[Dalemain] Sweet Dreams Are Made of This (Pyxis)

In but three hours the servants and elves of Dalemain would be rising to start another day on the ancient estate. The old grandfather clock in the hall on the second floor was just clicking it's hands past half two when the mistress of the house slinked down the dark  hall, illuminated only by the moonlight at the end of the hall. The long skirts of her gown slid over the stone floors making the sound of wind moving through the dry grasses of the glens just before winter. Midnight silk high heels dangled from the curled fingers of her left hand, the soft soles of her feet padding gently across the cold floor.  It didn't matter that it was outside of normal hours, Farren knew her Lady's Maid, Miss Sedley, would be waiting for her to return from her grand 21st birthday party.

Indeed, the lights of her parlor were up, peeking out from around the gaps between the doorframe and the old wooden double doors leading into her suite of the estate house. Though she was the lady of the house by default Farren still occupied the same suite of rooms in Dalemain she had since leaving the nursery at age 11. Her parlor was warm and welcoming despite it's large size. Magical candles burned brightly from antique fixtures around the room which was divided into three distinct areas grouped by furnishings. Nearest to the door where she'd entered was her elegant baby grand piano and a number of stands for her music, her other prized instruments kept in chests that lined the far wall. The middle of the room was the living area with plush antique Victorian furnishings grouped near the large roaring fireplace and closests to her bedroom was the area set up for study. An elegant writing desk under the far window looked out over the rolling heather, the walls seperating the bedroom and the parlor covered top to bottom with inset bookshelves filled with old impressive leather bound texts. The furnishings were bright but old, the walls covered in pale green hand painted wallpaper, the old wood floors beautifully warm and traditional were covered in various ancient rugs brought to the estate from distant lands.

She did not pause here though, even though out of her eye she saw a bedtime tea tray set on the table for her. Instead she went directly though the far doors that lead into her bedroom. A much smaller bedroom was just as lavishly furnished. Her four poster bed was carved in beautiful detail, highlights of the detail were covered with now aging gold paint. Her lush bedding, velvet and silk were a soft wheaten gold color covered by a plush velvet blue quilt atop the plush, white cotton duvet, silk pillows of gold and blue tossed in perfect form against the headboard. Apart from the bed she had a large dressing table and chest of drawers, a large full length mirror of faded gilt, and a gilded vanity with settee. Below the far window was an elegant blue velvet chaise lounge where one would assume she might laze basking in the ancient luxury she was surrounded in on a near constant basis.

Her maid appeared out of the bathroom when she heard Farren enter the room. "Misstress," she said all too cheerily for this late in the night, crossing the room to her Lady she immediately took the elegant little heels from her and set them on the floor out of the way. "How was the party?" she asked dutifully walking beside her mistress as she made her way towards her mirror and vanity. As usual her night clothes were hanging from the top of the mirror. A long, slim ivory night gown with lace detailing around the neck and hem with an accompanying, heavier, dressing gown of grey and blue velvet and silk with elegant silver buttons in the midsection.

All smiles Farren looked to her maid, "It was so lovely, I'm terribly sorry I was out so very late, you must be utterly exhausted," she said with genuine feeling for her maid. She lowered herself onto the little settee in front of her vanity, the long elegantly beaded skirt of her stunning gown pooling around her, spilling over the little seat in all directions. Immediately her maid got to work undoing her and the dressing up that had taken them no less than three hours. The pair chatted gaily as if they were old friends, which they were in some respects, as Miss Sedley carefully removed her heirloom jewels, earrings, bangles, a ring, and finally a beautiful tiara were all carefully removed from the heiress and lovingly wrapped back in their elaborate boxes or silk bags for storage by Miss Sedley as her mistress told her whom wore what and whom had been spotted snogging who.

Carefully the maid began removing the pins from her Lady's hair that had helped to hold her tiara in place as well as shape the crown of her hair for the tiara.  Just as Farren began explaining the surprise cake there was a noise from the parlor. Both women froze catching the other's eye in the mirror Farren sat before. Whom could be in the parlor? Spencer Abercrombie was surely asleep and Miss Sedley had sent all the elves to bed. But there it was, a decided knock at the door of the parlor from the hall. Looking over her shoulder into the parlor Farren's eyebrow arched. "Do you want me to go?" she asked her maid wary of what exactly was going on. Miss Sedley shook her head and setting the hair pins on the vanity she moved back into the parlor, her hand sliding into her pocket where she kept her wand. Farren craned her neck around so she could see out the bedroom door though she could not see whom was at the door. There was a faint exchange of words and she heard Miss Sedley coming back to her.

