There be none of England's daughters who can show a prouder presence …
--- Elizabeth Barrett Browning
*****
England, 577 CE
Blood.
It was all and everything, Alwynn reflected as she sank to her knees amid a sea of scarlet; it formed life and death and its uses were too numerous and sacred to name. Surrounding her was blood, the blood of her family and kin and that of her enemies as the sounds of battle raged in her ears despite her attempts to drive it away as had her parents' loyal retainers. Her parents. Mother. Father.
Those whose blood ran in her veins.
And in whose blood she now knelt.
Nearby, her father lay dead on the field where he had fallen at the lake's edge, and her mother was collapsed beside him, bleeding profusely from wounds gained while trying to lift his body into the boat. Such an unlikely pair of lovers. Devoted, though, even to the end.
A watery rattle told her that Maeve still clung to life, though likely not for much longer. "Daughter … "
Alwynn gripped her mother's hand. "Rest easy, Mother, please … "
A slight shake of the head followed by a grimace. "You … you know … what must be done."
"Mother - "
"You will do … it is necessary, my daughter. Avalon calls for me, for you … "
It was true. Alwynn shuddered as the siren song of her home called to her once more, beckoning for the last time to those who belonged to the sacred isle. Though the lands of her father were hundreds of miles from Camelot, home of her cousin the High King, she knew Arthur had fallen … knew also that her aunts had passed on and that her dear cousin Morgaine would see their True Home only once more. Avalon had made its choice, as had many others of her family.
Now she must make hers.
"Alfred, your dagger," she requested softly, knowing without even turning her head or shifting eyes that her siblings had joined her. The ragged breathing of her oldest brother, now the Lord of the Fortress, was the only indication of his feelings; he well knew what was to come and what must be done. She knew he would not fail, but she would not leave him and those yet unborn without protection, not if such a thing was in her power to grant. As the hilt slid into her hand the smooth silver of the blade glinted white under the first light of the moon and reflected the slithering runes that adorned her skin, Alwynn of the Hawke's Fortress, Priestess of Avalon, prepared to work magic the likes of which had not been seen or heard of in many a year. She straightened her back and tipped her head to the moon as she called on the magic — that of blood, flesh, earth and spirit — she had learned at the knee of the Lady of the Lake, magic she had hoped to never use.
"All life is a cycle," she intoned. "We are born, we live, we create, we die, and are born anew. Tonight death surrounds our family and threatens to disrupt that cycle before it can continue to begin — tonight death lingers longer than it should — tonight the cycle must be restored and protected.
“May the Goddess understand my deeds," Alwynn whispered as she sank the dagger into her mother's breast.
Maeve's eyes shone with thanks before life faded from the soft green orbs, and a sharp cry escaped from one of the younger children. The truth of the situation was now finally clear to any who remained in doubt.
Blood gushed as Alwynn withdrew the dagger and slashed open her arm and that of her brother, Alfred, and that of each of her siblings. Tears ran openly down her face though her voice never wavered, never cracked, as she wove magic into her words and bound their blood to the land.
"This is our blood," she told them. "This is our life and the life of our future, we who are the scions of the Sacred Isle of Avalon and the Lords of the Hawke's Fortress. This place is the earthly domain of our line and will always remain so, unto the thousandth generation. Here will we be born, live and die and no one shall take it from our blood. Nor will any enemy set foot upon the borders of our home, and those who do will face the burning wrath of the Daughters of the Blood."
Alwynn looked to her brothers. "I charge thee, Alfred, Lord of the Hawke's Fortress, and all others of the Line, to remember that the ways of the Fortress are the ways of Avalon. Even should the interlopers succeed in forcing the ways of Rome upon the whole of Britain, remember that true power lies within the Daughters of the Blood. Honour your sisters and daughters as you shall your heir, for in the goodness of time they shall restore you to Avalon. Trust not the invaders from afar but remember that our allies are those closest at hand — those of the bees, of the burrow, of the looms, and of the crucibles."
Alfred bowed his head and clasped his fisted hand to his heart in acknowledgment and acquiescence.
"And Tamsyn," she whispered to the small girl clinging to her skirts. "My little sister … you have not yet seen five years of life and still I, like our Lady Mother, must leave you. My heart aches more for you than any other for you should have seen Avalon and now you shall not. The magic of Merlin is all you shall know, all any of you shall know, 'til a Daughter of the Blood embraces the gifts of Avalon. But know this — the Goddess will always be here though Her form may change. Trust in Her and seek Her ways when you are able and one day, my darlings, Avalon will return to this world."
