Someone Is Watching (Ira)

The office Farren inhabited on the 8th floor of her family's building in Diagon Alley was dark even though it was midday. The contents of the office were sparse, they'd obviously been pared down, the real contents taken away and new contents, misleading content was in boxes on the floor waiting to be unloaded.

"It will keep you safe, away from the proceedings, they say," she fumed. "You'll have a relaxing time, you can stay out of the negative press, away from questionable social choices," she huffed throwing the contents of her desk drawer into a box on the floor.

The heavy rain outside beat against her large window and she sighed leaning against the window frame and staring out into the dark, stormy sky. "I don't want to Prissy! I don't need a fleet of babysitters to keep me out of Azkaban or the headlines," she said softly to a small house elf that was sitting on the top of her desk peering at her with worried eyes. "It's just like in the war, hiding me from percieved danger out of paranoia, only this time they're taking me away from home and...well the only person who comforts me now," Farren said softly and pressed her finger against the cool glass watching as the warmth from her touch left a white mark on the cool surface.

"It's dangerous to stay here Miss Farren, your father just wants you safe," the elf offered softly looking as if she might reach out to her Mistress but instead sliding back further across the desk.

"But it's not fair for Father to be tried when it was me....it was me who falsified her Death Certificate....he was too ill to even know," Farren said trailing her finger along the glass pane. As she spoke the elf had retrieved her hat and hand bag from thin air and set them on the desk.

With a heavy sigh Farren turned and set her little black hat on her head. She felt that it looked very English and she'd be out of place from the moment she set foot in the Ilyina home. Collecting her bag she nodded to her elf and gave one final glance at her desk.
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"Here we go then, like good girls," Farren managed walking around her desk.

"Like good girls," the elf echoed and followed her toward the fireplace on the opposite wall.

Carefully Farren reached up and took a letter from the mantle. It was from Lev Ilyin, her invitation to find refuge in his home during her family's "difficult days". She focused on the description of it's location he'd written her. "Promise you'll be there to dress me for dinner?" she asked her elf.

"Of course, always Miss Farren, always," the elf said reaching out and touching the hem of her Mistress' skirt fondly like a subject would want to hold the hem of a Queen's.

"Very well then," Farren said stepping into the middle of the room not noticing the elf had to scramble out of her path.

With a snap she was gone and felt herself being hurtled across time and space. Her eyes were closed focusing on the mysterious home she'd never been to that was her destination and finally she felt herself descending.  Past mountains, over a river, down through trees, through the stone wall of a large home and then she was landing, her feet on stone.

Her vision slid into focus as her body regained it's balance and she saw a stunning foyer one might expect belonged to a Tsar. A stunning entry way, expertly appointed some centuries ago and perfectly maintained. As was customary she was greeted by a butler and shown into a parlor which was just as well appointed and grand.

She had no idea whom she was waiting for or which family member would be tasked with greeting the refugee. Her trunks had arrived the day before and surely would have been installed in her guest suite already. Would there be a formal dinner with the residents of the estate? Would she be left alone which she preferred? Would anyone speak English? Would they laugh at her Russian? Could her friends come to visit or only her elf was to be allowed? With too many questions to consider she resigned herself from thinking and decided to sit on the sofa and concentrate on the many works of art in the room, diversions, this was all about diversion.

Allowing the last note to hang in the empty air, Ira’s slender fingers lingered over the ivory piano keys.  The note trembled and then faded to silence.  Ira closed her eyes, appreciating the moment for what it was – a brief escape.  The house around her was still, almost as if it were unoccupied.  Zimapokrova was usually quiet at this time of day – Ira’s father and brother would be at the office, and her mother would likely be in her study, catching up on her correspondence.  Ira was grateful for the solitude.

With a soft sigh, her eyes fluttered open.  She allowed her left hand to fall onto her lap, while the right turned the page of her music book.  Now that she was out of school, there were only so many ways to occupy the time, but it was best to keep busy.  Partly because, if her mother found her inactive, she would not hesitate to offer a long list of ways Ira could be utilizing her time for the sake of self-improvement; but also because she did not like being idle.  It made her feel lazy, and she found that she quickly grew bored.

