He wasn’t far from home, which was a good thing, because he would be safe there, but it also meant endless questions waited for him at the doorstep. His bloody t-shirt and ripped jeans didn’t exactly give him the cover he needed; Annette usually bought his lie about staying at the office. Gideon worked for the Department of International Magical Cooperation, and he’d lived for months buried underneath at least three demanding cases. He clutched a soaked carrier bag in his left hand, but he doubted this small token would save him from a well-deserved lecture.
Gideon got up the rickety staircase and pounded on the fifth door on the third floor. The trusty alarm, the dog, went off like a charm. He cursed.
A rough voice answered him and someone unlocked the bolt. Fabian, his twin brother, looked him up and down as he stepped over the threshold. Gideon took him by the arm.
“What happened?” Fabian locked the door and helped him onto the couch. Gideon moved his hand, taking deep breaths, showing his wound. His arm was covered in blood. “Lean back.”
“I think I’m going to be sick,” moaned Gideon, closing his eyes. It did little to block out the pain. He screamed when Fabian touched the hilt. There were droplets on the wooden floor. He had left a trail from the alleyway. The police, if they didn’t pass this one off as a wounded, forgotten animal, had another mysterious case on their hands. “I hate her.”
“Who? Bellatrix?” Fabian took his wand out of his back pocket. “Yeah, she got you good this time, didn’t she? I’d shut up, though, before you wake the whole neighbourhood. Want me to get it out?”
“No, no,” Gideon panted. “She got me when I turned round to Apparate.”
“You can’t leave it in there.” Fabian ripped his shirt opened and walked over to the wardrobe. He opened the drawer and returned with a small box of potion bottles and a few bandages. “Yeah, she got you good, make no mistake. Right, so, we’re going to wait till you pass out before patching you up? Is that the plan?”
Gideon admitted it sounded stupid. Of course, his brother wasn’t exactly helping things with his sarcasm, either. Fabian nodded and rubbed his hands together. He didn’t bother to count or give the slightest warning; it might have been a smart move. Well, Gideon couldn’t really judge because he wasn’t the one ripping it out. Fabian made a quick movement with his wand and the dagger shot into his hand.
“Watch your French, young man.” Fabian set the blade on the table and rolled his eyes when Gideon didn’t catch the joke. “You don’t realise you do it anymore, eh? Lean on me.”
No, he didn’t notice he switched tongues, although it pleased him that this finally fell into place. His job didn’t necessarily require foreign languages, yet Gideon learned within months of joining the department that he’d be lost without them. After years, he had finally mastered French. This worked in his favour, especially with Annette, who was born and bred in Calais. She had acted as his tutor when he decided to cross the sea and immerse himself in the culture. One thing led to another, as the old story goes, and he’d gotten a ring on her finger.
“The swear words are all I’d want to know, honestly,” said Fabian, cleaning the wound with alcohol before he started taping him up. He handed his brother a small crystal vial. “It’s a Blood-Replenishing Potion. Come on, it won’t hurt you, man, take it like a shot.”
Gideon preferred skipping medicines and potions at all costs. It went down easily. “You’re a drunkard. Medicine’s not drink.”
“A good man’s a happy drunk,” Fabian pointed out, sitting on the edge of the table. “Didn’t Muriel’s third husband say that? The one who went off with the barmaid?”
“Oh, yeah. Don’t make me laugh. It hurts.” He reached into the soaked bag and slipped a black jewellery box into his pocket before letting his brother see the rest of the contents. “I’ve got a delivery for Dumbledore.”
“Strawberries and lemons? Oh, right, that. Oh, hello,” said Fabian cheerfully, changing the subject with a drop of a hat. He looked over his shoulder and tossed the fruit in the air. “These are for you.”
