid much attention to those she didn't care about. She didn't see any reason to. Rarely could she offer any help, and rarely did she actually want to. Sympathy was, for the most part, foreign to her. But empathy was something else entirely.

She hadn't moved since he'd taken a seat, thinking furiously and willing herself not to do something grossly uncharacteristic for the second time that day. He was upset about his father. Well, so was she. About her father, and her brother, and her grandmother, and her mother, and her great-grandfather, and...

She knew what it was like to feel like your life had come crashing around you. And she acknowledged that he was being ridiculous, such an overreaction over something he himself had offered. She didn't need the book or the library. Not if it was evidently this monumental an issue for him. She had nothing to gain from causing someone such pain, especially if they made it this hard to ignore.

But at that particular moment, she couldn’t deal with his emotions on top of her own. She leaned over the book again, determined to act oblivious to the entire situation. She couldn't see him, so she was going to studiously ignore his presence. She supposed she ought to taste the scones Bridget had sent up for her. She wasn’t hungry, but it was generous and Phaedra didn’t want to seem ungracious. Instead, she found herself looking blankly at the plate, unable to bring herself to eat any of what was infront of her. She was all too aware of Keiran’s bad-tempered presence, and she felt like an intruder- worse, like a burden.

Truthfully, it wasn't in her to continue ignoring the strain of that day's events. She was still shaken from her earlier onset of panic, her face a fraction paler than it ought to be, her hands a little unsteady. She didn't have the energy nor will to attempt to save face and act oblivious to the entire situation. She resented that she’d been put in this situation, but there was nothing she could do. Reading the book was difficult enough, without having to wade through suffocating tension to do it.

Suppressing a sigh, she stood up, losing the battle against her less wise, sentimental self after several silent minutes. She moved slowly across the room to stand some paces to the side of his armchair, still uncertain as to the wisdom of approaching him in the first place. She studied his up-turned face silently.

"I prefer herbal tea."

The sentence was quiet, with a careful lightness, but it might as well have been a crack of thunder in the heavy silence of the room. She winced a little, but kept her expression carefully neutral. She didn't really see any humour in the situation, and she couldn't honestly say she was attempting to lighten the mood, since she didn't at all believe it would work. But she couldn't think of anything to say to someone who stared at her as if she'd single-handedly torn down the pillars of his life, and she wanted to delay the inevitable awkwardness that whatever else she tried to say would cause. Well, it was already awkward. For the first time since she'd met him that day, Phaedra felt real discomfort. This was entirely unfamiliar territory. There was nowhere for her to escape, nothing she could do to breeze past the situation with her customary charm or flippancy.

He hadn't even said anything. Only looked.

Somehow, that made things worse.

Coming to a resolution, she took a deep breath as quietly as she could, looking at the wall beyond him, before fixing what she could see of him with an unwavering gaze.

"If you'd rather your father's belongings remain untouched, I understand. There are other copies of this book. I won't intrude. "

She paused, her expression typically unreadable but something softer about her. Her tone, though quiet, was matter-of-fact. This is not a weakness, she told herself. A small consolation for a stranger. She had nothing to lose. She would probably never see him again after today. And Aiden had always treated her well.

"But if your offer stands, you needn't feel obligated to monitor me. Not if it causes you... distress."

She didn't move, eyeing him carefully, the stillness of the room seeping into her stance as she waited for his response. She didn't know what exactly she was waiting for. She had no desire to start a conversation with him, and she certainly didn't want to help him work through his issues. He had been the one to make the offer, after all. If he couldn’t face the consequences, it had nothing to do with her.

But it did. She ensured it did when she’d agreed to come here. And she couldn't just walk straight out and leave, not after he'd closed his shop and taken her to his mother's house against his better instincts. It would be discourteous, and more than that, it would be uncharitable. She would feel like even more of an inconvenience than she already did. Moreover, she didn't actually want to do it. She'd made a promise to herself and to her brother, and she was going to stick to it.

Inexplicably to her, she wasn't entirely comfortable with the thought of trampling all over someone else’s grief in attempting to dispel her own. And it rankled her that he insisted on making his unhappiness at her presence so obvious. She didn't enjoy feeling uncomfortable. So, that was part of the message behind her words. If she was upsetting him, she could leave. If she wasn't... she'd rather not bear the brunt of it.

She preferred herbal tea. For someone like Keiran, who knew so little about tea or, well, foodstuffs in general, he almost had to lift an eyebrow. That was quite fancy wasn't it? Just like her. No one could miss that and apparently she had no intention of allowing Keiran himself to forget it. He wasn't interested in the tea. He didn't care. What was interesting, however, was that she had stood up from the thing that may or may not have been the only thing the woman cared about. She had set the quill down, had decided to pause her work in order to come over and address him.