With this Alwynn stood and stepped from her family into the boat even as her brothers lifted the bodies of their parents and moved towards her as if to send them to their true home.
"No," she whispered and they stopped. "Our Mother has found Avalon in death and our Father's place was ever here … let their ashes mingle together here where they made their lives."
"If it is your will," Alfred responded, knowing without fail that even now his sister spoke for Avalon.
"It is. Farewell … "
Tamsyn watched through her tears as her sister's boat floated toward the eventide moon and vanished into the mists. A great rumbling echoed in her ears and sadness flooded her as she felt, rather than heard, Avalon disappear from the world of men and magic. Everything would change, she thought as one of her brothers lifted her into his arms. Everything had changed.
Avalon was no more.
*****
Hawke's Fortress, England, 1129 CE
A page panted heavily as he rounded the bend in the stairs and flung open the door to the solar, so astonishing its occupants that the young girl yelped mid-sentence and a small tin box sprouted legs and scurried away under the table. A boy in a green linen tunic laughed, but the one he had come to find only set aside her scroll and rose to her feet with a question on her lips.
"What has happened?"
"Riders, my lady," he panted as he pressed the long cylinder into her hands. "They approach from the south."
The woman crossed to the southernmost window and raised the spyglass to one eye as she surveyed the countryside for miles around. At first she saw nothing of note but the land and the fields, their contents nearly ripe for the harvest. She clucked tongue and looked once more after whispering under her breath. Riders, yes, a single man with what could pass for a small army or very large hunting expedition and using a detailed glamour to keep any chance passersby from seeing naught but a traveling lord and his few men-at-arms. Under most circumstances she would simply turn a blind eye and return to teaching her niece and nephew, but the times had become treacherous and this particular group was riding straight for the borders of the Hawke's Fortress.
And she recognized that banner.
"I want an armed escort ready now," she told the waiting page. "We'll meet them at our borders to determine if he wishes to parley."
The page nodded and fled the room at an even faster pace than the one upon which he'd entered, while the woman turned to the children only to find a mutinous face.
"I am Lord here in my father's absence," he reminded her haughtily.
Lady Eleanor merely raised an eyebrow. "Aye, nephew, you are. And were this a simple matter of a stray rider or even a retinue of our Muggle enemies I would allow you to ride at my side as your father's emissary, but the riders who approach are wizards. I'll not expose you to such danger, especially not from this one … he must have spies watching our borders."
"Why?" the boy asked.
His sister snorted. "How else would he have known that Father had departed?"
The boy looked subdued. "Where has Father gone?"
"To the Northlands to see your cousin Rowena," Eleanor answered absently as she led them through the labyrinthine passages to the Great Hall. "Something about that school she has helped found … "
"Will we attend?"
"Aye, Robert, you shall."
"And what of me, Aunt?" the girl demanded. "Will I not also be allowed to be schooled as my brother and other young witches?"
Eleanor stopped at the entrance to the Hall and gazed over her shoulder at her niece. "Nay, Gisela. Your father has asked me to see to your education — "
"But — "
"'Tis settled," Eleanor interrupted. "You are a Daughter of the Blood, Gisela, as am I. There are things that only I can teach you, things you must learn if you are to teach later Daughters and protect our blood."
Gisela closed her mouth and looked at once chastened and excited. Yes, she had been chastised by her cherished aunt, but for her father's sister to speak of the Blood could only mean that she was now old enough to begin those lessons. And she had so eagerly awaited the day she would be deemed ready to begin following in the footsteps of those who had gone before, to become what her aunt and so many others were. To gain the knowledge and power that was not only a birthright but earned and deserved …
To be that much closer to Avalon.
"Stay with Renny," Eleanor told Robert as she finished fastening all but her veil and began tugging Gisela into her outer robes and cloak.
"I am to accompany you?" Gisela whispered in amazement.
Eleanor looked sadly upon the expression of happiness and incredulity that passed over her niece's face. To have to begin to learn so young. Still …
"Aye, Gisela. If I am to begin your training then you should know what it is we must needs do upon occasion. You should see the power the Daughters wield in defense of Hawke's Fortress."