Gideon’s wife reached out and caught them. They hadn’t heard her sneak into the room, nor did they know how long she’d been listening. Her dark hair fell down her back. She had a rich olive tone to her skin and dark eyes. Annette had pulled Gideon’s old house robe over her nightgown and stepped into her slippers. Pip, the black Labrador, finally decided to shut his trap and lost interest in the twins. He lay down at the foot of the stairs, and Annette nearly tripped over him because he refused to move. She caught herself and grabbed the edge of the wall.
“That damn dog’s going to kill you,” Fabian called. “You can stop eavesdropping now because we’re not talking about you anymore!”
“You don’t think I know that you two talk about me all the time?” Annette raised her eyebrows. “What do you think your brother and I do when you’re not around?”
Fabian just looked her up and down and smiled. Annette smacked him in the back of the head before she walked into the kitchen.
“You really shouldn’t taunt her like that.” Gideon smiled at her when she walked into the sitting room and handed him a steaming mug. She lifted his legs and sat down beside him. “We didn’t mean to wake you. Or, rather, I didn’t mean to rouse Pip.”
“Doesn’t matter,” she said, setting her mug on the table. She left the teabag in because she liked a strong brew. “I’m sure you boys have got a thrilling tale.”
“What makes you say that?” Gideon pulled the crocheted throw off the back of the couch and draped it over his body so he could hide the evidence. He feigned innocence, but the pain leaked through his grimace.
“Delayed,” Fabian sighed. He made a point of throwing every mistake back in his brother’s face. “And you’re the one who’s been married for nine years?”
“Ten,” Annette corrected him. The dog sauntered over and she scratched him behind the ears. She glanced at the knife. Her eyes got really big as she pieced it all together. “One of you better have a good explanation.”
“It’s nothing,” mumbled Fabian, knowing she wouldn’t buy it. Annette touched Gideon’s chest, raising her eyebrows when he made a strange noise that sounded like something between a hurried curse and a muffled cry. “All right, yeah, what’s your point?”
“Not funny,” said Gideon weakly. It hurt worse than he expected. “Do we really have to go through this? I can’t tell you.”
“Or won’t,” she said softly.
“Hey, Annie, that’s not fair,” said Fabian, serious for the first time. “Dumbledore said no. He’d rather keep you out of this, so just drop it.”
“And your grandparents would raise hell,” Gideon added, “and neither you nor the Professor needs that right now.”
Annette came from good stock, although she didn’t possess a shred of magical talent. Her brothers were both successful wizards in their own right. Auguste, who was nearly twenty years her senior, worked in the same field as Gideon whilst David passed his time with historical archives. Her grandfather, Monsieur René Marceau, held his post as one of the best professors Beauxbatons Academy ever had; he swore he’d teach until he dropped dead. His wife, Jacqueline, was a renowned alchemist and a close friend of Professor Dumbledore. They chose not to frown on the fact that their granddaughter was different and it rarely came across in conversation.
She rolled her eyes. “Here we go.”
“What?” Gideon started to think that it may have been better if he had passed out.
“I’m not a child, Gideon!” She glared at Fabian, seeking out an ally. He, rather than her husband, usually jumped to her defence. “Don’t look at me like that, please, you’re insulting me.”
“You’re completely blowing this out of proportion. You get that, don’t you?” He retorted, his patience wearing thin. “Do you want to lose another one?”
Tears flooded her eyes. He wished he could take it back. “Annette, Annie, I “ I didn’t mean it.”
She said nothing and left. The dog followed her up the stairs.
He lay down, punched a pillow and rolled onto his side. Sleep evaded him again.
Gideon took the silent treatment and ate his words because he deserved it this time. He went to work around nine, running on strong coffee. He thought things over, ignoring the fact that it all blended together. None of it made sense. He slipped up, yes, but it wasn’t a rushed lie, and hiding their feelings only shielded them from disappointment. There were nights when he lay in bed wondering why they even tried anymore. Sometimes, although it killed him to admit it, he hated visiting his sister. Avoided it, honestly, because it just reminded him of what he didn’t have.
