“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
Draco waited until his daughter turned her face to him and then repeated his words, which bore repeating. “I’m really sorry.” He winced, to add effect. But mainly because their number had just come up at the window. He didn’t relish going back there to face that woman again. He got up and marched there sedately, bracing himself against the imminent aggravation.
“Here’s your Portkey, Mr Malfoy. Would Miss Granger be joining you?”
Something snapped. If they weren’t in public, and if a certain child wasn’t in the same premises, Draco would have done a serious misdemeanour. Instead, he smiled. That Malfoy smile that made lesser people feel very thankful for glass partitions. “That’s none of your business, is it?” Inwardly, he added, You nosy hag. “Good day. Thank you very much.”
He should have known this would happen. Of course the students in intimate terms with their parents had written about the interesting goings-on at Hogwarts. These parents in turn told their friends, who told their aunts, who told their godchildren, who told who knows else until the society pages of The Prophet, The Mirror, Witch Weekly, The Quibbler, The Tattler and The Transfigurer got wind of it and published it with unrelenting and tireless enthusiasm until even the lonely harridans working at the Ministry of Magic knew of what was what and took the opportunity to harass Draco when they saw it.
Draco didn’t give the harridan chance to berate him. He returned to his child, who looked as woebegone as she could in pink, and holding hands, they returned to France.
He’d thought they could stay a bit at the cottage at Hogsmeade, but as soon as they arrived there he realised he couldn’t deal with his guilt and her sadness by himself. He needed a buffer, even if that buffer were his parents’ and Pansy’s combined wrath. So they went by Floo to the Portkey Office, and waited the eternity of an hour for their turn to leave. Private Portkeys were a touch expensive (for most people) but he would sooner drop a Bludger on his daughter’s foot than allow her to be jostled or possibly flattened by strangers. So they waited an hour. An hour in which other holidaymakers departed in groups while he pretended to read the papers and magazines and she really read them, spotting the gossip regarding him and Hermione and grinning to herself when she thought he wasn’t looking.
“They have her picture now,” she’d mumbled once.
“They didn’t have it before?”
“No.”
Well, of course. Hermione had taken precaution against being seen and recognised by her other daughter, but how did Callie know that? He’d also taken care to browse every periodical that made it to their home in France, to make sure Hermione wasn’t in it. What a bloody mess. So he’d apologised. Apologised for the decade-long secret that terminated in this, spending Christmas apart from a sister she’s only known for three months.
They arrived in the Portkey Room in a Pas-de-Calais inn relatively unscathed. Draco then picked up his daughter and Apparated them south to Chablis.
Lia got to know what rashers and potatoes looked like half-digested. She also got to know what half-digested potatoes and rashers sounded like hitting carpet and boots.
She also got to know how her father sounded like yelping. Like a startled dog.
She really should be horrified, but after the horrible ‘yark’ thing she did, she laughed. Her father stared at her, at the carpet and his boots, and back at her.
“You did that on purpose?”
Stunned at being sick and at laughing right after being sick, Lia forgot to be aloof and cold. “I don’t know how. It just happened.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Right, I’m sorry. But we’ve Side-Along-ed before and you didn’t throw up then. I’m lucky I put you down.” He Vanished the sick and its odour from the room, and raised both eyebrows at her, asking if she was all right. She nodded and accepted the one-armed embrace he then pulled her into. Even as Lia relished that, she narrowed her eyes in thought. Callie had explaining to do. She should have warned Lia about Side-Along Apparation. That was horrible. Now Lia felt horrified. Would she always throw up?
“That won’t always happen,” her father said as he let go, stroking her velvet-covered shoulder. “Malfoys are made of stronger stuff.”
Lia couldn’t help smiling. She wanted to say that she was a Granger, but yes, she was a Malfoy, wasn’t she? As if on cue, the most amazing people entered the room just then. Lia had seen photographs and miniature portraits, but golly, her grandparents were beautiful. And she wasn’t struck so much by their beauty as by their arrival. Finally, finally.
She didn’t quite run, but the chair Narcissa had settled on was shoved back an inch when Lia reached her grandmother, who caught her in a hug that gave off an addicting comingling of so many pretty scents. Just like Nana Helen, but also unique.
“My darling. Oh, my little girl,” she said between kisses to Lia’s cheeks. “I’ve missed you so much.”