And Avalon, though such went unspoken.
Perched upon horses, the well-armed group arrived with enough time to watch the final approach of the invaders from the top of a windswept hill. Gisela, acting on her aunt's instruction, kept her silence. She observed each movement, noted every word and studied the dynamics of the situation with the same intensity she brought to her other studies. And while she did so, she also noted how those around her reacted as well. I do as you instruct, she thought without even realizing the irony of her silent actions.
"My lady, who rides towards these lands?" one of the men-at-arms asked. It was Godwin, her father's chief lieutenant, she realized; Gisela had not known he had remained. "I know not that banner, and I have never in thirty years strayed from your brother's side, nor your father's before."
A bitter smile twisted Eleanor's lips. "It is the banner of Antoine de Malfoi, a young upstart wizard with delusions of grandeur. His father came over in the Conqueror's baggage."
Nothing more needed to be said, though Gisela noted that her aunt's hand rested on the hilt of a dagger. Strange, she thought. If they feared an attack, why did Eleanor insist upon her presence?
As the party neared the border a single man broke ranks and rode forward, flanked by two of the burliest looking men Gisela had ever seen in her eight short years. Eleanor also rode forward, flanked by Godwin and another man whose name slipped her mind, and at a discrete signal she, too, inched slightly ahead of the escort though not as far as the others. She watched in awe as Eleanor, brown curls that escaped her veil blowing in the wind, lifted her chin and boldly began the exchange.
"What matters have been wrought, Antoine de Malfoi, that you would bring armed wizards and men to the borders of the Hawke's Fortress?"
"I come with Royal Authority," he replied smoothly. "Hawke's Fortress — "
"Is closed to you and yours," Eleanor interrupted, her voice cold. "As well you know."
Antoine de Malfoi was unable to mask the irritation that crossed his face. "Surely, Lady Eleanor, you may speak for yourself now that your keeper has departed," he sneered, his emphasis making her tighten her hold on the dagger. "A union between our two houses would be most pleasing and advantageous, as I know you have been told. You are no longer of an age to be bound by your brother's word. Why, lady, do you continue to allow him to speak on your behalf?"
A smile played along the edges of Eleanor's lips and de Malfoi looked pleased until the smile gave way to great peals of laughter, so great that she dismounted rather than risk falling from her pillion.
"My brother, de Malfoi, does not speak for me," she said, once she had regained her breath. "He merely recounts my wishes and abides by them as well. All the words he has spoken on the subject of my marriage have been my own."
"You cannot mean — "
"I do," Eleanor replied, the steel in voice all too apparent. "And that is all I shall say, de Malfoi. Take your men and leave this place."
"Nay," he snapped. "I have royal approval for the marriage and I shall proceed."
Eleanor snarled. "You have no royal writ and such an excuse is ludicrous. Leave now, before I show you why not even kings will force those daughters of the Hawke's Fortress."
"This takes too long," de Malfoi muttered to his compatriots. "Forward and engage her men while I secure Lady Eleanor."
Gisela watched as, simultaneously, the two brutes began to charge and her aunt sank to the ground. Distant though she was, she nevertheless saw Eleanor lightly slash the dagger across the base of her palms before placing them flat on the ground. The air seemed to change suddenly, as if a storm was blowing up, and the two men paused for a moment —
And then they were screaming in agony as they began to burn.
"Blood to blood, from the first to the last," Eleanor recited softly as she watched the two men fall from their mounts to writhe on the ground. "No enemy shall set foot, by means fair or foul, on the grounds of the Hawke's Fortress lest they feel the burning wrath of the Daughters of the Blood."
Gisela shuddered as the magic swept through her, urging her to spill her blood and strengthen the spell and drive the usurpers from their shores. No, she struggled against the magic, I can't, I don't know how —
"Leave, de Malfoi," Eleanor whispered as Godwin levitated the two men onto the other side of the border.
"What did you do?" he hissed. "What dark magic? What is wrong with them?!”
Brown curls whipped about her face as Eleanor spoke. "I said leave. Leave this place and never return, lest ye wish to be burnt to ashes."
"They shall recover."
De Malfoi looked startled as Godwin spoke, his soft voice full of determination and knowledge, though Gisela still marveled at the way certain people had of conveying a measure of their knowledge through their voice. "They may not be as they were, but recover they shall. Now, do as my lady bid. Leave this place."