He went through the paces of a regular workday, putting his mind on other matters, specifically the treaty specifications that he’d been fighting tooth and nail for, trading notes among Britain, France and Spain. Last week, he had jumped from Alexandria to Marseilles to Barcelona to Calais to no avail. Nitpicking just about nothing drove him mad. Personally, if it were up to Gideon, he’d throw his hands up and forget the whole thing because it wasn’t worth this hell. The problem was a gang of curse breakers couldn’t account for piles of missing gold and none of them took any responsibility for the fiasco.
So, naturally, the case fell into his lap.
“So, what have we got?” Mr. Davies asked. Gideon’s department head always opened the floor with the same question. Unfortunately, he also had the annoying habit of sneaking up on people and reading over their shoulder. Gideon spilled coffee down the front of his robes.
“A mess,” said Gideon, waving the damp parchment.
“A translated, organised mess?” Mr. Davies rarely accepted defeat and focused on the next step.
“Je parle français couramment.",” Gideon said. Mr. Davies glared at him and crossed his arms. Perhaps he didn’t catch his words, which worked in Gideon’s favour because he added, “I’m on it.”
He got nowhere. Around eleven-thirty that evening, he gave up altogether and put his head down on his desk. The place was nearly empty.
“What are you doing?”
“Go away.” He really didn’t want to talk about it, and Fabian popped in like this all the time whenever he wanted. He worked with the Department of Magical Transportation, the easier track. “Kill me.”
“Later,” Fabian laughed, sitting on his desk and reading through a roll of parchment. “Let’s go to the pub and knock up a remedy for that headache. What’s this?”
“Nothing.” Gideon sat up and held out his hand. “Give me that.”
“What the hell?” His face fell. “Adoption? Does Annette know you’re looking into this?”
“That is none of your business,” Gideon sighed, snatching it out of Fabian’s hand and whacking his brother on the side of the head with it. Sometimes, he felt as though there were three people in this marriage. “No, I’m not looking into it, per se, I’m thinking about it. Not a word, you hear me?”
“Where is it?”
“Calais.” Gideon locked his drawers and pulled on his travelling cloak.
“Ah, so this so-called ‘business trip’ of yours had a little detour.”
“Not a detour,” said Gideon. He rolled his eyes and shooed him out the fire. He confessed when they got into the lift and headed down to the Atrium. “Yeah, okay, whatever, I met a little girl at the orphanage.”
“Remember the last time?” Fabian shook his head. “Do not put yourselves through this again. Merlin, you’re acting like it’s already dead. What the hell’s the matter with you?”
“I’m tired of trying and getting nowhere.” Gideon shook his head and threw up his hands. “When it dies, she cries. When Molly has another one, she cries. When we don’t talk about it, or when she begs me to try one more time, she cries. What am I supposed to do?”
“Gideon.”
“‘Gideon.’ You sound like Molly,” Gideon pointed out, mimicking him. He followed Fabian into the nearest fireplace and stepped out into Honeydukes. There weren’t many patrons in the middle of the week. He used this connection whenever Fabian wanted to stop for a night cap. He nodded to the plump manager and failed to dodge out of the place before he got roped into small talk. He couldn’t be rude and not say anything though, especially when she looked right at him. “How’s Ambrosius, Mrs. Flume?”
“Good, good.” She waved them over to the counter and placed a scoop in the drawer. “Annette left about an hour ago. She wanted to stay longer, you know, but she looked tired. It bothers me that she insists on staying on her feet so long. She looks good, though. Is she eating?”
Fabian snorted. “She eats all the time.”
“Yeah, well, that’s Annette,” said Gideon, drumming his fingers on the glass counter and pointing at a colourful parcel. “Could I have those, please?”
“Are these for her?” Mrs. Flume took out the parcel, doubled the order, and scribbled a quick note. She slid it beneath the ribbon and waved a hand at his gold. “No, this one’s on me, dear. Besides, I’ll think you’ll be making plenty runs here soon enough. Would you like anything else?”
