Summer with the Irvings

CHAPTER 1
Note: Lucas' last summer. Prior to prefect-ship.

The raven-haired fourth-year sat in the corner of a small shed, his dual-colored eyes soft albeit possessing a subtle glint of fascination as he tossed another limp rodent into the crate that contained his newest treasure: an Acromantula hatchling.

“Have your fill, Aega. I’ll have a house-elf prepare a more fitting home for you in a bit,” Lucas’ voice carried through the near-silence as softly as dandelion seeds on a breeze. After a fortnight spent tutoring and being tutored over at a close friend’s estate, Lucas had returned to Winchester’s End a day earlier than was originally planned. And in the most unobtrusive manner; via floo so that he could safely secret the trunk-sized crate away without notice. It wasn't without effort. Fortunately for him, his new 'friend' had been good enough to stay silent in its case while he and a few elves hauled it to the shed at the far end of the garden. Tired and disheveled as he was, Lucas thought it prudent to have the arachnid fed before properly introducing its new caretakers to it. Even at the size of a melon, Aega could easily cause irreparable damage.

The spider fed. ''Do you think I could have my very own jungle, Lucas?" the hatchling asked in between mouthfuls. The dried carcass was discarded and the spider lifted its pincers in an unmistakable gesture, asking for more.

Lucas tossed it another rat.

The fourth year chortled softly. "I shall endeavour to see to it that you do," he told the spider. He had intended to do just that, in fact. Despite his youth, Lucas Irving had already understood one of the greatest fundamental principles of life; that the right word placed in the right ear, accompanied by the right amount of gold could, at many times, accomplish the impossible. He had done just that. And as it was, Aega the Acromantula had set him months back in spending money.

Albeit, it was still much less than what Asher Rosseau had asked of him. Lucas' lips thinned by a fraction. He'd swallowed his pride then, falling back on the excuse that he had only wanted to acquire Acromantula poison as opposed to actually owning one, in order to decline the offer; a move that no doubt had made him look the part of a coward in front of the French pureblood. Pride was everything. But Lucas did not want to worsen the already-bad blood that went on between the Rosseau heir and himself. Not quite yet. Even if the things that the Gryffindor said about his father did irk him to no end.

Lucas had occasionally found himself wondering whether the reason that the senior Gryffindor hated him because of his prowess at every magical art or whether it was because he was the son of the professor he most abhorred. For in his memory, Lucas had yet to do anything to offend him outright. He would rather it be the former, although all evidence suggested that both was just as likely. Asher Rosseau had never taken too kindly to those who came off as model students. He was also an outright troll at potions. Of course, it could have been because Asher belonged to that particular rival house. Snakes and Lions would always be at odds.

Lucas frowned. None of this would have mattered to him, had the older blonde not been the son of a particularly powerful and influential foreign wizard. Or if he did not possess those damnably useful connections. Not having him as a part of his friendly network was placed him at a significant loss. Lucas hated to think just how significant a loss that was. He chuckled wryly to himself. Perhaps his newly-acquired power of Legilimency would come in handy come the opening of the school year. At the very least, Lucas would be able to confirm his speculations. There might even be a sliver of hope in remedying their relationship.

-CRACK-

“Master Lucas,” squeaked one of the elves, a female, who had just materialized in the shed.

“We have brought what you’ve asked,” said the other, this one a male. Between the two, was a large trunk; old, of dark finish, and possessing seven key holes placed just below the front of its lid.

“Excellent,” Lucas’ voice, though still boyish, held a commanding edge. “I’ll have it over there,” he said, indicating the bare corner that he had cleared.

The elves moved the trunk as bidden, both trying and failing to keep their fear from showing at the sight of Lucas’ apparent-new-pet. When that was done, the elves handed their young master the set of keys to the trunk.

The boy worked purposefully and soon found the compartment which held a space that would serve as the arachnid’s temporary enclosure. Yes, temporary. While he would have set Aega free eventually on his own volition, Lucas had come under ownership of the hatchling on the condition that it was returned to the reserve from which it came when the spider was old enough to fend for itself. And Lucas Irving never went back on his word. Especially when given to family.

But that was a matter would not require his attention for some years, by which time, Aega would have supplied him with enough venom to last him (and his father) a long, long time. Provided, of course, that the spider was willing. Hence, the bonding that Lucas was trying to achieve.

“I’ll need it much bigger,” he told the elves, “and covered in vegetation.” He explained at length what he needed of them. The elves nodded and hopped into the chest. Lucas closed the lid. With it being three more years until he came of age and the trace on him very much active, he would not risk having himself accused of under-aged magic.

“Lucas,” he heard the spider call, “will it be lonely in there?”