Lia sniffled in reply. That would have embarrassed her at any other time. But right now, she didn’t care and couldn’t do anything about it.
“If I don’t get my turn within the next ten seconds, perhaps I should just return to my study and--”
Lia, laughing in delight and adoration, threw her arms around her grandfather’s waist. He kissed her hair and squeezed her to him. “There you are.” He tilted her chin up and stared into her eyes. For a second, Lia grew afraid, but Lucius only said, “Your father’s been a dolt, hasn’t he? But you’re holding up well. That’s my girl.” He kissed her forehead. It was amazing how sweet this man could be without actually smiling. And it was disturbing how strong the sob lodged in Lia’s throat was. She forced it down.
“Now go upstairs and freshen up. Doff the winter gear.” With an arm around her shoulders, he steered her to the stairs, which was quite a journey in the big, big house. He patted her upper arm until they reached the staircase. “Get reacquainted with your room. Your grandmother has surprises up there. But don’t take too long. Come back down.”
With a smile this time, he nodded, she nodded and he went back to the drawing room. Lia stood there, clutching the newel post. She couldn’t believe she was here with them. She wanted to shriek-- or maybe blubber-- in glee and she wasn’t sure her shaking knees could handle the stairs. As she jumped up and down to disperse her nerves and bring back steadiness to her bones, he heard her grandfather.
“She smells like she threw up.” There was accusation in his voice.
And there was aggravation in her father’s. “Hello to you, too, Father.”
“What have you done, Draco? Why was she sick?”
“Yes, I want tea, Mother, thank you.”
Lia coughed an embarrassed chuckle ball and ran upstairs, determined to brush her teeth and gargle as well as lose the pink.
A conversation in the loo:
“Are you still on the train?”
“We still have hours before we arrive in London. I’ve already drunk another dose of the happy juice. You?”
“Once behind The Tattler-- which was quite a feat, I can tell you. I puked.”
“You puked? You mean on the Tattler?”
“We Apparated! My first Apparition. It’s not funny!”
“It is! Did you puke on him?”
“On his boots. Not on purpose. It just came out.”
“We’re lucky potions are never puked.”
“No, of course not. Or else we won’t need antidotes for everything. Nana--”
“Grandmother.”
“Grandmother bought you two mink coats. I hope they’re not real. Your balcony looks like a greenhouse, now, too. It’s glassed in.”
“Of course the mink isn’t real. Don’t make me puke. She’s been planning to do that for ages. Who’s The Tattler?”
“You thought it was a person? You thought I would use a person as a shield when I slug the happy potion?”
“What are you laughing at? It’s not preposterous at all. What is it then?”
“A paper dedicated to gossip. And they’re talking about Mum and Dad.”
“Oh. Oh, someone wants the loo. Bye!”
“And I’ve been up here long enough. They want me back downstairs. Wish me luck.”
“You don’t need it, swine.”
“Why thank you, priss.”
Earlier, Lia had been too busy puking and then hugging and kissing her grandparents to take notice of her surroundings. But now she noticed. Everything was so pretty.
Callie’s bedroom was both spacious and snug, with a low ceiling that arched as if the roof and the walls formed one giant circle. But no, the walls weren’t curved. They were ordinarily flat where they weren’t sunken to form shelves and nooks. And like in Lia’s room, blue was the dominant colour here, a different kind of blue and accented with red rather than hazel.
Outside, the hall was so airy and light because of the windows. As she walked back to the staircase, she couldn’t help peeking into rooms, and was surprised to find a little sitting room that matched Callie’s bedroom, with trunks overflowing with toys and low bookshelves lining the walls below the windows, and another matching room, this one smaller with a baby grand and a cello and a violin on a stand in one corner. On one wall, there was a Muggle photograph of a little Callie sitting at the piano, her feet dangling about a foot from the floor.
Lia shut the door and hoped she wouldn’t have to open it again. Lia knew art, not music. Not a whit about music.
She continued downstairs and back to the drawing room. Yes, she’d been too busy earlier. She gasped at the sight of those very high windows. Lia had a thing for windows. Particularly when the view was so nice. Skeleton trees, non-skeleton trees, and sky. Lots of wintry white sky.