“No, thank you,” he said. There was no point in arguing with her over the payment.
“Not at all,” she said, hurrying to hold the door open for them. “Happy Anniversary.”
Gideon turned the corner before her parting set in. He froze. “Well, shit.”
Fabian walked ahead of him and entered the Hog’s Head. It was a shabby place, and Gideon preferred the Leaky Cauldron because he enjoyed watching the people. Fabian usually dragged him here after Order meetings because he couldn’t stand drinking alone. The floors looked as though they hadn’t been cleaned in ages. They came here for the atmosphere, and Aberforth provided good company, too, whenever he felt up to it. Most of the time, he just muttered darkly under his breath at unsatisfied patrons while cleaning the dirtiest tankards Gideon had ever laid eyes upon. Far from scaring them off with a string of insults, Gideon found the barman’s rants downright hilarious.
“Today’s not your day, my friend,” said Fabian, holding in his laughter. He took up a barstool and called to the old man, who had just slammed down two tankards. “Two pints of your strongest mead when you get the chance, please, Aberforth. This man needs to drown his troubles.”
The barman ignored his request at first, but he eventually came over to them. “What have you fools done this time?”
“Oh, nothing. Well, he’s married.” Fabian’s drink went up his nose as he gave over to a giggling fit. “You should see your face, Gideon.”
“I told you to stay away from that girl,” Aberforth grunted, wiping his damp bar and offering them some food, “but does anyone listen to me? No. She’s your problem, and I suggest you deal with it. She’s a Marceau, idiot!”
He turned away to a couple of old hags sitting at the end of the bar.
“What’s really going on?” asked Fabian, sliding the shepherd’s pie towards him; they often shared a dish on these outings to save a few Galleons.
“She won’t sleep with me,” he said, frowning at his expression.
Fabian looked close to laughter. “Yeah, I didn’t want to say anything, but I noticed.”
“She barely even looks at me and hardly complains about work or other things anymore. Where’s she when I go to bed? She’s upstairs while I’m in the couch. I hate that damn thing because it smells funny. It’s a shame the dog gets closer to her than I do, let me tell you.”
“Are you sure she’s not ...” Fabian changed his stance mid-sentence. “This is Annie, never mind. So, you haven’t ...”
“Well, there was one night,” Gideon said shortly, waving his hand, “but the kids were over. Percy wouldn’t sleep, so she ended up with him on the floor. I’d hate to say it, mate, but these idiots who think marriage is based only on love are severely mistaken, you know? And her grandfather keeps dropping hints left and right about training his great- grandkids at Beauxbatons. What are we supposed to say?”
Helpful as ever, Aberforth wandered back over and grunted, “Ask him.”
Frustrated, Gideon spun round and expected to see some drunken fool rambling off nonsense. A thin old man dressed in silk robes sat at a table reading a newspaper by the light of a stubby candle. His glasses rested on the bridge of his nose, so he peered above them. The news of the day meant little to him. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing a bandage underneath. He didn’t seem fussed by it, though, and went on about his day. He puffed his pipe merrily and tapped his foot on a crate. It was René Marceau, Annette’s grandfather.
Gideon’s face went white. “Tell me he didn’t just hear all of this.”
“I’m not deaf, boy,” said the man, folding the paper along its creases. He glanced at Aberforth and put Galleons on the table. “One more to top us off, sir. Where’s your brother?”
“Not here,” said Aberforth. Gideon thought he was rather short, but then realised Aberforth merely meant they weren’t discussing these matters in the bar. The old man left the counter after Aberfoth announced the last call and the patrons dwindled one by one. He locked the place before he slipped back into his inventory and came out with an unopened bottle of fine wine, some glasses, and random leftovers he scavenged from his pantry. René started up the staircase before he called, “Are you fools coming or not? Grab that mead on the counter, Prewett.”