It astounded him how very human and childlike a deadly creature like Aega could be. “I’ll visit whenever I can,” he promised, “and you’ll have both Tipsy and Mica for company, and possibly even my dad at times.” The spider had gone silent, it’s eight coal-like eyes fixing the boy in a steady, searching gaze. “It’d only be until you grow up. We’ll have you accustomed to life in the jungle until then. Just... promise me you won’t eat any of the elves. Or harm any of us humans in the meantime.” Aega proved to be as intelligent a creature as the books had claimed. But as it was, Aega was a mere child and so Lucas spoke to it as such. He was also careful not to sound too patronizing. In retrospect, it was a lot like how his own father used to speak with him. Sort of.

“They’ll bring food?” asked the spider.

“Yes, they’ll bring plenty of food,” Lucas replied.

“I promise, Lucas,” Aega said after a brief stretch of silence.

“I’ll hold you to your word, my friend,” Lucas said. His voice held a touch of childlike glee.

Roughly a half hour had passed before the elves reappeared in their midst. Their arrival was heralded by a small ‘pop’ followed by a chatter of confirmation that their task had been completed. Lucas opened the chest once more and dropped himself into what looked like a section of a tropical forest.

It was huge. As large as Lucas had hoped it to be. The young Irving had certainly never been in a tropical jungle, but it did feel like one. Or at least, it felt just as what he imagined it would be. He was fairly confident that the elves had done a proper job. Lucas did spend the better part of his spring semester reading up on Acromantula care and habitat. Thoroughly satisfied, he made his way out of the chest. When he had stepped fully away from the trunk, Lucas gave his approval and moved towards the spider.

“Aega, I’d like you to meet Tipsy and Mica,” he indicated the elves. “They’ll be taking care of your needs during your stay with us.”

The spider made an odd clicking noise to which Lucas took to be its way of greeting. The elves trembled a little.

After introductions, came the tour of Aega’s new home; something that took the better part of two hours. And by the time Lucas had once more climbed his way out from the trunk and locked its lid, the sun was already waning, giving him little time to clean himself before he presented himself to the household for supper. Thank God his family were not due to arrive until morning.

CHAPTER 2
Note: Arrival at Winchester's End

Lucas’ hands glided over the ivory keys of his instrument, an antique baby grand, filling the antechamber of Winchester’s End with a light-hearted tune. He’d kept his pieces soft while he played. They were due to be home today after all, and he had hoped to introduce the Irving family’s newest guest at the soonest possible moment. The soonest opportune moment. There were very few things Lucas had ever attempted that came across as reckless as bringing a lethal magical creature onto his family’s suburban estate. Especially when one’s father has been known to show an aversion towards such creatures.

Lucas had, nonetheless, believed that the advantages of temporarily housing an Acromantula - that was to say, the potential harvest of its venom sans the complications that the task normally entailed - would help his father to overcome whatever uneasiness he might feel about Aega. There really was no other way to ensure the purity of Acromantula venom.

For the first time that morning, the piano sang in fortissimo. Besides, it wasn’t as though Rufus Irving would have to take care of the spider himself. Lucas had already taken the liberty of working out a detailed roster for the elves. And since Aega had already given her consent to provide them with daily samples of her venom, there was no reason why the task of raising the hatchling wouldn’t run like clockwork. Provided, of course, that each party continued to honor their part in his meticulously thought out plan.

Aega had her own habitat secreted securely in an unassuming object kept in the most remote corner of Winchester’s End. In addition to lock and key, there were wards placed about the trunk and the shed itself courtesy of the pair of house-elves Lucas had assigned to the spider. Aega herself was an agreeable creature, at least as far as over-sized arachnids came. That, of course, left the father’s consent. Lucas’ father’s consent to be more precise.

Suddenly aware of himself, Lucas softened the weight he placed on the keys. His breathing eased and so did the music. The young wizard paused, letting his hand hover just millimeters above the keys as he listened for any indication of his family’s arrival. Knowing his father’s preference, they would likely be arriving via apparition.

The soft tapping of footfalls upon marble caused his head to turn.

“Your breakfast is ready, Young Master,” said an elderly voice. Adelfort had been the family butler for as long as Lucas could remember. He had also always been old.

“Thank you,” Lucas replied. That’s right. It was still breakfast. Time had a nasty habit of slowing when one was waiting. And his family would not be expected to return until noon. “I’ll have it in the conservatory.”

“Very good, Young Master. I shall instruct the maids at once.”

Lucas nodded as the butler left.