Pausing at the door her maid looked at her oddly, "Misstress..." she said her brow raising inquisitively, "It is Mr. Pyxis Hartridge Abercrombie."

How curious this was. Farren didn't respond at all for a moment as she thought. Her third cousin had been release from Azkaban nearly six months prior and since then had been convalescing in a private suite within Dalemain. Her grandfather had insisted that he come here after his release where he could recover in absolute privacy and where doctors could be kept on staff during his tenure in the family home to supervise his physical and mental recovery. Naturally he and Farren had gotten to know eachother more than they ever had before in these six months. They met at breakfast with her Grandfather and often father every morning. Then it was not abnormal for them to see eachother at later points in the day many days of the week. In the library to study, in the parlor when Farren practiced her music for the whole of the house to enjoy at their leisure, afternoon tea if Farren were home or Pyxis' mother were visiting. They enjoyed now a friendly albeit very formal relationship. For the whole of her life Farren had been much higher in rank than Pyxis whom had just been a distant cousin from a half disgraced branch of the family whom three generations ago had refused to participate in the dirty game of bloodist politics. His mother was a high born member of the Hartridge family but none the less just his mother so even at seven years his junior she had always out ranked him. Now though, not only was he the only Abercrombie of their generation to be a Death Eater, he had also been named sole heir to the Hartridge line, a standing that put him on equal footing with his younger cousin in every setting but Dalemain. It was an odd balance to learn and their lives were dictated by social protocol which made their equal standing outside the walls of this estate a very formal scenario indeed. Nonetheless, he was not the head of that family yet and she was the female head of this family, his family.

"Alright...." she finally said more than a bit confused about what in the world her dear third cousin could want at half two when he'd just seen her earlier that night at her party. "You may bring him in here," Farren said turning back to her mirror, tired of craning her neck. She knew behind her back her maid's face was twisted with conflict at the idea of allowing an unmarried man into Farren's bedroom at this odd hour.  The heiress knew that the maid would stand on the otherside of the bedroom door, ear pressed to it listening for the slightest hint of trouble. She was also too tired to bother going anywhere else to receive him. Looking at her reflection in the vanity mirror she was still admiring the perfect gown as she picked up her golden hair brush and began slowly running it through her long, dark hair.

It wasn't long before two sets of foot steps were crossing her long parlor towards her bedroom. Miss Sedley entered her bedroom and announced Pyxis though Farren didn't turn around. She continued staring into her mirror running her brush slowly through her locks. It wasn't until she heard Miss Sedley close the bedroom doors behind her that Farren caught Pyxis' reflection in her mirror. Slowly she laid her brush down on her vanity and shifted,  she pushed herself gently away from the vanity, slowly twirling on the stool so that she was facing him, her back to the mirror.

"Well..." she said raising her eyebrows in surprise at this bizarre meeting, "I wasn't expecting this, what in the world could be so interesting that it could not wait until breakfast?"

@Pyxis Hartridge Abercrombie

Dalemain Estate, England, November 2nd 2000

As he was not the guest of honour, and had the excuse of lingering post Azkaban fatigue, Pyxis had returned to Dalemain just as the old grandfather clock in the hall of the second floor struck one am. The former Deatheater had spent the night behaving like the perfect guest. Some of his evening had been spent lounging in the side parlour keeping the heiress company, at least when she was able to take a break from circling the room, while the remainder of his time was spent entertaining the guests. This entertainment came in the form of dances with the beautiful, and not so attractive, females, while sharing drinks and casual conversation with the other men. The most entertaining part of his evening had been when he received an invitation from Pierre Dumas, the most famous wizarding designer in Paris, to model for the men’s line he was releasing next spring. The Hartridge heir had turned him down. However, he had felt flattered by the request since he was still insecure about his looks feeling that he had yet to fully recover from Azkaban. His face was gaunt yet and his abs was not as toned as he would like.