“Yes.” Fabian jumped to his feet, snatched up the tankards and beer before bounding after them. “You know what makes a drink priceless? When it’s free, it’s better.”
“Who said that?” Aberforth placed the tray on a table before he finally rested his feet. He tapped his temple with his long finger. “It’s all up here on a running tab. I want it paid before you’re dead.”
In the room upstairs Albus Dumbledore was sitting with a tall woman who wore a red dress. Her dark hair was wrapped in a twist, which exposed her neck. Dangling rubies hung from her ears and a pendant rested on her breast, complementing the simple ensemble well. Jacqueline Luce-Marceau was getting on in years, of course, but many missed the mark at guessing her age. She didn’t behave as if she was elderly either, which was why Gideon enjoyed her company. She sat with her legs crossed and her hands flew in the air, matching her rapid French.
“He’s a lucky man,” Fabian muttered under his breath as Jacqueline continued on with her string, merely patting René, her husband, on the cheek and taking his hand before driving her point home. “Well, there’s your future glimpse of Annette.”
Gideon laughed and sat across from them.
“You learn your place after sixty-five years,” René said simply, having overheard Fabian.
“Stop it.” Jacqueline punched him lightly in the arm as Dumbledore greeted them all and pulled out of the debate with Jacqueline. Gideon watched the old couple lace their fingers together and admired the small gestures. He felt a pang of jealousy, wishing he still had that. Her voice sounded raspy and slow. “Where were you all day?”
“Visiting markets,” said René, shrugging. “While you two passed ze evening discussing zis, I met a warlock, swapped a few lies with zat toothless barman zat some place called ze Leaky Cauldron, took a wrong turn, and got run off by an appraiser called Borgin.”
Aberforth snorted. He waved a hand at the mess of parchment and old texts laid out on his table. “What’s all this, Albus?”
“My welcoming gift,” said Jacqueline, scribbling a note on a piece of parchment. “Damn Flamel to hell.”
“Lovely, Madame,” Dumbledore sighed, pulling himself out of his private thoughts. “I promise you it’s here. He’d see this as a game and put the answer in plain sight.”
“Why not just tell us?” Jacqueline threw her hands up in frustration and started pacing around the small room. “Flamel sends encrypted messages and throws us to ze dogs!”
“He does it to piss you off!” René poured a fresh tankard. “You let him.”
“He’s not ...” Dumbledore dropped his defence when Jacqueline checked him with an icy glare. “This is Nicolas playing his finest, Jacqueline. Patience.”
Gideon didn’t understand a word of this madness, and he thought it was best not to ask questions. He picked up a few things here and there. He knew that Dumbledore used to work for Flamel, for instance, and the two of them were friends. Jacqueline also worked for the legend, though she stepped in years later, and apparently stopped working with him for a while when his blatant sexism got too much for her. Of course, his wife, Perenelle, never caught a sexist word from Flamel’s lips. He had enlisted Jacqueline as a volunteer, not an apprentice, when his wife started delving into other studies and turned from the art. Jacqueline earned her keep after a while. Although they worked at the legend’s side, the two friends usually spent their time together trying to solve unanswered questions.
Gideon might not understand, but when Dumbledore asked him to deliver a parcel, he did. He assumed Flamel sent things strangely because he didn’t want to be tracked. He reached in his pocket and handed the black jewellery box to Professor Dumbledore.
“Thank you.” The Professor covered the jewellery box with his hand when he opened it so only Jacqueline and René caught a glimpse of it. “Does this look familiar?”
Jacqueline covered her mouth and spoke so fast Gideon didn’t even try to understand her.
“It’s on loan,” he said, snapping the box closed and smiling at her expression, “but I thought you’d be interested in studying its properties with me. You are his Jacqueline, after all.”
“Damn straight.” Jacqueline looked up when the twins burst out laughing. She looked abashed, for she had forgotten the present company, or perhaps she didn’t realise the others had joined them.