Would this be an insult or a question? Or both, perhaps?

He flicked his gaze towards her but didn't move his chin even an inch. Still, he had been known to make a person freeze with nothing more than a glance like this one, so although his intention wasn't actually to intimidate her, he didn't miss the potential that he had done so anyway. But he also couldn't quite bring himself to care.

So he didn't say anything at all, waiting to see what it was that she actually wanted. A different cup of tea? Sure, may as well. Except she hadn't asked for that. Instead, she guilt tripped him.

Okay, so he realized that he wasn't entirely accurate in that description. It was possible that she was being genuine. That she was somehow concerned about his feelings and about what had so obviously set him off. Or, she felt bad and was trying to make herself feel better. There was a chance that both of those things were happening at once, but he had a hard time reconciling the woman in his shop with one that could care about he felt over her own desires.

Sure, there were other copies. But how hard would it be for her to find one? It was a sacrifice that she was offering, even if only a time-based one. She would eventually get what she wanted, undoubtedly. Keiran had no reason to suspect otherwise based upon what he had seen. And so he sat forward, dropping his elbows onto his knees as he looked up at her.

Her in his father's library. Her, the woman who had yet to share her name or ask for his, yet had managed her way into his home and thus into his life. It was particularly unnerving. He couldn't fight it when his body settled into the new position, his eyebrows pulling down and together, the expression somewhere in the middle of offended, disappointed and annoyed.

And then he stood, purposefully invading her space despite the clench he felt in his chest when he did so. It felt rude, first of all, but he also hadn't been that close to someone since Millie. And, to be fair, he wasn't actually that close to her. But it was close enough that he had to angle his chin in order to look down at her.

"You're the only person my father ever mentored," he told her, his voice quiet enough to match hers as well as the room they were standing in. "He chose you. Maybe because I never took a fancy to potions myself, or because he wanted to do a favor to one of the few old friends he had once they thought he'd married someone he shouldn't," Keiran lifted his hands, forming air quotations around the word even though he so very rarely was the sort to do so. When they fell again, they went - completely expectedly - to his trouser pockets. Taking the professor stance was the easiest thing for him. It felt right and safe and powerful even when he himself knew he wasn't.

"He chose you, and I'm not one to judge his decisions. If you don't use that book," he went on, ducking his chin slightly and lifting his eyebrows pointedly, "no one will. And that's a bloody waste."

Keiran looked down at his shoes, wanting so badly to shift his weight but forcing himself not to. "It isn't easy, knowing that we never found out who did it. But I trusted him, and he trusted you."

Stepping away, he looked at her again as he moved backwards towards one of the shelves - the one where he had collected Transfiguration texts to look over during his time in the library with Aiden. "So, listen, princess," he said the word only half ironically, unable to drop the thought he'd had about how prissy the woman was, "if you want me gone that badly I'll go. I wouldn't want to... get in the way. But I have work of my own," he picked up one of the books he'd been looking at recently, "so I'll gladly stay out of your way if you can find your way to not be bothered by my being here."

Right. So now he wanted her to use the book?

Phaedra didn't know what to think. She didn't really want to think. She wanted to go back to studying the volume or go home, and not the Leaky Cauldron one either. She didn't want to be standing in Aiden's library, dealing with his difficult son, pretending she knew anything about comforting people. She couldn't even comfort herself. And she didn't particularly want to.

So, she just watched mutely as he got up and walked closer until he towered over her, drawing her gaze up. But she didn't cower, meeting his eyes almost defiantly. Her expression was unreadable, but something about the way she held herself spoke of a refusal to back down in the face of danger. She was a Rosier, and Rosiers did not give in to intimidation. Even if she'd just received one of the worse looks directed at her by a stranger, who was now far too close for her liking.

She'd had worse. Of course she had. Much as they might wish it, the wizarding world was not the exclusive domain of others like her. There were less savoury types: mudbloods, halfbloods bloodtraitors. In Hogwarts, Gryffindors with an overblown sense of superiority, Hufflepuffs hankering after a misguided justice. The fortune of her birth was an advantage among her usual company, but to almost everyone else... Well, she'd long since reinforced her emotional defences. People could look at her however they wanted. Most of the time, she wasn't responsible for their anger or offence. This time, she couldn't tell if she was, but she certainly wouldn't be taking the blame.

He didn't seem to be suggesting that, though. And truth be told, the outpouring of words was an improvement over the silent devastation of a few minutes ago. A little intense, maybe, but words she could deal with. Annoyance she could deal with.