“Glad to be home, are you?” said her grandfather, one eyebrow quirked. Lia schooled her expression.
“Yes, I missed this place.”
“And did you like the additions to your room?”
“Yes! Yes, Grandmother, thank you! It’s smashing.”
Lucius looked up from his demitasse.
“Where’s Dad?”
Lucius raised an eyebrow.
“Your father’s escaped to his apartments,” replied Narcissa acerbically. “Tell me about your sister, darling. We’re so sorry about that, by the way.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Don’t worry about it?”
“Yes, Poppy, we’re handling it nicely.”
“Poppy?”
But Lia was too busy chuckling-- pleased with herself, her sister and the help they’d been getting for their schemes-- to see the mildly disturbed expression on said Poppy. Lia gobbled down petit fours and then brought a handful of biscuits over to the window. It was only when Lucius said, “She called me Poppy,” that she nearly choked. She froze where she stood looking out at the bare orchard and the slope of the vineyard and nearly sagged with relief when she heard her father’s laughter next.
“I told her to,” he said.
He did? Oh well. Whew. Lia supposed ‘Poppy’ didn’t really suit Lucius, but neither did ‘Grandfather’. She’d try ‘Granddad’ next. Or maybe Grampy or Papu. She laughed. Was there something in these biscuits?
“You’re so quiet. I hope you’re not too angry with me.”
Hermione watched her daughter sit back down after a trip to the loo, and did her best to look casual even as she examined every minute detail. A smell of the train’s lavender soap. A corner of the pink coat upturned. But no red eyes. Good. She’d been worrying too much. It wasn’t as if the girls wouldn’t see each other again. What was there to cry about?
Well...
Her daughter shook her head as if in rueful agreement.
Hermione wanted to say several things, apologies being most of them, but she couldn’t risk triggering a fusillade of questions she wouldn’t be able to answer either. So far, both of them had stayed silent, Lia reading-- which was new, perhaps an influence of Callie-- and Hermione hated the distance between them. They’d never sat together like this before. Lia had always been on her lap or fused to her arm. But now another person could so easily sit between them.
It was probably premature and even irrational, but Hermione grew afraid of this distance. What if it became permanent? She was already forbidden to one child, she couldn’t lose the other as well--
An owl flapping and struggling to keep up with her window startled her from her dark musings. She hadn’t noticed it immediately because it blended with the wintery landscape. Lia was already opening the sash. The snowy flew in and landed on one of the cushions, shaking her feathers. It was Polyxena, Harry and Ginny’s owl.
“Hermione,” the letter said, “It’s a circus at the platform. Even Skeeter’s here, bold as brass. You can guess why. Two words: Granger-Malfoy twins. Yes, that’s three. Cat’s out of the bag and they like this cat so much I think Ron will have to declare homosexuality to make them look away. Maybe not even then. All of us have already gone home. I suggest you cut short Lia’s Side-Along Apparition ban the moment the train stops and just Apparate to your house. We’ll meet you there. H.”
“Who sent the letter?”
Hermione tore her disbelieving eyes away from the parchment and transferred them to Lia. “What do you mean who sent it? Your Uncle Harry, of course.”
“Oh yes, I mean, what did he say? We’re just about to see him, right?”
“Not right away. They’ve left the platform. They’ll meet us at home instead. He says there’s press at the platform.”
“Why?”
“To ogle you and your sister. You two have just become our little world’s worst-kept secret.”
Hermione clenched her fists and looked out the window as the train infinitesimally began to slow. She wasn’t going to Apparate them out of there. She was going to hex all those idiots until no one was left standing, not on human legs. She thought she’d been furious before with Skeeter when the lying barracuda had used her and Harry so abominably, but that fury didn’t compare at all to her absolute rage now, at her daughters being awaited like objects, like they were curious knick-knacks to be photographed and documented for the world to dissect.
“Mum.”
Hermione felt the instant softening of her expression as she turned to her daughter.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what, honey?”
“Is this why you made the agreement? To keep us secret? If I-- if Callie didn’t leave France--”
“No, no! The agreement has nothing to do with you. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry but the truth is, the horrible truth is we weren’t even thinking of you when we signed that blasted agreement. Isn’t that the worst?” Hermione blinked back tears and sighed, ashamed. Yes, there was nothing worse than admitting your folly to your child. Well no, having committed that folly in the first place was worse. “You have nothing to apologise for. All you need to do is try to... to forgive your stupid, stupid selfish parents, and be patient. We’ll work this out. Don’t worry. In the meantime, when was the last time you cuddled with your poor mum?”