Generally speaking, Ira did not like being alone – she made a point of scheduling her afternoons with visits to friends and outings to Neroli just so that she could avoid it – but her mother was the singular exemption to this.  If given the option, she would certainly rather be alone.  It was not possible to spend any amount of time with Dariya without doing something to earn her criticism.  This was one of the reasons Ira liked to have a full schedule, if she could manage it, but today was the exception.  Her father had asked her for a favor – a friend of the family was coming to stay with them for a couple of weeks, and someone needed to be available to receive her.  He felt it was best that Ira do this, as she was closest in age to the young woman, and would have the easiest time of making her feel welcome.

Ira’s knowledge on the situation was only slightly more detailed than what her father had divulged – which wasn’t much.  She was familiar with the name Abercrombie, for it had appeared a handful of times in recent editions of Britain’s Daily Prophet.  She had yet to cancel the subscription she had set up almost two years ago, now, for she still clung to the fragile hope that those in charge might be overthrown by someone who had the appropriate response to magical theft.

Distracted by her train of thought, Ira did not play the next song especially well, but fortunately nobody was around to notice.  Except the butler, who, at that moment, appeared in the doorway, his eyes lowered politely to the floor.

“Yes, what is it?” she asked, placing her hands in her lap.

He informed her that their guest had arrived and was waiting in the downstairs parlour.  She thanked him.  Standing from the piano bench, she quickly smoothed her hands over her dress, before leading the way down to the first floor.

Her father had told her only that Miss Farren Abercrombie was the daughter of a business partner, and that they would be entertaining her for the next couple of weeks.  Ira imagined that much of the responsibility of this task would fall on her shoulders, and she wished that her father would trust her with more details if he was going to ask so much of her.  She could only hope that Miss Farren Abercrombie’s company wouldn’t be completely intolerable.

Stepping into the parlour, Ira’s eyes landed on the tall, slender form of a young woman in an elegant black dress.  She smiled warmly, stepping toward her guest.  “Iraida Lvovna Ilyina,” she said, offering her hand.  “You must be Farren Abercrombie,” she said in English.  “It is good to meet you.”

So this was her jail was it? Farren glanced around the parlor and immediately questioned the taste of any society that set so much stock in over gilding things that weren't from a French palace. The Russians certainly had their flare. WHile she favored the older stylings of her own country estate she supposed there were worse prison cells to be had in Azkaban.


As she waited her mind wandered, as it always did, to the events of the last year. FOrced into seclusion during the war to distance herself from her mother and former fiancé's reputation she'd grown bitter and restless. The months of isolation ended even more quickly than they'd begun the moment her father had returned from the Battle with her mother's corpse. Then the lies had begun and she along with her executive board had thrown what was left of the family into a massive PR overhaul. Well as much overhaul as a man mentally disturbed by his wife's death could handle. After month's of pussy footing around their affairs the charges had been called.


She couldn't help but wonder how much they'd create in order to see an Abercrombie, any Abercrombie put to justice. The thoughts plagued her constantly and it was rare for her mind to truly be at ease. It was rare that she could sleep through a night. It was only when her dear cousin was with her to soothe her that she could find respite from the violent, heart breaking memories the war had created and fears of what was still to come.


The door across the parlor opened and she snapped out of her thoughts. Her attention turned at once to the door. An elegant young woman, probably near her own age was entering. Ren watched her carefully before rising from her perch on the edge of the sofa. Farren took the extended hand and gave it a delicate shake as she nodded in greeting, "Yes I am Farren, thank you for receiving me," she said politely. Offering a forced little smile she stepped back, giving way for their to be room for both to sit on the sofa if her host were to invite her to sit. "It's nice to meet you. My father sends his appreciation as well.