He came away from the piano, stretching slightly before smoothing the creases from his clothing before making his way towards the sunroom. As he normally did at home, Lucas wore a tailored suit of solid black and white; a choice of attire he found remarkably impractical during his romp in Aega’s enclosure. Truly, T-shirts and jeans would have been a much better choice. It was too bad that such casual clothing were just not worn in the Irving household. Lucas made do with insisting on the simplest of cuts.

Lucas had barely made it past the parlor when the fireplace burst into emerald flames, heralding a arrival. He stopped mid-stride. This was... unexpected.

“Father,” the boy greeted when the wizard’s form materialized in a whirl of orange and green, followed by not two but three others. Lucas’ eyes trailed across each of the newcomers before settling upon the little girl whose hand was held tightly onto that of his father’s.

What was she doing here?

However, it wasn’t just presence of his un-welcomed cousin that had caused his voice to momentarily fail. What was this terrible sense of foreboding? The unmistakable feeling that something was dreadfully amiss. Lucas’ defenses were instinctively triggered. “Mother,” he said distractedly, “welcome home.” It had been odd that his family had chosen to come home via floo. It hadn’t escaped him that both his parents had arrived with their wands fully drawn either; something of a rarity, considering that both were skilled in the art of wandless magic. That, and neither ever brandished their wand upon coming back to their own home.

“Lucas,” Rufus greeted. He wasn’t smiling. “You’re home early.” He didn’t sound happy.

Lucas’ eyes were firm and enquiring as bi-coloured eyes briefly met bi-coloured eyes.

“Lucas!” the voice of his younger brother pierced through the awkward silence. In a moment, the brunette found himself under the weight of the rambunctious nine-year-old. “You’re home!” the younger boy said, his tone full of laughter.

“An astute observation, Jasper,” Lucas returned with some warmth. He tussled the boy’s blonde hair. His younger brother’s comment had caused him to smile despite its redundancy. Giving his brother a playful nudge, the fourth year disentangled himself from the younger boy.

“Lucas darling, will you please see to Gwyneth? Have Adelfort prepare a bed for her in Jasper’s room.” Genevieve’s voice held its usual motherly warmth, but Lucas could sense worry in his mother’s eyes. She turned to her husband and nodded.

“I’ll see to the wards,” he heard his father say. With a small ‘pop’, the Rufus Irving disappeared from the parlor.

“Yes, mother,” Lucas replied belatedly. While there were many things he couldn’t understand about their his family’s untimely arrival, one thing rang perfectly clear: This was not an appropriate time to tell them about his new eight-legged friend.

---

Gwyneth Irving lay in her violet nightgown, on the bed that would be hers for the remainder of the summer. Beside her, her cousin Jasper slept soundly, a tuff of his golden-blonde hair peeping from below covers that rise and fell in a soft rhythm. This, effectively reminding her that it was now very well-past her bedtime. Or if one wanted to be more precise, it was very near the time she normally awoke. The moon light cast a milky hue across her cousin’s room. The feeling of having one’s plush bed illuminated by the moon was something of a novelty for the soon-to-be second year Hufflepuff. One did not get to see the moon streaming into one’s bedroom when said bedroom was located in the basement of Hogwarts’ castle. Technically, her dormitory had no windows.

For a moment, she felt just a little envious of the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor students who resided in the towers. Just a little. It wasn’t as though Gwyn never saw the moon. There were those nights she’d had to make her way to the Room of Requirement to attend non-existent club meetings. But those had only occurred a handful of times during the last year. And those didn’t count (It was the hallway being illuminated). Back at the main house, the curtains in her room were always drawn at night. And in Japan, well, one couldn’t really call what she slept in a bed.

It felt as though she were laying on a cloud suspended in the heavens.

But the eleven-year-old did not feel at peace. Her large, purplish orbs were large and owl-like as she stared at the white-washed plaster above. She’d lain mostly-still the entire night, but sleep – true sleep, for there were moments when she’d dozed off into an uneasy rest - remained elusive.

There were precious few things that Gwyn could understand from the events that happened in the last twenty-four hours, save that it had been far too similar to what had transpired just before her departure towards the orient East. Her five-year-long departure. Again, she felt the uncomfortable knot form in her belly. What if she were sent away again? What if she never got to see her friends again? What if- what if she never got to meet Uncle Rufus again? Or Aunt Genevieve? Or Jasper or even her cousin Lucas? The thought was enough to bring tears to her eyes.

The fortnight spent in the Irving manor had been... strained, to say the least. It had been to her dismay (and apparently to her uncle’s as well), that Carlisle Irving had suggested for his daughter to stay at his younger brother’s estate during the summer holidays. Rufus had taken by the hand and apparated them both to the front steps of the manor. After a heated discussion, a little of which was overheard by Gwyn from where she hid, Carlisle had agreed to allowing his daughter to stay. For two weeks. On the condition that Rufus stayed with her.