The former Deatheater walked quickly as he made his way down the moon light illuminated corridor that led to the suite of rooms he was staying in. The look of concentration on his face would have made it clear that he was alert and not affected by the fatigue he had claimed over took him. The Hartridge heir had important work to do tonight, and he would not be surprised if it ended with him receiving no sleep. Pyxis had kept his word to Victoria. He had allowed Farren to live out the remainder of her childhood untroubled by the burden that came with being a part of the Deatheater remnant that was beginning to reform. Not that his cousins life had been easy. The heiress had been forced to deal with the devastating loss of her mother at the age of eighteen, and as one of the few members of their family unmarked by the Dark Lord, she had been forced to take up the burden of protecting them from the anti-traditional laws being pushed through by an increasingly liberal Ministry. In all honesty, the former Deatheater had thought it redundant to try and protect Farren from this further burden, but he had made a promise to the girl’s mother and out of respect for one of the few females he truly respected he had felt obliged to keep it.

A low sigh of relief escaped the twenty nine year old as he made his way through the double wooden doorways that led to his suite. The room which could still be considered grand was considerably less luxurious than the suites occupied by the ancient estate’s permanent residents. The ceiling was white, while the paper lining the walls was pale blue with faint white patterns throughout.  The only thing decorating these walls were the old ornaments containing magical candles to illuminate the room. At the centre of the room lay a large king sized bed with an old wooden headboard that nearly reached the ceiling of the room. The sheets were white with tasteful patterns throughout, while the head board was a taupeish yellow.  At the foot of the bed there was a large wooden set of drawers for him to place his clothes within. To the right of the bed, on the far side wall, there was a large window which allowed Pyxis a stunning view of the estate’s grounds whenever he wished. At the back of the room, facing the bed was a door way which led into the small ensuite attached the room. 

It was from this room that Pyxis’ ever dutiful valet Mr. Dosett emerged upon hearing the arrival of his master. Mr. Dosett was a relatively handsome man with dark blue eyes and a lithe build, which came from living a life involving much physical activity. It was his countenance, however, that most people remembered him for. With his twinkling eyes and full lips he had a naturally cheerful look to him, in spite of his attempts to maintain an ever professional air whilst his master was entertaining. “Good evening Harland and how are you?” Pyxis greeted in a warm address that would have surprised many who knew him. Unlike the rest of the staff at Dalemain, Mr. Dosett was in fact from the Harlington estate, and Pyxis had known the man since they were children. They had both been trained from a relatively young age for their place in society, and although they both knew there was a clear distinction between master and servant, Pyxis could not find it in him to treat the man with the cool tolerance he treated the rest of the staff with. The two proceeded to have an enjoyable conversation about the evening that had just past, whilst Mr. Dosett first laid out nightwear of Pyxis’ choosing and then helped Pyxis discard of his jacket, vest and tie.

It was then Pyxis announced “that will be all Mr. Dosett, I have some business with the lady Farren upon her return and depending on when that may be it could go into the late hours. I would not want you half asleep from exhaustion tomorrow…” The Valet frowned at Pyxis, a testament of the somewhat informal bond they shared, before voicing his protests to this plan. The man growing even more stubborn when he heard a visit to Farren’s suite would be involved. After all, as they both knew, it was rarely a good idea for a gentleman to visit a lady in her chambers, but unfortunately needs must. In the end Pyxis had conceded to allow Mr. Dosett to accompany him to outside the suite so at least he would be close in hand if needed. “Are you sure you don’t just want an opportunity to converse with Miss. Sedley?” He teased the other man. Pyxis had not been ignorant to the looks his Valet had given Farren’s lady maid from time to time. Whilst relationship amongst the staff were discouraged, as long as Harland did not allow it to affect his work Pyxis would not interfere.

It was roughly an hour later when one of the Abercrombie family elves appeared to inform the former Deatheater of Lady Farren’s return. It had been instructed to not inform Miss. Sedley, or any other member of staff, of his order for it to stay awake past bed time. After all, the less people who knew of this late night dalliance in advance the better. With graceful movements he stood from the small settee he had sat on and made his way to Farren’s room in a casual manner. The Hartridge heir having decided it was best he allow Farren some time to compose herself in spite of the urgency of the situation. When he arrived at the suite’s entrance he found himself unsurprisingly having to explain his attention to this cousin’s lady maid. “My dear Miss. Sedley, I give you my word as a gentleman and more importantly as an Abercrombie and a Hartridge I have no intention of doing anything improper to Lady Farren. I merely wish to converse with her on a matter of some importance” the woman still looked discouraged, but not truly in a position to refuse a gentleman of the house disappeared inside to announce him.