The wizards behind de Malfoi had been inching slowly toward the road since Eleanor first began to laugh, and now many turned and rode hard for the road or simply Disapparated, leaving the Muggles amongst them screaming and riding away as if chased by the very devil. A few of those loyal to de Malfoi had remained, but at this they simply retrieved their injured companions and awaited orders.
"Go," de Malfoi hissed at them.
They obeyed at once, popping out of existence with little ceremony and no fuss, and Antoine de Malfoi turned to give Eleanor one last look before following suit.
The moment all the would-be invaders had departed Gisela slid off her pillion and started toward her aunt, sinking to her knees beside the older woman just as Godwin knelt at Eleanor's other side.
"I felt it," she told her aunt.
"I know."
"Why?"
Eleanor turned to face her niece and, for the first time, Gisela saw how pale the usually rosy woman had become. "You know the answer to that," she chided as Godwin helped her to stand. "You are of the Blood."
Gisela nodded slowly. "You could have killed them."
"Aye, that I could."
Gisela shivered as she looked out over the expanse of land and began to understand the terrible depths to which her aunt and those who had gone before must go to protect the Hawke's Fortress. Her teeth clanged together and her lips trembled with the certain knowledge that one day it would be she who turned men away from their borders. Why had she wanted this? How could she still want it?
"It is in your blood, little one," Godwin whispered.
"And at times, necessary," Eleanor reminded her.
Gisela nodded and allowed the veteran warrior-wizard to boost her back up onto her horse and pillion as they set out for the Hall. However, she couldn't resist one last look over her shoulder at the desolate seeming spot before they topped the hill —
The air crackled in anticipation and she shivered.
One day, yes.
But not today.
*****
Hawkeforte, England, June 1919 CE
"You are … concerned about the match?"
A snort was followed by the echo of delicate porcelain clanging against glass as Lady Eustacia Hawkeforte, the Countess of Hawkeforte for some five years, raised golden brown eyes to her confidante, whose normally merry blue orbs were unusually blank.
"Concerned would appear to indicate that I have reservations, but am not opposed."
"And?"
"Damn it all, Albus," Eustacia cried as she rose from her seat in a whirl of silken skirts. "I'm completely opposed! I loathed the idea when it was first raised and I hate this proposed marriage entirely! By the gods!"
Albus Dumbledore watched as his friend seemed to collapse inward and he started to rise just as she sank back into her chair. "I'm not concerned, Albus," she whispered. "I'm terrified."
"Terrified for Julianna or for Hawkeforte?" he asked shrewdly.
A bitter laugh escaped her throat. "I wish I could say for Julianna, but the two are inextricably bound together, old friend, you know that. Both."
"Why?" he questioned softly, his hand moving to cover hers. "Julius is perhaps not the easiest man to live with, but he is an honorable one — "
"Honorable," she spat. "How is he honorable? Oh, don't look at me so, Albus. I'm not treading on his character, Circe knows I've no room to do so, but how can he do this?"
At the almost-but-not-quite pleading tone he pursed his lips and asked the question that had been plaguing him for months. "How can he do what, Eustacia? Why are you so opposed to her marrying Julius? It's not that he's a Slytherin - Merlin knows, you're worse than he in that respect — and surely it's not that he's a Marvolo."
A strangled sound emerged from her throat and his eyes narrowed. "Or is it?"
Eustacia leaned back into the deep back of the chair and sighed. "Partly, Albus, partly."
"For Merlin's sake, why?" he demanded. "Surely you don't think — "
"That he sees Julianna as the mother of his heir?" she finished. "I can't be sure. You know as well as I that he only had one child — the girl, Catherine — by his first wife, and while he's spoken of taking the same path I have and allowing her son to become his heir … "
"But Julius is already screening prospective young wizards," Albus remarked. "Not that I approve, mind you, but I suppose his reasoning does make sense. Few pureblooded wizards will allow their firstborn son to take on the name of its mother's family, so finding one is likely a difficult prospect."
Eustacia smirked in response. "Of course, Albus, that's true enough, but we are speaking of House Marvolo … "
Albus sighed.
"To be quite honest," she continued, the sarcasm dropping from her voice, "I don't fear Julius Marvolo as I do my sister. Julius I could handle were it ever to become necessary."