“What is it?” Fabian hissed, intrigued. Gideon hadn’t the slightest idea.
“Nothing, nothing, Fabian,” said Dumbledore, slipping it into his pocket.
“We were supposed to meet you tomorrow,” said Jacqueline, hugging both of the boys. “You ruined our surprise.”
Gideon pecked her on the cheek. “Really? Well, show up later and I’ll act surprised.”
Fabian snapped his fingers. He made himself at home and listened to their tales. “So, this is your first trip to Scotland?”
“Togezzer,” said Jacqueline, laughing when Aberforth handed her a bottle of fine red wine. He actually let her hug him, which shocked the Prewett brothers. “I can’t accept zis, kind sir.”
“I owe you,” he said, showing her its label. “You’re one of his idiots I actually like on a regular basis.”
“Ze favourite idiot?” Jacqueline laughed softly, taking the compliment. “I keep ze fool out of your ‘air, zat’s why. It’s all about metals and chemistry.”
“Zat’s ze key,” said René, through a mouthful of bread. “Shut ‘er up. Why else do we spend our ‘oliday ‘ere? ‘E takes ‘er off my hands and deals with ‘er madness. Not my problem.”
“René!” Jacqueline slapped him playfully on the back. “You want to be alone for three days?”
“Are you offering, Madame?”
Dumbledore smiled at them. Gideon imagined this was quite entertaining sitting back and watching these two hashing it out with each other. He’d seen the couple before, of course, and it all sounded uneasy at first, but they went on and on. Fabian, who had always felt rather uneasy about relationships, seeing as he was on his third or fourth round with some girl, leant back, keeping out of the fire. Gideon learned that he shared a wedding anniversary with them, too. After a couple pints, Fabian lightened up and told them he had never seen an elderly couple, especially folks of their stature, act so down to earth.
“You don’t last this long on love notes and fluffy nonsense,” said René. “Jacqueline’s mad, I tell you, but we make it work.”
“It’s the mercury and the wine,” said Dumbledore, leaning forward to toast René.
Jacqueline pulled a face and joined in the laughter. She pointed her wand at the bottle, and its cork flew out. She poured herself a generous measure and started on a second glass. Her face was a little red, and she breathed heavier. Dumbledore and Gideon were the only ones who kept to one pint. “Aberforth likes me.”
“Oh, zat story?” said Rene, nodding at Fabian, striking up another conversation .He passed through his share of mead and struggled with stringing his thoughts and words together. “I’m surprised you don’t know. Well, Marianne, our daughter, and Alexis, ‘er ‘usband, a Muggle, you know, died in an accident a month after she was born. So, we took in the boys ...Auguste and David and....” He couldn’t place the name.
“Annette?” Dumbledore supplied.
“Yeah, right,” said René, bobbing his head. He glanced at Gideon and Fabian nearly fell off the couch laughing. “She’s your wife, or ‘is? I can’t tell. Anyway, we ‘ad a hell of a legal battle to get ze kids.”
Gideon heard this before, of course, and knew this is why René placed such faith in his family. He had already paid his time with raising his daughter, and he shouldered this responsibility. Gideon had no idea how Jacqueline managed it with him, for they both had demanding careers. Any thought of retirement evaporated with a blink of an eye, and they experienced parenthood all over again. Auguste shared the story with Gideon one night. He had been seventeen when his parents passed and offered his grandparents a hand; he practically raised his little sister.
Jacqueline put a hand on her husband’s knee, and the glass slipped from her twitching hand. She spoke as if she were trapped in a vacuum, slowly getting louder. “René?”
Next moment, she fell onto the floor and screamed out in pain. Her limbs flayed out. René froze, panicked, but Dumbledore knelt down and locked her face in his hands. Instinctively, Gideon gripped Jacqueline’s arms so she couldn’t hurt herself. Fabian ran out of the room and darted out of the pub, going for help. Dumbledore picked her up and ran out into the night. Gideon and René stayed on his hells and entered the Hospital Wing minutes later. The matron, Poppy Pomfrey, rushed over. Jacqueline twitched at the slightest touch.