Callie cuddled with her poor mum. She could feel the train slowing down, so she made the most of it, burying her face in her mother’s coat collar. This was the second time that either parent had broken down in front of her. One mention of that agreement and they melt. That blasted agreement, indeedy.
“You feel different. A bit bonier. Have you been cutting back on the s’mores?”
Callie evaded her mother’s question and delved her nose in her mother’s hair next. Thankfully, their journey ended just then, saving Callie from explaining her lack of padding from scarfing down s’mores. The whistle blew and steam billowed and puffed and covered the windows outside. If the press was there or not, they were probably getting their equipment ready, if not cursing the Hogwarts Express for being a steam engine. She felt her mother squeeze and kiss her hair one last time and then set her on her feet.
“We’re Apparating. Your things are all Shrunk in my pocket. I need you to hold tight to my arm. Don’t let go.”
Callie nodded. Her mother smiled.
“Just a nod? No barrage of questions? You’d think you’d done this before. Right then. The moment I step onto the platform, I’ll turn. That’s how we Apparate. We think of our destination, we focus our will to get there and then turn on the spot. Turn, not twist or twirl or gyrate or pirouette-- But you don’t need to do any of that yet. Just hold tight.”
It took some jostling to reach one of the doors. And then it took some breath-squeezing to reach the cottage. The cottage.
Callie was so thrilled she almost forgot to pretend being shaken by her supposedly first Apparition. Almost. She did a rather convincing flop onto a pouf. She even bent forward to put her head between her knees. Mostly to hide the grin splitting her face and say hello to Lia’s favourite furniture in the sitting room.
“Impressive. She didn’t puke.”
“And she’s wearing pink.”
Callie looked up. Uncle Fred and Uncle George stepped out from behind the wall of bookshelves dividing the sitting room from the rest of the house. She grinned and pulled off her muff and cloak as they plucked the beret from her head and fought over it. Her mother let them at it a little while and then snatched it from them and sent the beret, cloak and muff sailing to the closet under the stairs.
The closet door closed at the same time the front door opened and suddenly, Callie was surrounded by the people she’d almost begun to feel were only characters from books. But fictional characters didn’t embrace you and kiss you and even pinch you heartily.
She was also hefted into the air much more than was acceptable for her age and dignity but she laughed and kicked and only quieted when she landed in front of the Nanas and Poppies.
“Hi, darling!” Nana Molly engulfed her in a hug and kissed both her cheeks with loud smacks. Poppy Arthur did the same. And then blood called to blood. To her trepidation and embarrassment, tears came to Callie’s eyes when Nana Helen and Poppy Logan took their turn.
In Lia’s words, Nana Helen was one of those middle-aged women ‘who hadn’t shrunk or puffed out sideways or frontways as they got older’. In Callie’s more succinct estimation, Nana Helen was a brunette version of Grandmother. Nana Helen wasn’t as tall but the way she held herself added height and made those who didn’t know her think she was either a haughty person-- she wasn’t-- or merely blessed with unassailable self-confidence-- she was. Her patients in the dental clinic were assured by that and it was a trait she’d passed down to her daughter. She wordlessly smiled down at Callie after their embrace, caressing Callie’s cheek with a soft and fragrant hand.
Poppy Logan, on the other hand, was every bit the cute and jolly grandfather. He was as tall as Uncle Ron, who was the tallest of the Weasley men. He had a belly and a moustache and seemed proud of both. After a hug and a kiss, he winked at Callie with his crinkly eyes and doffed his hat with a flourish.
“Dad!” Hermione shrieked. “What on earth did you do to your head?”
“Why? What’s wrong with it? Isn’t it absolutely flawless?”
Callie giggled, reaching up to stroke the smooth skin.
“My hair got tired of me and began to leave. I figured I should cut to the chase, so to speak.”
“That’s why I wear these tinted lenses now,” said Nana Helen. “He’s so bright and shiny.”