"I imagine so," he chuckled. "Julius has often told me — in strictest confidence, mind you — that you are the one person with whom he hopes never to duel. You're much too similar, the two of you, Slytherin to the core … "
"Oh, yes," she sighed. "Julianna, however, has an honor that goes deeper than even my devotion to Hawkeforte, which many have rightly said is limitless. She will eventually feel that she has a duty to give him a child and that is what terrifies me."
The near silence in the room was deafening; only the tick of the clock and the whisper of a breeze from the open window broke the vacuum of words. Albus closed his eyes and tried desperately to see —
Nothing.
He opened his eyes to find Eustacia smiling at him sadly. "It matters not, Albus. I know my sister; I know what she'll do if given the opportunity. My fear is that Julius Marvolo will do nothing to stop her."
"Surely not … "
Eustacia nodded. "She's too weak to bear children, Albus. So weak that no remedy, Magical or Muggle, can help her … a child would kill her."
"So the illness that claimed Josiah … "
"Is hers as well," Eustacia replied. "Fitting, in a macabre fashion, as they were twins. We've known since the day they were born that if she were to live she would be unable to bear children, lest she die."
Albus took a deep breath and exhaled slowly as he let the pieces come together in his mind. "There are no more Daughters of the Blood."
"No," she confirmed. "And I had but two sons by that blasted cousin of mine. They are Marcus Hawkeforte's one decent act, although I do wish he had given me a girl as well. Oh, Albus, don't look at me that way. There was no choice after Josiah died and the title passed to Marcus."
"Was there not?"
He stared hard and she looked away. "I could have given up on the title, yes; none of our lands were entailed and neither were they tied to the title and the terms of my late father's will were quite specific. Marcus would have gained an empty title, so he was as anxious to marry me as I was to wed him. If we used each other at least it was by mutual consent, and I wanted my line, the line of Alfred, Bronwyn, Graine, Eleanor, Robert, Gisela, Ursula, Isobel, and Marius to retain the title *and* the land."
Albus' blue eyes held hers steadily. "Was it worth what has come to pass?"
Eustacia tipped her in consideration. "Do you know, Albus, I'm not quite certain on that mark. Yes, my son is Earl of Hawkeforte. However, neither he nor his brother has more than a quiver of magic — and even that is fleeting. I have no daughters and to give birth to a legitimate child I would first have to remarry, which is highly improbable. And now Julianna proposes a marriage that will surely lead to her death. Was it worth it? I still do not know."
"Do you resent her?"
"No," came her immediate, unswerving answer. "I've always known I would marry and produce children, but I expected that I would wed outside the family and produce daughters who would eventually live at Hawkeforte. Do I blame, do I resent my sister? No. I blame my father for not remarrying. I blame Josiah for not having the decency to produce an heir before he died. But I do NOT blame Julianna."
Albus simply looked at her.
She sighed. "I suppose I just expected her to stay here. Not since Tamsyn has there been only one Daughter. It gets lonely, Albus, with just the boys … Peter is barely a year old and Benedict only three … "
Eustacia seemed to deflate before him but after a moment she roused herself and a determined, almost manic gleam lighted her eyes. "But I have Hawkeforte, and one day my sons will marry and produce children … and the line will be restored."
"And Julianna?"
"Oh, Albus," Eustacia smiled as she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed gently. "You dear, sweet man … why couldn't Julianna have loved you? I would not have feared had she announced she intended to marry you."
"Ah, Eustacia, I could never feel such love for Julianna, jewel that she is," he replied as he returned her affectionate embrace. I could never feel for her what I've felt for you, he thought sadly.
On a cold, gray morning the following February, Albus Dumbledore decided that either Eustacia was an excellent Arithmancer or she had more talent in Divination than she had ever shown in school. He watched as several of the magical world's greatest gathered to bid a final farewell to Lady Julianna Hawkeforte Marvolo and her stillborn daughter. Through the haze of fog and smoke from the bier he could see that his old friend was but a mere shadow of his former self, and that young Catherine was upset and angry with her father. Others whispered about the mysterious weakness that had claimed Julianna and her twin, or bandied about more tales of how her sister had poisoned a useless Muggle husband.
In the months that followed Albus watched in despair as the woman he loved shut down and became a cold, glittering schemer who cared for nothing but Hawkeforte. And as he visited the Hall to celebrate young Benedict's fifth birthday he knew that he would never return, never be able to undo all that Eustacia had wrought.