She still didn't care much about how Keiran felt about her, or what he thought of her apprenticeship with his father. But something about his words caught her attention, because it was evidently a reference to her parents. Except her parents had not been friends with a bloodtraitor. They hadn't spoken badly of him, true, but that was because she stood to benefit from his teaching. They knew a good opportunity when they saw one. She held in a scoff. Of course he had married someone he wasn't supposed to. What else could a marriage to a muggle be other than a horrendous mistake?

A muggle? Or a Rookwood?

A squib, she compromised. Which, if anything, was just as bad. But another question niggled at her thoughts. Why had Aiden chosen her? What could possibly have bridged the gap between their different views and backgrounds enough for him to agree? She'd never considered it before. She'd just assumed she was one of many apprentices. Not an exception, as Keiran was saying. And trust? When had they ever spoken of trust? It seemed theirs was a faith easily given and it bewildered her.

These reflections were banished by his next words, however. Finally, he moved away and she could breathe more easily again. She couldn't actually recall when she'd stopped doing so in the first place. In any case, she kept her features unintelligible, her face impassive. The only display of emotion was the perfectly arched brow that rose at his use of the appellation. He was mocking her, no doubt, for she doubted he meant it out of affection or even envy.

Well, she would not be rising to the bait. There were worse things to be called. If her superiority bothered him, that was his problem. And really, it was a compliment that she still radiated some sort of regality even removed from her usual luxuries. Somehow, that sort of comment never came from those of the same status, only those resentful of her wealth or standing. Neither of which she could honestly claim to have anymore.

"I wouldn't want to deprive myself of the pleasure of your company."

If there was an edge to the words, it was in the implication, not in the tone of voice. The only thing betraying the sarcasm was both their awareness of the dishonesty of the statement. For her part, her expression had morphed back into one of cool composure. She couldn't quite summon a polite smile to accompany it.

It was only once she'd turned, making her way back to the desk, that she realized he'd managed to somehow worm his way behind her defenses after all. With that one word. Yes, she might choose to take it as a compliment. But it hit too close to home not to hurt in some capacity. He couldn't have had any way of knowing. No doubt he intended it as a shallower blow. But she still felt irritated- at him, but also at herself.

She sat down, took up her wand, and pushed her hair back over her shoulder. The scones, now cold, still lay in front of her, untouched. With something approaching bitterness, she flicked her wand, watching as the plate floated over and behind the bookcase. A faint thud indicated that it'd found the smaller table near Keiran's chair. Mirroring his earlier hesitation, she paused before sending the mug following with another flick. Feeling a strange sense of satisfaction, she went back to her perusal of the text. Princesses had standards, after all.

He hadn't expected her to back away or drop her gaze. She was too stubborn for that, he assumed however correctly or incorrectly. Still, there was something charged about the air between them, and the future Headmaster felt his shoulders square themselves so he stood even more firm, taking up a bit more space. Like he needed to intimidate her? What good would that do?

But Keiran couldn't resist, apparently, because it had happened and he wasn't self-conscious enough to undo it. Or, perhaps, he was too self-conscious to undo it. He didn't think about it long enough to come to a real conclusion about himself, and it was probably for the best because otherwise it would've stuck with him for far too long.

He was, admittedly, disappointed that she didn't reject the nickname. It would've given him an excuse to ask for her name. It would've made his life far easier, if only because he would have a way to address her mentally or to his mother. It would give him a proper way to explain to Avery why he hadn't come outside to see his kids and Sophie. But he didn't want to go all the more out of his way to ask.

When she spoke, his eyebrow lifted, but it wasn't until she was out of sight that his lips parted and pulled into an amused half-smile. "At least you're honest," he offered in jest, turning his chin towards where she would be on the other side.

But he quite obviously knew better, otherwise his tone wouldn't have held that undercurrent of amusement. If she was observant enough, perhaps she would notice the smirk that further altered his expression when she levitated the cup and plate over to his table. So he selected another text before crossing the wood flooring and sinking back into the chair. He definitely didn't touch the tea, but he did pull little bits of the scones as he read.

Bizarrely, her presence wasn't distracting. It was rather like having Livia there, but more quiet and more focused than the pair of them would have been. It wasn't until his mum nudged the door open with her hip and looked in that he realized a fair amount of time had passed.

"Keiran," she started quietly, drawing his attention to the extent that he closed the book on his finger to keep the page and leaned around the back of the chair to look at her. "Avery is going to need some help with the kids. Especially Darcie."

"Right," he nodded, setting the book down and standing up. He did pause, though, giving her a curious look. "Are you sure they didn't have plans with Claire tonight?"

Bridget shrugged. "She knew they'd have leftovers to take, and they haven't seen you in a while, so it's fine, apparently."

"Fair enough," he replied, moving to the end of the bookshelf so he could lean against it as he crossed his arms over his chest. His gaze fell on the Rosier woman and he crossed one ankle over the other, making his stance more of a lean than a proper stand. "Did you get what you needed out of it?" He asked, nodding towards the book.