“Please get Horace, Poppy,” said Dumbledore, worry creeping into his voice. He forced Jacqueline to stay with him. “Jacqueline, Jacqueline, look at me!”
She locked her long fingers round his wrists. She opened her mouth and found she couldn’t speak. This only scared her more.
Aberforth burst through the doors with Poppy Pomfrey and Horace Slughorn. René stood off to the side, trying not to get in the way yet trapped in his panic at the same time. He battled the two, pacing back and forth and staring at the floor. The Potions master burst with questions. He knew who these two were, of course, and he seemed more focused on interrogating the couple and flattering them than helping them. When Dumbledore raised his voice, Horace held out his hand.
“Well, I’ve got this,” he said, prying the woman’s jaws open and forcing a bezoar down her throat. Jacqueline gasped for air and gave over to a coughing fit. Slughorn, who had gone pale, seemed pleased with himself, and held out his hand. “Lovely to meet you, Madame Marceau. I don’t know if you understand English ...”
“Let her breathe,” Poppy Pomfrey demanded as she stepped forward and shoved the fat professor out of the way. She yanked the curtains round herself and her patient.
Dumbledore and Gideon stepped back. Aberforth handed Professor Slughorn the bottle without giving an explanation. It had been laced, or so they believed, with a colourless poison. He raised it to his nose, wafting if as if he attended a wine tasting, and detected nothing. It was almost like the Cruciatus Curse in liquid form. Poppy had given Jacqueline a sleeping draught, told the others she’d be out for hours, and walked into her office.
“Well?” René demanded. “How does a poisoned bottle end up in a pub? Who would do this?”
“René,” Dumbledore interceded before his brother had time to jump in self-defence. He spoke in a calm, collected manner. “I assure you no one in this room meant to harm Jacqueline.”
“Hell of a story that would be,” sighed Aberforth. “I’d rather not be known as the one who murdered Madame Jacqueline Luce-Marceau.”
Nobody laughed. Gideon collapsed in a chair and rubbed his eyes. He had no idea how he’d managed to last this long. He supposed it was the adrenaline, and that faded fast. Fabian left, too, saying he’d tell Annette what happened. There’d be no welcoming party because their spirits were drained. Gideon had no idea how much time passed, but he jumped. He had just got comfortable and started to feel a familiar falling sensation of drifting off to sleep.
“Go home.” René clapped hand on Gideon’s shoulder. René inhaled deeply on his pipe and shrugged into his travelling cloak. “You’re not doing us any good just sitting there. She’s resting now. Care to walk with me?”
They walked through the castle in silence. It felt strange to be back at this place. It offered him a distraction, and on Dumbledore’s request, he gave the man a tour. Gideon swore all these schools glued themselves to codes of secrecy and whatnot. He remembered reading that somewhere, but he supposed that Dumbledore made the suggestion to get them to focus on something else.
“I don’t think they let you smoke in here,” he said, watching the old man finger his pipe.
“Oh. What a shame.” René admired the armoured suits flanking the oak doors. “They hold classes in the dungeons?”
“Yes.”
Gideon pushed the heavy oak doors open and stepped out into the chilly night. He really wasn’t on good terms with the old man. They shared Annette, and they had had a few conversations, but it was mainly caked in small talk sandwiched between the occasional witty remarks. Distractions popped up: a book, a manuscript, the family, a project. René took a silver lighter out of his pocket and lit the pipe.
“Your school rules don’t apply to me,” he said, waving his wand and catching a lantern, “nor do zey, I think, stand for you anymore.”
Gideon sputtered, shocked. “B-but you’re a professor!”
“Yes, and you’re a translator.”