Later that night while preparing for bed, Albus Dumbledore found his first silver hair.
*****
Hawkeforte, England, 31 December 1975
Kate hated the winter holidays.
Ah, well, perhaps not *all* of the holidays, she thought as she idly swirled the wine around in the faceted crystal glass. It was certainly true that she and her roommate Liz had spent weeks laughing and decorating the rooms they shared at Oxford, and after hearing her belt out carols on the way home from the pub no one doubted her enthusiasm for the season. She also loved the wonder of Christmas, the way things seemed to glisten and sparkle and twinkle against a snowy backdrop. And unlike so many others she even loved shopping for gifts.
No, what she hated were holidays spent at Hawkeforte.
And even that wasn't quite right, although she did find the ancient Hall a bit drafty and the mix of medieval splendor and Tudor elegance not quite to her taste. While she preferred the Georgian symmetry of Hawthorn House, where she had spent her childhood (and to which she was eager to return after the wedding), her father, uncle, and brother lived here and she saw so little of them that any opportunity to visit was always taken up despite any misgivings. Even when that misgiving was the reason she rarely returned to Hawkeforte.
No, what Kate hated about holidays at Hawkeforte was her grandmother.
"Kate?"
She turned to find her fiancé slipping through the door with a grimace on his face. The sounds of the New Year's fete drifted to her ears before being muffled once again by the closed door, and she sighed as she leaned into the comfort of his embrace. "What took you so long?"
"It's a crush in there," he chuckled.
She rolled her eyes. "As if that's ever stopped you … "
"True," he admitted. "Actually, love, I was avoiding your grandmother. She's been glaring daggers at me since we arrived and if looks could kill … "
Kate tensed in his arms before releasing a shuddering breath. "Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Say such things," she whispered.
He cradled her face between his palms. "Oh, Kate … I didn't … I know she's not fond of your choice but there's nothing she can do, not really."
"Of course there is."
It was barely a whisper on the icy wind and for a moment he thought he'd imagined it, but Henry knew his fiancée too well to think such things. "Sweet Kate," he whispered. "What haven't you told me? What is it that scares you so? Why does your grandmother — who is, admittedly, a cold bitch — inspire such loathing and fear?"
Kate sighed and walked down the stone stairs toward the immaculately landscaped gardens. "Walk with me?"
Henry followed her down the stairs and wrapped an arm around her middle as they strolled through the silent, ice covered paths toward the frozen fountain at the center of the labyrinth. It was only as they passed into the high hedges that she began to speak.
"I've told you about my childhood," she started. "So you know the basics. My father wed a woman his mother believed unsuitable, and that he broke tradition by living with her at Hawthorn House because she loathed my grandmother as equally as she was hated."
"Yes," he said softly. "Though how anyone could have hated her … "
"Mum was wonderful," Kate sighed. "Robert was born in ‘48 and I followed two years later, but it was five years after that before Caroline entered the world."
Henry was startled; she rarely mentioned her sister.
"That's when the trouble started."
He looked askance at her.
Kate frowned. "My grandmother began making remarks about how we should be living at Hawkeforte and other such drivel, but it was clear she wanted us there and that only reinforced my mother's desire to stay away. Things continued on as they had. Eventually Rob went off to Eton and two years later I left for school as well, so it was just Mum, Dad and Caroline. I guess she really must have upped the pressure then because Dad started making noises about spending part of the year here since Rob and I were away … "
"But that didn't happen, right?"
She shook her head. "Mum dug her heels in and said no."
Henry prodded her arm a bit after she fell silent for a long moment and when she came out of the mental fog she shook her head ruefully.
"Sorry, it's just … Rob and I, we never knew until afterwards how tense those years were for Mum and Dad, and we never knew because we were both away when the tension broke. The summer before my lower sixth, Caroline received an invitation to a school in France, the one Mum attended before the war. Before anyone could say anything she was packed and off to Beaux … beaux something.
"And my grandmother was livid, though I didn't discover *that* until later. Livid and ecstatic, though no one ever told us why," she finished, her brow furrowed as she thought.
They passed under an arch and into the center of the maze, both stopping to stare at the frozen fountain that was still a thing of beauty even covered with ice. Kate trailed her fingers along the marble edges and brushed the snow away and took a seat on the wide ledge, patting the spot next to her and indicating he should sit as well.