A short while later Miss. Sedley returned to inform him Farren was willing to see him. As agreed Mr. Dosett had been instructed to wait outside with Miss. Sedley, whilst their respective member of the family had their discussion. Neither looked pleased and Pyxis was certain one, or both of them, would be trying to listen to their conversation through the door way. It was then Miss. Sedley led him through his cousin’s opulent main room and into the adjoined bedroom. The Hartridge Abercrombie resisted the urge to arch a brow at Farren’s decision to hold their meeting in this setting. 

Once they were alone he smirked as he watched Farren imperviously run a brush through her hair. He was certain she intended to show him she would not be hurried on his account. More amused than anything, Pyxis opted to allow his younger cousin her little game. In the meanwhile, with a discrete flick of his wand, he conjured a mild ward to shield their conversation from eavesdroppers. As much as he trusted Harland this was hardly a conversation he wanted the servants to overhear.

It was then the Abercrombie heiress deigned to give him her attention. The birthday girl, or technically she wasn’t anymore, looking just as radiant as she had earlier this evening. “I apologise for the late hour, but there are times when one must abandon the usual rules of etiquette in order to best combat problems as they arise” the words spoken in a detached tone as he seated himself on the lounge without waiting on an invitation. “I had planned on discussing this with you in the coming days, but the little display by Miss. Wilkins’ made me decide it was best we deal with this matter as soon as possible”. Pyxis knew he was likely not making any sense to the heiress, but he felt the need to add some context to his actions before continuing. “Before the fall of the Dark Lord there were contingency plans put in place, plans that were to only be activated in the event of the Dark Lord’s fall. He of course did not know of these… He would have seen them as treason. However, your mother, a select few other individuals and I were involved. Tell me Farren, did Victoria ever discuss anything about Deatheater contingency plans with you?”

It was best to find out exactly what, if anything, Farren knew first instead of wasting time repeating information that she already knew. Although she should have known nothing, Pyxis had learnt never to underestimate his crafty younger cousin.

Having a meeting this late at night with one's distant cousin was not standard procedure. Receiving a man in your bedchamber at near dawn was even less standard. However, Farren was not phased by either of these rules for behavior and was unconcerned as she had noticed her cousin magically sealing the room. Though their eight year age difference had meant they did not have a very close relationship as children the heiress had grown rather friendly with the man since his release from prison. He was living in her house and so they had been rather forced to develop a working relationship.

She hardly spoke at breakfast until she'd taken a strong coffee and she never spoke to him before Grandfather or her Father and he never protested to being ignored. He disappeared for hours at time into his bedroom suite and parlor with no explanation and no apology for missing tea with his cousin, these  occurrences were never mentioned. Pyxis knew that Farren knew he was being briefed on the work she had been doing in the Ministry for purebloods but they both never spoke of it. On Saturday mornings Farren took her mare out for hours at a time, he avoided the stables then, an unspoken promise of privacy. He was granted access to the family archives on Mondays and she never went down there during that time despite having labeled the largest table there reserved and actively used it daily in her continued magical studies. Friday tea was taken in the conservatory and afterwards they always played cards. Farren had the first turn as a given unspoken rule each game. He liked his meat more rare and though she was served before him at meals she always took the more well done cut. Sunday morning the family walked in the gardens, Pyxis always carried Farren's cape back to the house when she grew too warm and tired of company. He allowed her little power play head games and she always politely laughed at his stories at dinner, sometimes even without rolling her eyes. They may not quite be friends yet she had determined, but they were silent partners in the same investment. Their roles in restoring their families' good names and full scope of power had silently and without acknowledgement made them allies. His change in position from a respected but disowned Abercrombie to the heir of an equal family had forced her hand in seeing him as an equal. Though she said nor signaled nothing of the sort - she hoped he had grown to recognize her as a powerful young woman rather than still seeing her as the child she once was before he was jailed and before he was an heir. There was a mutual if not undefined understanding here that she was comfortable with.