Thus it was, that the potions master and his family came to vacation at the manor; something that hadn’t occurred for some years. They had tried to make the best of it. All of them. And had it not been for the constant guilt and shame that plagued the Irving heiress, Gwyn supposed that she would have thoroughly enjoyed it too. Not that she didn’t. Enjoy it, that was. Aunty Genevieve had been more a sister than an aunt and the two brunettes had spent many afternoons talking about fashion and balls and potions and all sorts of other things over tea. And as it turned out, Aunt Genevieve had quite a hand at charms. Jasper on the other hand, had been a marvelous sport when it came to sword-play (even if he knew nothing of kenjutsu).

But it wasn’t until last night that Gwyn finally understood the true reason for her father’s reluctance to acknowledge her; to allow her to remain at her own home.

---

Gwyn stirred slightly at the weight of her covers. ‘Heavy’ was the word that came to mind as the eleven-year-old peeled one eye open against the cobwebs of her sleep. Not that the action aided her much in anything. With all the curtains drawn tightly in her room, it was pitch black. The fuzziness had yet to clear, so clearly, it wasn’t quite the time for her to wake up.

Now feeling rather uncomfortable, she struggled against the quilt but found that she couldn’t quite move. Frustrated, she wriggled harder. A sudden jolt of terror struck her when her blanket rode up her neck - apparently of its own volition - and moved to smother her. The unlikeliest possibility dawned on her mind: she was being attacked by Lethifold!

Gwyn screamed but no sound came. And the harder she struggled, the heavier the creature seemed to weigh down on her. Higher and higher it climbed, until it robbed her of all means for breath. Her lungs burned and it wasn’t long before she began to feel her lids grow heavy. Just as her consciousness waned, silver light flooded the room with a loud ‘BANG’, blinding her.

And suddenly, the weight was gone. She swallowed her first breath hungrily, relieved. Air had never felt a more precious commodity.

“Gwyn!” She blinked the tears from her eyes and found herself staring blearily into the dimmed silhouette of her uncle. He propped her head up, and she saw that he had his wand drawn. Over by the door, her father hung loosely to the side of the frame, looking both haggard and disheveled. He too, had his wand drawn.

“Carlisle-” her uncle began.

“Don’t, Rufus. Just don’t,” Carlisle hissed. He threw his hands up in an exaggerated movement.

“Papa,” Gwyn murmured.

“Take her to Winchester’s End,” he told his brother, seeming not to have hear his daughter. “No, don’t start with me. I won’t hear of it.”

Gwyn felt a small contraction in the arm that held her. “I will, Carlisle. At first light,” Rufus’ tone was both soft and reassuring.

“Rufus,” Carlisle hissed, he sounded exasperated, almost defeated. “She is in danger here. She could have been-”

“But she wasn’t, Carlisle,” Rufus’ voice was frightfully calm. “We do not know the situation at Winchester’s End. It will be risky to move her now.” He retrieved a small vial from the folds of his robes and after unstopping it, held the potion to the girl’s lips. “Drink it, Gwyn,” he instructed soothingly.

She did so and within moments was sound asleep once more. She woke up hours later in her mother’s bed and realized belatedly that Rufus must have given her a Dreamless Sleep potion the night prior. Hours later, Gwyn arrived at her uncle’s estate with the full understanding of what she was: a harbinger of danger to her household. She had spent the day keeping mostly to herself.

That was a patronus charm! Gwyn’s eyes widened slightly slightly at the realization. She replayed the memory, just to be sure. And for the first time since the attack, Gwyn felt excited. “Yes,” she said to herself. Her head made a reflexive dip between her shoulders at the surprise of hearing her own voice. Over in his bed, Jasper shifted in his sleep.

Gwyn breathed a sigh of relief. Quietly, she pushed away her covers and slid off the mattress. She retrieved her wand and her practice sword from their place by her bedside table and began looking for a quill and something to write on. Finally, something she could do; something she could give to alleviate the trouble that she had caused. But when she found neither, Gwyn mustered what courage she could and ventured out towards the hall.