"Sit down," she instructed softly.
"All right," he complied as he took the indicated seat. "Kate … what happened? I know *what* happened, but … ?"
"Rob was starting at Oxford and I was starting lower sixth," she told him softly. "Mum wrote and told me how happy Caroline was at school and I never found it strange that Caro never wrote to me herself — I assumed she was too happy, too busy, and I was probably right. Still, I was looking forward to seeing her that summer; I'd spent the previous summer abroad with friends, and she stayed in France that Christmas, so I'd not seen her since winter hols the season before."
"You couldn't have known," Henry gently chided. "Accidents happen, love, you know that."
A tear slid down Kate's face as she closed her eyes and leaned against him. "But what if it wasn't."
Henry frowned. "Wasn't what?"
"An accident."
Incredulity spread over his face as he stared down at the woman he loved. How could she … *why* would she think that?
"It sounds mad," she acknowledged. "But most people agree she killed her husband and … "
"What, beloved," he whispered. "What?"
"I *heard* her," Kate hissed, her voice low. "Afterwards, I mean. She kept muttering under her breath about success and failure in one swoop and kept berating herself, complained she was losing her touch. Dad and Rob were in shock and never noticed, but I did, especially after Dad closed Hawthorn House and moved us to Hawkeforte. I had to endure her mutterings and her more public vocalizations about which 'young gentlemen I should be considering.' Never was I so glad to return to school and my impending A-levels … "
"And afterwards?"
Kate lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "You know most of the rest. Oxford during term time, holidays with Liz in Wales or in London with Uncle Peter before he moved back here … and you."
As the snow swirled around them Henry gazed into the soft green eyes of his beloved and felt his heart pound in a mixture of love, lust, fear and understanding. He wasn't quite sure he understood everything about her or her family, but it had stopped mattering to him years ago, something that never ceased to amaze the normally detail oriented young doctor.
"I believe you," he whispered as he lowered his mouth to hers, somehow unsurprised to find he spoke the truth. "And I love you, Katherine Hawkeforte, my beautiful lady."
She smile tremulously she brushed her lips across his. "I love you, too, Henry Granger."
And as two heads bent together in silent adoration the peel of bells rang out in the silence, heralding the start of a new year.
*****
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Scotland, 1 September 1991
"I have long feared that the sins of my past would return to haunt me, and that the cost would be more than I can bear."
"Surely you jest, Headmaster."
Albus Dumbledore turned away from the window where he'd been watching the most recent class of first years cross the lake and faced the man who stood in the shadows of his office.
"No, on this matter I do not jest. In fact, I feel quite strongly that my actions, or rather, the lack thereof, have caused and may continue to cause irreparable harm."
"You are speaking of young Mr. Potter, I take it."
"No," he shook his head. "Although I do admit that he and everything surrounding what happened in Godric's Hollow weighs on me quite heavily. No, I speak of another."
A frown. "Not Malfoy."
"Hawkeforte," the Headmaster elaborated.
"Hawkeforte?" came the astonished reply. "There have been no Hawkefortes in Hogwarts, much less the Magical world, in decades Headmaster. Not since … "
Dumbledore sighed. "The death of Julianna Marvolo."
"I'd assumed they died off, as have so many others this century. Between Grindelwald and Voldemort, most of England's old Magical families have been destroyed or simply stagnated from within."
"No, the Hawkefortes still live," Dumbledore said softly. "Unfortunately, there are very few remaining and of those few only one has shown anything more than a trace of magic … and she's arriving as we speak."
"She?"
The Headmaster chuckled slightly at the sharp look his companion bestowed upon him. "Yes, she," he replied. "A Daughter of the Blood, though she knows nothing of it. Don't look so pensive Severus, you know the tales as well as I. Your mother was a Loom, after all."
Severus Snape frowned. "She knows nothing?"
"She knows her mother is a Hawkeforte," Dumbledore replied. "Indeed, she carries the name herself though she has never used it; her mother's doing, I expect.
“As to the rest," he shrugged. "There was no one to tell her. Eustacia died while she was an infant and her grandmother — Isabelle Videaux, by the by — died years before that. Benedict's heir, Robert, was killed in the Falklands during that conflict the Muggles had and Benedict himself followed not five years later. I understand Peter inherited the title and most of the property, aside from what was specifically willed to Katherine and her daughter."