"Oh well," she said shrugging off his apology for appearing at this ungodly hour, "You best not let Professor Snape catch you," she teased dully mocking their days in Hogwarts and the strict bedroom and lights out policies. Though what trouble he spoke of she hadn't the foggiest.

Instead of taking time to let her wonder he cut to the quick. Whatever this meeting was had been prompted by stupid Nathalie? How curious. Though as always she had an unimpressed stoicism plastered to her face she was engaged now despite the hour. What did he know about that foolish child? Was she running her mouth! The idea of entertaining the thought that maybe Nathalie was involved in something she didn't know about was so repulsive she refused to let it even fully cross her mind.

Luckily Pyxis turned from one irksome topic to another. Her mother was involved as well? Death Eaters? Now this was starting to sound like a massive conspiracy theory. Immediately she was gripped with anxiety over the invocation of her mother and Death Eaters. Her brain began zipping quickly between the concepts associated with his words.

How stupid did you have to be to plan a treasonous contingency plan for The Dark Lord's fall? How did they evade detection and death for being so brazenly open to the prospect of his failure? And what did this have to do with her? She was not a Deatheater and her Father had vehemently refused to allow her to be marked or associated with their activities. He had made it clear that the DE were there to fight for her future.  If anything she was a protected citizen in the Dark Lord's perfect society. A daughter of the blood, a young and fertile heiress who had the capacity to begin in the repopulation of the British pureblood race.

She was either to be a highly cherished Alpha, the first in a long line of new age purebloods in their restored world under Lord Voldemort. Or a beautifully tragic Omega, one of the last true purebloods born before their kind's extinction was expedited by the muggleborn governance of their homeland. There was no logical place in which she was associated with the likes of the Deatheaters. She may have honored them as fighters for the cause, she may have taken pride in her association, and she certainly derived a great sense of identity from being the only child of one of the causes prolific martyrs - but, but, she was not a Deatheater in any world.

Her eyebrow arched as it always did when she was posed with an irksome or puzzling quandary. Pyxis Abercrombie was asking her if her mother had discussed contingency deatheater plans? It was almost laughable, almost. Farren very quickly began to piece together memories in her mind that simultaneously wove into outlandish theories. Two stuck out in her mind the most, either her mother had not told her yet, or her mother hand as subtly as possible laid bread crumbs for her leading her to someone who would tell her. It wasn't Pyxis if that theory was at all true.

She pursed her lips for a moment scowling slightly, "My, my Pyxis," she mused casually slicing much of the tension of the situation, "you are so very interesting when you aren't being a dull as toast reformed man being groomed for his place in the world." Her teasing was biting, he clearly knew a great deal more than her and she didn't like an instant inequity.

There was a seed of suspicion though. This sounded to some extent like non-sense. If for no other reason then if it were true that there had been a contingency, someone would have snitched and the offenders would be dead. If people betrayed their own families to Voldemort how did these people get away with it? All of this could be a trap perhaps? Had Pyxis been turned while in Azkaban and everything he was doing was a grand ploy to sink their family and land them all in jail? She didn't think such a thing could be the case but wouldn't not keep this in the back of her mind.

She scoffed at his absurd line of questioning. "Really Pyxis?" Her tone incredulous, "My mother never spoke of the Death eaters in such contexts to me. You know I was not allowed any involvement with them for fear we'd be left with no family member living outside of Azkaban."

Her bright blue eyes narrowed slightly. She had no idea what this was about. What her mother or Nathalie had to do with anything. The deatheaters were over and contingency plan or not she didn't know what the point was anymore unless the death eaters were going to become political agents instead of a band of soldiers and even then it seemed like a bizarre far flung absurdity.

"So what is this about?" She demanded, sounding tired for the first time all night. "I've had a fairly lovely day and conjuring up thoughts of my mum and death eaters is not a very good birthday gift."

Pyxis smirked when he heard Farren’s reference to Severus Snape and their former time at Hogwarts. Although, technically, they had never attended together, as their age difference meant Pyxis had already graduated by the time Farren began her magical education. His days at Hogwarts seemed like an entirely different lifetime to the former Azkaban inmate. They had been before his training in Occlumency and Legilimency, before the war, before the devastating death of his Uncle and before his incarceration in Azkaban. The pureblood heir found himself momentarily musing on how much he had changed since those days. Back then he had been even more head strong, prouder, and most importantly naïve. He had been an idealist who thought he knew it all, but in reality he didn’t know anything about the devastating effects of war, or what it meant to suffer. Pyxis hoped his experiences made him wise enough to better aid, in his lifetime goal of, preserving the ancient cultures of the magical world he and his family held dearly.