A/N: Thought I'd end it here since it was getting a little long. xD

CHAPTER 3
Gwyn's Patronus

The Irving heiress’ feet made no sound as she travelled down the dimly-lit hallway, wooden-sword in one hand, wand in the other. One might have expected Gwyneth to feel uncomfortable walking through a silent corridor alone at night, especially on the night right after an attempt had been made on her life. Gwyneth, however, felt oddly calm - eerily so - as she padded on with feline grace. Perhaps it was because she was terribly accustomed to training alone in the early hours preceding the dawn; perhaps it was because she carried the two weapons she was most good at wielding; or perhaps it was because - and it was most likely so - this was Rufus’ house, and every piece of furniture, every piece of upholstery that decorated the hall seemed to give off her uncle’s presence. And Gwyn could never un-safe when she was around him. Albeit, there would be no hesitation if, by chance, she were to encounter trouble. Gwyn was equally proficient with sword and wand, but first-years - and soon-to-be-second-years - were not allowed to perform magic outside of school. The house was mostly quiet but for the faint crackling of a wood-fire and the occasional shuddering of glass in their frames. There was a fierce wind that night.

A streak of orange wound its way across the width of the corridor and up the wall, fed by firelight streaming from an open door. The study. The raven-haired child recognized it from the enthusiastic tour of the manor given by the youngest of her cousins. Jasper Colin Irving was a cheerful boy and even while she brooded and mulled over the Lethifold and the possibility of her returning to the Orient East, Gwyneth could feel a little of that cheer rubbing off on her. He had an infectious smile, and Gwyn for one was grateful for it.

More importantly, if there was paper and quill to be found in the manor, the study would be the place to find it. She closed the distance between herself and the open door and came within arm’s reach when the flicker of a shadow caused her to freeze mid-stride. Gwyn backed away immediately.

She thought of returning to her room. Perhaps it would be best to carry out her idea in the morning. Perhaps--

“Gwyn, I can tell you’re out there.” It was her uncle’s voice!

A small gasp let her lips. And suddenly, she felt like an infant who had been caught at her mischief. She felt a warmth rise in her cheeks. Before Gwyn could muster a reply, the potions master spoke again. “Come dear, please join me by the fire.”

Gwyn bit her bottom lip and advanced and, with a hesitant push, the ebony door fell away to reveal a cozy room. It was easily as big as her uncle’s office back at Hogwarts, tastefully decorated and lined with books from floor to ceiling. Much like her uncle’s office, documents and books sat in piles; the ‘organized mess’ - as her uncle had coined - cluttering most of the large table that spanned a third of the floor space. There was a smaller writing desk off to the side of the room (That, too, was cluttered).

There was a large fireplace - ornately carved, Victorian and of a shade that matched that of the door - at the far end of the room, occupying the only part of the wall not covered in shelves of books. It looked, to Gwyn, as though it was bravely holding its own against the tomes; a soul that sought knowledge. One who welcomed it but did not allow knowledge to overwhelm it. It was an odd thought that her classmates would doubtless laugh at should she be bold enough to suggest it.

Right in front of the fire was a large leather sofa. It was plush and draped with heavy blankets. Seated on that sofa, with half his torso turned towards her, was Rufus Irving. He was smiling at her, as genuinely he always did. It was not lacking in fatherly warmth, she noted, and she could feel the twinkle in his dichromatic eyes despite their dimness when backed against the open fire. But there was something else; a weariness that was rarely worn by the professor. Gwyn’s arms fell, but so did the corners of her mouth. “Good morning, Uncle Rufus,” she greeted quietly.

“Couldn’t sleep?” her uncle asked, his tone knowing. He waved for her to come and sit next to him. He was still wearing the robes he’s worn when they left Irving manor.

“How did you know I was in the hall?” she asked. Gwyn’s large purple orbs were fixated on the frills lining her night-gown.

She heard him chuckle. “How often have you shadowed me in dungeons?” There was definitely colour in her cheeks now. He chuckled again. “As for your other question,” Rufus continued thoughtfully. Gwyn lifted her chin and turned to where her uncle was pointing to - the clock on the mantle. “It’s a little too early for you to be up, Gwyn,” he said. The clock read a quarter past two.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about last night,” she admitted. It was suddenly very difficult to meet her uncle’s eyes.

“Ah~” he replied. A part of her marveled at how he was able to keep himself from sounding patronizing. “That’s completely understandable. It’s not something I would forget in a hurry.” He placed his hand on her head gently trailed it down the length of her silken tresses. “If you’d like, I could offer you another vial of-”

“No,” she answered, just a little too quickly and a little too sharply. “Thank you, uncle Rufus,” she added hastily. There was a sharp intake of breath. “And thank you for last night.”

A short spell of silence stretched between them and Gwyn recalled the reason that had started her late-night venture from her room. “There’s um... something I wanted to show you before papa sends me back to Japan.” She felt her uncle’s hand stiffen.

“No one will be sending you to Japan, Gwyn,” there was a hardened edge in Rufus’ voice that she recognized from when he spoke with her father.