The whole room laughed and there was a kerfuffle as Uncles Fred, George, Harry and Ron pretended to line up to feel Poppy Logan’s shaved head. Poppy Arthur looked contemplative.
“I can’t believe you let him do that, Mum,” said Hermione.
“Don’t speak to me. I’m not happy with you.”
Callie winced, inwardly still giggling.
Another conversation in the loo:
“I was really, really terrified. I thought someone’s written to rat us out. She got to the letter first and of course I couldn’t very well snatch it from her.”
“Relax. Don’t function under guilt, priss. We’re not doing anything wrong. We’re just spending time with our family.”
“Oh, Poppy Logan’s bald.”
“You mean Poppy Arthur?”
“No, I mean Poppy Logan. He shaved his head. He’s so bright and shiny, to quote Nana Helen.”
“Speaking of Poppies, I slipped and called Grandfather ‘Poppy’ but Dad said he told me to call Grandfather that.”
“In a letter, I think. Hey, Mum’s really angry about the reporters waiting at the platform.”
“She doesn’t like the press much.”
“No, I mean, do you think they really didn’t want it known that they had us? That they were together?”
“Well, duh. Who wouldn’t think they were together? Didn’t Mum sort of fight for clemency to the Malfoys? Granted, she might have done that anyway simply because it’s what she thinks is right, but still. And then perhaps they shouldn’t have taken the wrong twin. I mean, look at us. If Mum didn’t want it suspected that her child is a Malfoy, she should have taken you instead of me.”
“What if they were threatened? What if we were threatened? Mum said they weren’t even thinking about us when they signed that agreement. But maybe she wasn’t telling me the whole truth. They did have enemies then, didn’t they? And even now perhaps.”
“You’re scaring me, priss. Don’t be morbid. At least, not just now. Wait until we can be morbid together. But Mum won’t lie to you. She hasn’t ever lied about all this. She omitted stuff, but she never--”
“Yes, Father excelled at omissions, too.”
“I have to go down to dinner!”
“Me, too, swine. And Nana Helen’s snippy at Mum.”
“Good. You should see the dirty looks Grandmother throws at Dad.”
Lia’s confidence was catching, so Callie went back downstairs sturdier at the knees and less intimidated by the troop she had to fool into thinking she was Lia. They hadn’t really factored this in. They were just so excited meeting their respective ‘long-lost’ relatives. It wasn’t fair. Lia had to fool three people. Four if you counted Aunt Pansy, but she and Uncle Patrick usually went away for Yule and greeted the New Year somewhere exotic. Callie had to deal with more than a dozen people. It was a mercy they weren’t all there right now.
The leaves of the dining table had been let out to accommodate the guests. From where she paused at the foot of the stairs, Callie could see past her family to the breakfast nook and opposite that, Callie could see the fridge. The rest of the kitchen was obscured from view by the wall of a room, perhaps a closet or a washroom.
Everyone was helping set the table with the food brought by Nana Molly and Nana Helen and Aunt Ginny. Callie decided to help, only to fumble a little as she joined the bustle. Aunt Ginny hadn’t spoken to her yet. She had kissed Callie and passed her on to Harry. Callie could see her from the corner of her eye, sitting at the table looking at Callie narrowly.
Callie decided to just wing it and yelped.
“I told you!” Nana Molly yelled back, hitting Poppy Arthur on the arm. “Merlin, you’ll probably make the babies cry!”
“Is it scary, Lia?” asked a chastised and sheepish Arthur.
Callie shook her head, laughing now. “Sorry. I was just taken by surprise. But it’s as shiny and perfect as Poppy Logan’s.”
“Sit beside each other, please,” said Uncle Fred, pulling chairs and motioning Arthur and Logan to them. “Eggs right this way. And smile for the camera. No, George, leave off the flash!”
Callie ended up sitting down at the head of the table, with five of her family on either side of her. Aunt Ginny was still staring, and finally, everyone else noticed.
“Don’t mind her,” said Uncle Harry. “Just two more months and we’ll all be happy again. Not that I’m not happy now, mind. I’m very, very, very--”
“Happy?” said Uncle Ron, while Uncle George coughed something that sounded like, ‘whipped’. Uncle Harry nodded at Uncle Ron and threw a pea at Uncle George.