The man quickly snapped himself out of such thoughts knowing that this was too important an encounter to allow himself to get lost in reminiscences of his past. The pureblood smirked to himself as he noted the stoic look on the beautiful heiress features. Even without resorting to usage of the mind arts, he was confident that Farren’s façade was masking a deep rooted curiosity. He had gotten to know the birthday girl during the past few months he had resided at Dalemain, and as such, knew that she hated not being kept informed about everything of note. After all, the younger Abercrombie was not an air head. She was shrewd and would understand that knowledge was power. It was power to use against others and gave one the power needed to defend themselves against outside forces. For instance, some of their family’s best political moves had only occurred due to their allies warning them of an enemy’s move in advance.

The pureblood heir allowed himself a chuckle as the heiress poked fun at the persona he had been projecting since his release from Azkaban. The former Deatheater had no problem admitting to the fact that playing the naïve little socialite, who only wanted to atone for his wicked past, made for a dull time, but alas circumstances dictated that he play the role he had carefully constructed with the aid of both the Hartridge and Abercrombie’s. The man listened in silence as Farren proceeded to deny knowledge of the plot he spoke of. He was not surprised. While her sleeper status meant telling Farren made Victoria immune to the contingencies the wakers had put in place to ensure the continued secrecy of their plans the woman had only involved Farren with the utmost reluctance. After all, as Farren said, the Abercrombie line needed to be protected and keeping the family’s heir away from the action was the best way to do that. However, times had changed, the Deatheaters, if the wakers could even continue claiming such a name, had to change their methods of dealing with the muggle born problem. They had to move from violence to diplomacy and that was work Farren was more than capable of aiding them with.

“Technically your birthday ended just under three hours ago” he commented with the slightest hint of a smirk on his handsome features. The words were spoken in a casual tone, as though the point being made was of little importance. “I did not think you would know of the plot, but I have learnt not to underestimate your ability to access information you should not know of”. Again the words were spoken with a smirk, and he allowed Farren to decide whether to take his comment as a compliment or insult. In truth, it was a compliment, Pyxis valued people with cunning and the ability to move beyond the restrictions placed around them.

“It occurred in the final year before the Dark Lord’s fall” the twenty nine year old opted to get straight to the story rather than waste time reiterating facts he had already shared with the twenty one year old. “There was a group of Deatheaters, that included key figures such as your mother, her old friend and my mentor Gaius Purcell, and Dermod Larkin Morfessa who recognised the very real possibility that the Dark Lord would lose the war”. The words were spoken in the formal aristocratic tone that he often used to mask emotion. Even now, several years after the man’s death, Pyxis felt uncomfortable discussing a plot the Dark Lord would have construed as treason. He also knew that as the daughter of a Deatheater Farren might feel disgusted with their actions and therefore decided to try and justify their behaviour. “What you have to understand is the fact that the Dark Lord was behaving in an erratic matter. His obsession with Potter was leading him to make hard to fathom choices such as disappearing from the country for long periods of time when we needed him most. It was obvious to anyone who knew the man well that Potter had blinded him, made him lose touch of the intelligence and cool analytical nature that made him the most powerful dark wizard of our age”. Pyxis finished the explanation with a deep breath before purposely pausing to allow Farren time to assimilate the information he had conveyed so far.

The Deatheater crossed his left leg over his right before waving his wand and casually conjuring a cup of tea from the kitchen to sip on. Finally, when he deemed enough time had passed, he continued “So we decided that new recruits, members of the next generation who were too young to be marked at the time, but sympathetic to the cause, would need to be brought into the cause to continue our work if needed. Each Deatheater was allowed to pick individuals who fit the criteria and your mother’s choice was you” the last said in a soft tone as he eyed the younger woman. He was sure that this must have been a lot for Farren to process, that she would probably find it hard to believe. He also hoped that knowing that her mother considered her worthy of such a role would act as a comfort to the younger Abercrombie. “Due to the death of your respective Deatheater parent I have been assigned with the task of initiating you and young Nathalie. I explained the situation to her in August” the last offered offhandedly as an explanation for the fact that Miss. Wilkins presence had been the event that led to him arriving in her bedroom at such a horrid hour.