"You're welcome to come back," Bridget cut in, glancing at Keiran and finding that he didn't react negatively as she had expected. "The wards on this place are... quite something now, so Keiran may have to bring you back."

"If you're staying somewhere I can meet you after work or on a day off or something," he shrugged. "I've got work I need to do here, obviously, so I'll be here anyway."

Sure, he was being polite. Almost friendly, in fact. But he was curious, all the same, to see what her reaction would be. To see if she found the chance surprising or if she just didn't care. Mere interest, really, but also a desire to see if her temper had improved over the hour and a half or so as his had. He was about to sit down with his family for dinner, which he hadn't done in probably a year or more, and even something as trying as that day couldn't set him off again. Not after nothing had actually even gone wrong.

Worst case scenario, she would want to come back frequently. Best case, she would be done and he wouldn't have to worry about it. Either way, he'd get his own work done, with or without her presence. But politeness right then - feigned or otherwise - did not mean that it would forever be granted to her.

"Up to you."

Well, at least one of them was amused. Keiran’s good-humoured reply was unexpected, and she wasn’t sure how to react to it. It seemed her sarcasm had thawed some of the ice between them, at least on his end. But it only served to further confuse her after the small revelations of their interaction. So, she ignored him and concentrated on the words in front of her instead.

It was easier than she’d expected to lose herself in her studies again. For something she’d left abandoned for so many years, had worked so hard to push completely out of mind, it was like no time had passed at all. Despite the anxieties that hung over her like a black cloud, she felt a lightness she hadn’t in longer than she cared to remember. It was overshadowed by her worries and the ever-present image of Caspian, but something was shifting back into place within her. Nothing had ever had quite the same effect on Phaedra. This was the only subject to pull her in so completely, to so heavily outweigh her surroundings in interest.  

So it was that when Bridget’s soft voice disturbed her focus, her legs were curled beneath her, heels slipped off, face drawn in concentration, hair pulled up into the ponytail that only accompanied her potions work. At her words, she looked up, startled, barely paying attention to what was being said as she slowly straightened up, releasing her locks and slipping her feet back into their shoes, regaining her earlier composure. She felt like she’d been pulled from a strange, comfortable dream. Perhaps because she’d only been trying to revise the basics of the topic, rather than delving into the deeper questions around her final attempt at brewing anything. Her fears were not so easily faced, after all.

She blinked up as the conversation moved to include her.

“I…Yes. Some of it.” She said, in answer to his question. Bridget’s next offer surprised her, given what she assumed was their shared reluctance to have her in the house. She made to smile, but the mention of wards cut her short. A barrage of unwelcome memories threatened to overwhelm her, and there was an unpleasant taste in her mouth.

How was it that the Hayes managed to prod her sensitive spots without even being aware of them at all?

But it was ridiculous of her. They were just wards. Everyone had them.

And then Keiran's next words threw her again.

If you’re staying somewhere.

She wasn’t entirely sure what he was suggesting, but she had no desire to advertise her living situation. There was no way she could meet him at the Leaky Cauldron. That would be mortifying, and even if she attempted to simply pass it off as a convenient meeting place, there was no guarantee one of the staff wouldn't recognize her and say something revealing.

Because of course she would take them up on the offer. She, too, knew a good opportunity when she saw one. And they were willing enough, it seemed.

Her gaze flickered between mother and son, trying to read their expressions.

“I’ll come to the shop,” she said smoothly, shutting the book and getting up to slot it back into the shelf.

Her eyes fell on the glass she'd transfigured earlier as she turned, and another thought occurred to her as she remembered her missing earring. Belatedly, she realized that she couldn't change it back. The design was too complicated, and she didn't want to chance making an embarrassing in full view of the Hayes. She was relieved to find that at least her hair covered that ear. Had it been covered all along? She couldn't remember. She wasn't happy at all about her lack of foresight, acting on instinct as if her trinkets were still expendable. As if anyone was there to help fix the things she did wrong. Not for the first time, Phaedra reminded herself that she couldn't afford any missteps.

She wasn't distracted enough to miss the change in Keiran's mood, but she was too preoccupied to seriously consider her own. She did realise that she ought to say something more so as not to seem ungrateful.

"I'm not sure how long it will take me to finish my research, but I hope it won't be too much trouble. I can send an owl ahead of time."

Again, she realised her slip too late, cursing internally. She didn't have an owl, of course. But she couldn't backtrack without sounding foolish, so she just focused on not displaying her irritation. She'd just have to purchase one. She'd need it eventually, so it would be an investment, really.

She picked up her cloak, folding it neatly over one arm and arranging her features into an agreeable expression directed at both the Hayes.

"I'll take my leave, then?"