“Well, I’m more than that, really,” said Gideon, taking the jab with good grace. René hardly troubled himself to grasp the lengths Gideon, Auguste and countless others went through to keep worries at bay. “I drive your grandson mad for one thing, and that ought to count for something, don’t you think?”
“Touché,” he conceded. They walked at a steady pace until he stepped into a noisy chamber with a dusty floor and admired the ancient clogs. “A clock tower? Come in here, boy, I want to steal secrets.”
“I used to study here when the library started feeling claustrophobic,” said Gideon, sitting on the dusty floor. “The claustrophobic thing drives Annie nuts; she says something’s wrong with me and tells me to just get on the damn lift.”
“Really?” René mused. “She sounds like Jacqueline. You’re her fool and she got stuck with you by the luck of ze shitty draw? You want to talk about something?”
“No, no,” said Gideon. René gave him such a piercing look that he just came right out and said it. “This doesn’t leave here.”
René never considered such a thing. “Of course not.”
“What if there’s nothing there after all this time?”
“After all this time it’s an embarrassment when nothing but ze bare bones remain?”
“That’s not ...” Gideon faltered. That’s exactly what he meant. What was he doing sharing this with her grandfather? After sixty years, he figured this man survived through just about anything imaginable, and yet something about this just didn’t feel right. “Well, yeah.”
“You’re afraid of her?” René studied his face and took another stab at the issue. “No, no, I watch you, boy, you’re uneasy about the child. You’re losing your mind over it.”
Gideon bowed his head. “Am I wrong for saying it was a mistake? The first time, as much as it kills me to say it, I felt relief beyond measure because we simply weren’t ready. I want to break the damn pram in the cupboard. I don’t think I can go through this again, honestly, it’s a cycle, and it’s driving me into the ground. I love her, I do, René, I swear it.”
Why was he pleading for this old man’s favour? Wasn’t he supposed to be able to tell his wife everything? None of it made sense. For a reason he didn’t quite understand, it just felt good telling somebody else in the family. René couldn’t make him feel any worse, for he played the remorse through his head when he twisted the scenario. Exhaustion took him. He muttered a rushed apology as he failed to marshal his private thoughts.
“I feel it, too.” Gideon took a deep breath when René walked over and patted him on the back. I’m starting to wonder if it’s worth it and whether our love ...”
“Isn’t purely mechanical?” René offered, pulling him out of a rough spot. “Good question. The kid’s not dead, Gideon, there’s still hope.”
Something about his understanding smile told Gideon he’d guessed about the adoption.
“Auguste speaks with loose lips,” admitted René, “so, yeah, I heard about the orphanage visit. May I share something with you? I count you as one of my boys, you know, even though you’re English. I’ll try not to hold that against you or anything.”
“Sure.”
“Our daughter, Marianne, was a mistake.”
“What?”
“One kid for as long as we’ve been together? You do ze math.” René nodded. “Jacqueline nearly killed me till she finally accepted my proposal. A happy mistake, mind you, because Marianne changed the way I viewed the world and her children gave us another shot. Looking back, we missed a lot with ‘er, chasing after careers, and I regret it. I would’ve taken Marianne’s place zat night without question.”
He, too, took a moment to gather himself.
“Auguste was seventeen, at the time, and David had just turned fifteen, so Annette was the only one, a small one,” René exhaled, “and I despised ‘er for ze longest time. She ruined our retirement plans.”
“She was a mistake, too?”
“ Merde, yes.” René surprised himself with his own laughter and wiped away his tears. “Ah, well, I’ve never figured out the secret to women.”
“I bet everyone asks you,” said Gideon.
“A child can’t be a remedy to your life.” René waved his pipe. “You need mending. A bandage only covers up ze mess till something else creeps along and rips it off.”
Gideon nodded, although he felt he’d missed something.
“Compromise.” René offered him a hand and pulled him to his feet. “When all seems lost, there’s still hope. I read zat somewhere.”