Farren Abercrombie was not plain in appearance by any standards; that much was certain.  Her strong jaw and high cheekbones were almost too hard for Ira’s tastes, but in combination with her soft-coloured eyes and full lips, the overall effect was striking.  She held herself very well for being so tall, in Ira’s opinion.  Most girls of such a height appeared gangly, awkward and unnatural, but Farren managed to balance her height elegantly.  And though she certainly looked for it, Ira could find no fault with her attire.

As a matter of fact, Ira wasn’t completely sure she didn’t feel threatened by Farren’s exceptional appearance.  Though she rarely doubted her own beauty, she did have to wonder if she would appear meek when compared to their guest.  If, next to Farren’s tall and slender frame, Ira would seem stout and graceless.

“Of course,” she replied with the same warmth, allowing none of these concerns to translate into her tone.  “We are happy to help.  My father and mother send their apologies for not being able to greet you themselves, as they had business to attend to this morning, but they do hope that they will see you at dinner tonight.”  She offered a small, rueful smile on her parents’ behalf.  “Can I offer you anything?  Tea, coffee?  Or, if you’d rather rest, I would be happy to show you to your quarters.”

To say she felt awkward would have been an understatement. She was obviously just an after thought and though she was the heir to one of the most influential families in Europe it was apparent that she, the second in line, was just another small thing going on. She didn't know what she had expected but this was all so very awkward now and Ira being so nice was only making her feel more awkward. What was her father thinking? Why did they always try to sweep her under the rug so no one important noticed her? They were more than happy to shove her in front of the cameras and onto red carpets but the second she might actually matter they shipped her off into oblivion far from anyone's mind.

"Tea would be lovely," she said forcing a smile and wish it wasn't impolite to ask for a bottle of their best vodak and shot glasses. She shifted almost nervously before returning to her original seat. Mindlessly she smoothed her skirt biding time, hoping the awkwardness would subside. What was she going to do here? Just wait for the hearing to be called and everyone go witness but her? What if the poor Capps were called? What if her father was held in prison? It was just all so miserable and being shipped off like a bothersome pet was most frustrating.

Pursing her lips Farren looked at a random spot on the wall over her hosts shoulder as she thought of something to say that didn't come out as petulent. "I shouldn't be disrupting your routines for too long. THere is a week long engagement in London I'm supposed to....avoid," she glanced at her hosts face wondering if she had any idea why she was here. If she knew maybe she knew some ridiculous version. Pursing her lips she considered for a moment how she should conduct herself. Should she play innocent? Should she act as if this were just some bizarre vacation?

Finally she offered Ira a smile, "You know, I prefer not to tip toe around the obvious. I suppose you have some inkling as to while I'm here or at least suspicions. I don't regret anything I've done and I'd rather you know the whole truth," she was calmly talking about everything at hand like it was no big deal like discussing the weather or what flowers should be in a fall bridal bouquet. "Actually I'm here because this week is the week of the war trials in which my family is being questioned for our involvement with the war. Though they tried to keep me separate from the war it was most impossible to do so. However, if we were all to be sentenced and jailed then there would literally be no one from my paternal line left. Everything would pass to my uncle and his horrid German wife. So the entire war I was kept under cover by my own family. They wouldn't allow me to be marked nor was I allowed in the public eye but in fact....under the nose of everyone with the full support of my family I was completely involved. My father is going to testify about my mother's death."

Farren stared at her unblinking realizing this confession might make her insane, or at lease the stoic way she responded was insane. Maybe she belonged in jail with everyone after all but she'd only done what she had for her family to survive. Her expression was blank and her tone never varied from the soft, proper tone she always had and she continued matter of factly, "They think that he plotted to falsify her death by constructing false records of her time of death and false evidence to try and prove that she was alive after Hogwarts and thus wasn't at the battle. Or at least...fled early or something like that. They're going to question him and I suppose if his answers and witnesses aren't sufficient he'll be jailed and put on trial. Only...all of the false trails, forged death certificates and doctors orders weren't his plan, they were mine."