Snape raised an eyebrow. "Surely her mother knows something."
Dumbledore sighed heavily. "Bits and pieces, Severus, but not enough. Isabelle kept a great deal from her eldest children when it became clear they had an insufficient level of magical ability, and she kept Eustacia away as well. No small feat, that, though she paid heavily for it in the end."
"I remember hearing of her death," Snape replied. "Nothing detailed, however, which surprised my mother at the time considering how important Mlle Videaux was during the war with Grindelwald."
"It was … she died in a Muggle automobile accident with her youngest daughter, Caroline, who had returned home from her first year at Beauxbatons."
Snape raised an eyebrow.
Albus Dumbledore seemed to deflate for a moment and Snape wondered what had happened to cause the older wizard such grief. The Hawkefortes were as Slytherin as they came, perhaps even more so than others, but it was rare for them to openly betray their cunning. For the nearly unflappable wizard to despair …
"Eustacia arranged the accident."
Ah.
"So many times, Severus," he murmured. "I've always wondered if I could have altered what happened if I had said or done something I had not, or kept my counsel rather than speak out … "
"It is unlike you, Headmaster, to dwell on things long past."
"Perhaps, Severus, perhaps," Dumbledore countered. "But Eustacia always had a way of, how do the Muggles put it? Ah, yes, getting under my skin."
And my heart, he thought sadly.
"Still — "
"It is no longer relevant. I called you here to inform you of her arrival — and no, Severus, I will not tell you her name."
Snape's mouth closed abruptly and he narrowed his eyes at the Headmaster. "And may I inquire, Headmaster, why that is? Hawkefortes *do* tend to sort into Slytherin and I will no doubt discern her identity rather quickly, as I can already anticipate which of the first years will be joining my house."
Dumbledore smiled. "She will not be joining Slytherin House."
"You know her so well, Headmaster?" The sarcasm in his voice was unmistakable and to his chagrin the older wizard simply continued to smile. "Then tell me, will this Hawkeforte prodigy defy family tradition and turn Hufflepuff?"
"Oh, I've no clue as to which House she'll Sort into," he replied. "Lemon sherbet?"
Narrowed obsidian eyes met twinkling blue in a battle of wills and were forced to concede defeat after only a few short moments. There were completely understandable reasons why Albus Dumbledore was the only wizard Voldemort had ever feared, Snape thought. Those damned merry blue eyes were enough to make any sane witch or wizard run far in the hope of escaping the sugar coated happiness that lurked within. Well, that and the steely determination. All or nothing, ramrod straight or broken — but never bending. Snape snorted inwardly. Gryffindors.
"Albus," he entreated wearily.
"Oh, I simply had a little talk with the Hat," Dumbledore twinkled.
Sheer disbelief. "You *hexed* the Sorting Hat?"
"Of course not," he soothed. "We simply had a chat and came to an understanding. Given our current state, Severus, I sincerely believe it unwise for a Hawkeforte, any Hawkeforte, but especially for a — shall we say, unenlightened — Hawkeforte Daughter to enter Slytherin House."
A hush settled over the room as Severus Snape sighed. "I know, Albus, I know. Still, it's frustrating to watch perfectly acceptable young minds go elsewhere while Slytherin is left with the dregs of the old families. Oh, yes, there are still a few who give me reason to hope — Antony Zabini's younger sister is amongst this crop of first years, and I have few doubts that she'll follow her brother and mother into Slytherin, but the rest," he shook his head. "Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson, Bulstrode, Malfoy … "
"Severus … "
Snape lifted his eyes to the unwavering gaze of the Headmaster.
"Just guide them, Severus. Try to lead them away from the path of their parents, away from the path Voldemort set for them years ago. Your best for them, Severus, is all I ask."
He nodded. "If that's all, Headmaster … "
"Yes, yes," Dumbledore waved a hand. "I'll be down in a moment."
Blue eyes watched as the younger wizard disappeared down the spiral stair before returning to their previous vigil at the window. Dumbledore smiled as he watched the children milling about at the base of the stairs and his smile grew wider as he picked out a particularly familiar set of heads — one black, one brown, and one blond. We shall see, he thought. What will we make of you? What will you make of yourselves?
I hope you are stronger than your great-grandmother, Hermione Hawkeforte-Granger, I do so hope …