“How’s your sister, my Lia?” said Aunt Ginny. The whole table went quiet. “I’m sorry. You remember in the summer, I couldn’t get enough of you? And now I seem to be missing your sister something terrible even though I haven’t even seen her.”
Callie took a drink of water. It seemed Aunt Ginny’s strange obsession with Lia hadn’t abated at all.
“My sister’s great. I love her so much.”
“Oh gods above, you are a sweet, sad thing!” said Nana Molly, a hand over her mouth. Everyone else also forgot their forks and spoons, staring at Callie, and not at all dewy-eyed either. Dang it. Yes, Lia goes around declaring her love for people, doesn’t she? Bravo, Calliope. She attacked her potatoes and splattered gravy on her water glass.
“You two shouldn’t have been kept apart,” said Nana Helen, glaring at Hermione. “It’s monstrous, really. I can’t believe I condoned it. Oh, that’s right, there was nothing I could have done anyway.”
“Mother, please--”
“Lia, did you give one of the two-way mirrors to your sister?”
Callie nodded at Uncle Harry. “Great,” he said. “You two can talk. Look, I’ll show you right now. Is it unpacked yet?” Yes, it was. Callie nodded again, too stunned to even think to lie. “Accio Lia’s mirror.”
They waited. And waited. Callie could feel sweat snaking down her spine.
“How many mirrors does your daughter have?” said Harry to Hermione.
“Don’t be stupid,” replied Hermione, too snappishly, still stinging from Nana’s anger. Gentler, she continued, “All the mirrors in this house are technically Lia’s mirrors. Accio two-way mirror.”
Holy sweet Minerva. If they called Callie’s name into the mirror, what would happen?
Lia placed the mirror on her bedside table and skipped to the door. She opened it but as she pirouetted through it, she nearly sent her grandmother toppling to the floor.
“Hecate!” said Narcissa, as Lia grabbed her around the waist to right her. Narcissa laughed and entered the room before Lia could body-block her. “Oh well, no bruise, no foul.” She waved her wand and the fire in the grate burned higher and the lamps flared brighter.
“Aren’t we going down to dinner?” said Lia, eyeing the mirror and deciding her uncles and aunt had good taste. It looked like a regular hand mirror. To paraphrase her grandmother, no calls, no trouble.
“Yes, we are. I just have something to give you.” With a deft flip of her wrist, Narcissa revealed the picture she’d been carrying under her arm.
It was the photograph taken just that morning by their father, now framed in glazed walnut carved with one-dimensional tulips. She and Callie weren’t moving and looked sullen. It reminded Lia of her Nana Helen’s unsmiling ancestral photographs. She and Callie were holding hands, muffs at their sides, their arms intertwined. She and Callie also looked... surprisingly different. Their faces were different. It was subtle, but you could tell who was who without peering at the hair almost completely obscured by their fluffy collars and berets. Lia couldn’t understand how they’d pulled it off when they’d merely switched hair and eye colour.
“You look like your mother. Your sister takes after your father. See her cheeks and chin? You both have the same look in your eyes, though. Is it greedy of me to want the both of you here? I absolutely want to strangle your father for what he’s done. But that’s unfair because I should want to strangle your mother as well, and I certainly don’t.” Narcissa punctuated that with a short laugh that ended in a sigh.
“You like her, my mum,” said Lia, entranced with the framed photograph and Narcissa’s arm around her shoulder. They sat down on the sleigh couch at the foot of Callie’s bed. Wandlessly, Narcissa sent the photo to the wall perpendicular to the balcony, where it attached itself with a loud click.
“I do, darling. She’s given me you, and your father, and your grandfather. What’s not to like? I just wish” well, I have a lot of wishes this year. More fervent than ever. Who’s this?”
“Flibby.”
“Flibby?”
Lia was jolted out of her daze. Her grandmother was holding Flibby and was turning the doll over to look at the rhinestone studs on the back pockets of her jeans. Narcissa turned the doll back over and examined Flibby’s face and hair. Lia’s hand leapt on its own to her ear, but no, her cardiac muscle hadn’t relocated there. It was only being amplified.
“But didn’t I give this to your sister? Only Thalia was supposed to be able to keep it. An old doll spell that jinxes doll thieves. How did you break it?”
Holy sweet Athena. Somehow, Lia just knew that naming the doll after the flibbertigibbet had been bad luck...