“But papa, he-”

“No one, Gwyn,” there was a hint of finality in his voice, a firm conviction. He slid his hand to her chin and tilted it gently with his thumb and index finger. “You will reside here at Winchester’s End for the remainder of the summer and, when the term begins, we shall return to Hogwarts. Together,” he promised.

“But I’m a danger to the family,” she fired back. Tears threatened to form.

“Oh, Gwyn,” the distraught in her uncle’s voice started her. “Is that what you’ve been thinking?” He pulled her close and she caught the scent of freshly turned earth. She buried face in her robes.

“You are not a danger to the family,” she heard him say. “Never think that.” He had said it with such an edge in his voice that Gwyneth was almost inclined to believe him. Almost. “Now,” he said before she could voice her protest. He sounded remarkably like a professor. Rufus held her away and tilted his head so that they met eye to eye. “What was it you’d like to show me?”

She felt a sudden detachment from her depression. If there was anything at all that could have turned her attention from the stress that lingered after a Lethifold attack, it was an academic question - one asked by a professor. And it only took remembering who this little girl was, for Rufus to deduce that what she intended to show him likely involved magic in some way - or in other words, ‘academic’. Little else could have had Gwyneth Irving wandering his corridor at such an hour.

“I needed something to write with,” she said. Rufus raised his arm and waved and floated three items towards his niece - an inked quill, a spare parchment and a hard-covered book.

Gwyn took the items gratefully. She placed the book upon her lap and laid the parchment atop the book, smoothening it once before she began illustrating the rune formula - her quill scratched across the paper in quick, precise flicks. Just as she would have done had it been illustrated with a wand. When she finished, she gave the parchment to Rufus.

She noted the flicker of recognition in his eyes as he scanned the page. His eyes flicked up and down a few times, as though he was carefully reading and re-reading the contents of the page. “This is-” he lowered the parchment onto his lap and planted a thoughtful gaze on his niece. “You know the patronus charm,” he sounded surprised. Pleasantly surprised. Exceedingly so. He smiled at her, and the smile was present in both his eyes and his voice.

Gwyn nodded slowly. She could not quite contain it - the feeling of having done something terribly right. Yet at the same time, she felt unworthy of it. Why? “I haven’t really tested it,” she confessed. “I’ve only just thought about it and don’t know if it’ll work.”

His smile widened. “Well, why don’t we find out?”

“Will you perform it now?” she asked, momentarily forgetting all her moodiness from the day.

“No,” he replied lightly. Rufus’ smile shifted into a lop-sided smirk. “You will.”

“But I thought students aren’t allowed to perform magic outside of school,” Gwyn said skeptically.

“Quite right. They aren’t,” Rufus stated with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

“Then-”

“The Ministry does not keep as strict a watch on pureblood households,” Rufus explained diplomatically. “The trace effects not just the individual, but also the immediate vicinity of the individual. In other words, within a pureblood household,” Rufus gestured toward the room, “provided you can find an adult to vouch for you and to take the necessary precautions afterwards,” he smiled a smile that could only be labeled as ‘evil’, “the Ministry need never know.” He chortled lightly. “So, my dear, if you will~”

Gwyn squirmed uncomfortably in her seat. What uncle Rufus had suggested was clearly outrageous! Defy the Ministry? Hadn’t she brought enough troubles to her family? Yet... if uncle Rufus had suggested it, it must be alright, right? She could trust uncle Rufus. And she would. With her very life.

She gave him a curt nod. Without retrieving her parchment, Gwyn pushed herself off her seat and took a few paces towards the fireplace. It took a moment for her eyes to measure a suitable area for her runic circle, and when she was satisfied, Gwyn began to visualize one of the happiest moments in her young life: the night of her first acquaintance with the good professor. She recalled how he had singled her out from a crowd of students, the first smile he gave her - the love she’d felt from it. She recalled how she had made him that first cup of tea. How he had watched her with an undivided attention as she prepared it and finally, the words he’d spoken after taking his first sip: ‘I love it’.

A subtle smile played on the corners of her lips as she held that single joyous thought in her mind - her first since the night before - and relived the delight and fondness she felt from that memory. Opening her eyes, she touched her wand onto the carpet, muttered the incantation, and began to draw.

It didn’t take long for her to reproduce that larger version of the formula on the parchment. Gwyn’s precision and skill at calligraphy had been expertly applied to her rune-writing; the result of hours spent under the tutelage of Professor Alistair Hayden. When she finished, she stepped away and turned to her uncle. “It’ll take someone other than myself to trigger it,” she said tentatively.

Rufus beamed at her. Without a word, he got up and moved to stand just outside the glowing-circle. After a brief inspection, the professor took a step, breaking into the boundaries of the spell. A gust of wind whipped at his robes and a bright flash of silver sprang into existence. It hung in the air for a mere instant, as formless silver strands looking very much like shimmering wisps of smoke, before congealing into the translucent unmistakable form of...

An arctic owl? Gwyneth Irving stared dumbly at the patronus that the spell had conjured. She frowned in confusion. That wasn’t right...



Rufus sat himself heavily on the couch. It had been a long day, he thought to himself. A long day. It had been some time since he’d personally surveyed and fortified each and every ward in and around his estate, at least not in a single flight. Even though his animagi form was well-suited to flying in storms, the blustery English weather did nothing to aid his task. It had taken all day and only by Genevieve’s prompting, did he pause for a light tea in the late afternoon. Having just contented himself with the inspection of the new shields he’d set up along the hedge-grows at the edge of his lawn, Rufus had returned to the main house for a much needed supper.

He was badly in want of a hot shower, he noted ruefully. That, and he needed Genevieve. For the briefest moment, Rufus felt that his years had suddenly crept up on him; that feeling of being-too-old-for-this. He brushed it aside quickly enough. Rufus could not afford to feel this way. Not now, not for a while to come. Aramis Rosseau was a persistent devil to still be after Gwyneth’s life. It had been more than six years since his first attempt on his niece. To think, all this trouble for a mad-man’s baseless claim that Carlisle was still somehow involved with that Spanish woman!

Rufus felt a rare seed of anger flare in the base of his gut. He didn’t know what had angered him more in the beginning. That outrageous claim against his brother’s honor - for there was no question about Carlisle’s faithfulness towards his wife and child, or the utter indecency of attempting to take the life of an innocent child. Rufus had said nothing when Carlisle made the decision to spirit his daughter away despite his incredulous at the notion. Irvings never allowed themselves to be intimidated by their enemies, not for such an extended period anyway. Yet Carlisle had said that Aramis was untouchable - that he was too important a figure in the wizarding world to be eliminated. He’d said it again during their stay at Irving Manor this summer. Rufus suspected it had more to do with respect for Carlisle’s childhood friend - Giselle Rosseau; the cause of their unfortunate circumstance - than it had to do with ‘maintaining-the-economic-balance-of-the-wizarding-realm’.

Not that Rufus’ opinion would have counted for much. As Carlisle had so eloquently put during one of their more passionate spats, Rufus had long turned his back on the world of false smiles, hidden daggers and conquests of gold when he decided to make himself a member of Hogwarts’ faculty; a decision Rufus had yet to regret. But Gwyn... Gwyn had been little more than an infant back then. And now, barely a year since her return to British soil, her life was in peril again.

That was when the slight tickle he felt suddenly in the back of his mind had him tensing every fiber of his being. In a moment, he would relax himself once more, recognition having dawned. A new kind of anxiety bubbled from his core. Gwyneth was likely still traumatized from last evening. Genevieve had always been the better one among the two of them when it came to consoling frightened - possibly tearful - children. He waited for her to arrive within hearing range before inviting her to join him. Rufus braced himself for the worse.

But when little Gwyn entered the room, carrying both her practice sword and wand and not looking the least bit like a frightened child, Rufus couldn’t help but beam at her. Of course... This was his niece, after all. Faith, he reminded himself. Although all his anxiety and vexation had already fallen back to some deep, dark recess of his mind. She looked remarkably like a younger Rowena, he noted. Sans the bamboo rod she carried. He couldn’t decide whether he ought to feel proud or appalled.

She seemed uncomfortable. He couldn’t blame her. Gwyneth had always been a shy little thing. Sweet and capable, but shy nonetheless. Rufus invited her to share his couch and prodded her with a gentle tease.

At the indication of the time, she scowled, and Merlin did she resemble her mother right then. He could very well wager that he knew exactly what was going on in her mind. Rufus marveled at his own capacity to keep his laughter from bubbling to the surface. But as the conversation advanced, Rufus quickly found that his initial worries about his niece were not entirely unfounded after all.

Some point into the conversation, Gwyneth had revealed that she thought herself to blame and Rufus had quickly pulled the girl into a tight embrace - partly because he wanted to console her, partly because he could not quite bring himself to smile at that moment. He felt a deep aching for her in his heart as well as the prickling sensation of what could only be recognized as a murderous intent towards a certain French wizard.

Rufus reigned in his emotions shortly and did what he felt was necessary: he changed the subject. But even as he read the parchment she gave him - his mind sifting through memories of Ancient-Runes classes that he had not re-visited in longer than he cared to remember - Rufus found himself quite surprised, and pleasantly so, at what his little niece had concocted. A patronus charm, of all things. What was more, it was a patronus that would conjure itself at the intrusion of someone other than its caster. Brilliance. Born from trauma. She was a true Irving.

And of course, he just had to see it for himself. Rufus knew that his niece kept an amiable with several of the older students at the school, but to think that she had managed to master such advanced charm-work in her first year. Just how much had young Gwyn been developing - and right under his nose too- without his knowledge?

As expected, she formula was rendered flawlessly. Perhaps he ought to spend more time on the sixth floor? But nothing... Nothing could have prepared him for the surprise that came after. He’d stepped into the circle and found himself literally robbed of breath as he came face to face with...

Himself! More to the point, the spitting image of himself in his animagus form. How could Gwyn have known that he took the form of an arctic owl though? Of course, she couldn’t. She had been much too young to learn the art, and so Rufus had never made her privy to his shape-shifting ability. God knew, that was Marcus’ department anyway.

Rufus’ hands and feet were afire with pins and needles. He stepped away from the circle, not taking his eyes off the specter. Joy-given-form stared back at him ominously, ready to strike at the slightest indication of malice.

“Gwyn-” her name fell from his lips in a soft whisper. He regained the full use of his senses shortly and turned towards the child. Strange... she didn’t look pleased. “Is something the matter?” he asked, concerned.

Gwyneth seemed to snap out from her stupor. “Oh, um...no,” she was looking at her patronus will not small amount of skepticism. “Except that doesn’t look like my patronus,” she stated, sounding uncertain.

“So you’ve performed the charm before this,” Rufus pressed on tentatively.

She nodded.

“Numerous times?” he asked, though he could easily guess the answer to that.

She nodded predictably. “And it’s always taken the form of a Japanese Red-headed Crane,” she said.

He stooped so that he was eye to eye with the girl. Rufus was smiling at her now and there was warmth and love in his eyes as he regarded her. “Show me,” he instructed her softly.

He watched the girl adopt that serious mask she always wore when performing for him. She raised her wand and with a confidence one would hardly have expected from such a delicate little dove, she called the incantation. Expecto Patronum~!

Silvery wisps erupted from the tip of her wand, brilliant and blazing as it shifted into the exact replica of the owl from the runic circle. It flew once around the room before its petite caster dispelled it. Clearly still confused, she looked inquiringly at her uncle.

He didn’t look disappointed. On the contrary, he looked very pleased indeed. Rufus beamed again. “Have I ever told you you’re a wasted talent in Hufflepuff?” he asked her. His smile was in his voice.

The corners of her mouth wound up into a coy smile. Gwyn felt her teeth itching with giggles. “Once or twice, I believe, uncle Rufus.”

His expression grew to that of mock-seriousness. “You’re a wasted talent in Hufflepuff,” he said, and there was nothing remotely mocking in his tone.

“But I don’t understand, uncle Rufus. Why has it changed?” she asked, not quite able to keep herself from smiling. She had come to regard that phrase as the height of compliments she could receive from her uncle; as did most of the students who received such words - who were rare, to say the least. Rufus Irving was notorious for his respect towards his colleagues.

“Ah, why indeed,” he began, sphinx-like. “Well, they say that our Patronus takes the form of the most precious entity in our lives,” he told her with a twinkle in his eye. “Your father’s Patronus, for instance, shifted on the day that you were born.”

She was crying now, she realized. Those treacherous tears, having welled up without her knowledge, now spilled onto her cheeks without her permission. She was buried amongst the folds of his robes again with two strong arms wrapped protectively around her. He smelled of wetness and of freshly-turned-earth. An enchanted silence blanketed itself around uncle and niece before the latter slowly lifted herself away from the other. “What did it change into?” she asked quietly.

“A turtle dove,” her uncle answered.

“But I don’t understand, uncle Rufus,” she was regarding the remaining owl with a strange fascination. “Who-?”

“I think you know the answer better than I do,” he told her knowingly.

The first year buried her face in his shoulder once more. “Thank you, uncle Rufus,” she whispered in his ear.

“You’re quite welcome, Gwyn,” he said, returning her hug. Carlisle’s little dove. “Now,” Rufus said, his tone personifying diplomacy. “I think it’s best we both went to bed. Seven hours, wasn’t it?”

Gwyn’s face scrunched into a small pout. She crossed her arms when she came away from her uncle - cross and indignant, but her eyes continued to sparkle with a gentle radiance - now reminded that said uncle had yet to sleep, and it was fast approaching the time she usually got up! The spitting image of Rowena Irving at age eleven. Except for her nose - she had Carilsle’s nose - and that dazzling charm - that was entirely her own.

Rufus chortled. He held out his wand and touched onto hers, erasing any trace of her patronuses from it. Just a precaution.