It was then that Pyxis stepped forward and grabbed the younger woman’s arm. He smirked before placing his wand on the inside of her left arm just above her elbow. It was the spot he could sense Victoria had placed Farren’s mark. “This is going to burn, but it will pass” he warned before beginning an unexpectedly long incantation. The purpose of the spell was to reverse the necromantic rites the group had agreed to use to conceal the mark from traditional surveillance spells. Once he was finished he stepped back and allowed Farren to see for herself as a tattoo of several wild flowers came into sight. 

Farren listened in silence to the almost unbelievable tale Pyxis was laying out for her. The story was hard to wrap ones head around when the tales of the Death Eaters had been so pervasive in her life and the control of The Dark Lord had been so complete on them. How anyone had managed to plan something remotely treasonous and not end up dead was shocking. How more than one person, people so close to him such as her mother and Dermod had managed it she had no idea. There were too many questions and theories one could build and deconstruct to even begin to process such information. It was distressing, alarming, shocking, and somehow putting everything she thought she knew about her own mother's beliefs into question. What pain did these people go through to keep these plots from Him? All she could think of was the pain and the struggle Declan had been through over his own doubts and the pain his doubts in Him had inflicted. Had her mother suffered as well from this in addition to all her other suffering? Her brow furrowed in concentration and for the first time her gaze seemed unfocused on Pyxis but rather seemed to almost glaze over as she was lost in thought.

As Pyxis explained to her that each Deatheater picked their own person and that her mother picked her she continued to stare blankly past him. Of course her mother picked her. Her mother was afterall delusional. If the war was going to fail and a secret force of wizards were going to have to pick up where the DE left off of course Victoria wanted her in the mix. No doubt she'd want her at the front of the pack, spearheading the campaign against mudbloods. Victoria always wanted Farren to be more than she was. This was her way of perhaps reminding her of that from the grave. Classic really, the woman dies as nobly as she possibly could and still finds a way to remind her only child she could and should be more than she is. Though she heard him mention he'd told all of this to Nathalie in August some months prior the rage at being second to know after Nathalie was lost in the mix of other negative emotions. How dare Pyxis Abercrombie notify peasant Wilkins of something like this before her. It made her mad that Nathalie knew about this whole stupid secret society of people before she did but she was so conflicted over the anger and shame she felt towards her mother and the pity and fear she felt for the woman who'd apparently branded her without her knowing it she couldn't really respond to any one thing he said.

It wasn't until he stepped towards her that she jerked out of her dazed thought trance. As her cousin grabbed her arm the anger over the situation hit her. "NO!" she bellowed at him moving to jerk away from him but her arm was firmly in his grasp, his hand easily encircling her entire arm. "I don't want...." she protested squirming as she felt the cool wood of his wand on her bare flesh. "Pyxis Abercrombie!" she growled warningly after he warned her about the pain but it was too late and he was clearly not going to listen to her. Burn it did. The heiress gritted her teeth inhaling sharply as fire ripped across the patch of tender skin on the inside of her arm. Again she jerked her arm trying to pull away from him but it was in vain. She was trapped and this was happening, against her will. Her ice blue eyes settled on him full of anger and contempt as he performed the incantation.

When he stepped away, having completed his work, she stared at him for a moment. He would know she was livid with him by her expression. She shook her head at him slowly, with disapproval, lips pursed before finally looking down at her arm. The skin was already cooling, the red irritation quickly fading just moments after the spell was complete.  Just above her elbow on the inside of her arm was a ring of wild flowers and their vines. It was a simple, elegant black outline against her porcelain skin no more than a few centimeters in diameter. The design was immediately recognizable. Wildflowers from Dalemain, the signature design for any Abercrombie woman. The flowers were found on the silver filigree handle of her wand as well as her mothers. They had been carved into her mother's mausoleum exterior walls and had been etched on the inside of her Deatheater mask, a name plate of sorts in the event her mask was ever all that was left of her. The flowers showed up again and again with her mother and her mother had handed them down to her. Better than a Dark Mark certainly but had she been given a choice Farren would never have elected to have them branded to her arm.

Slowly she looked back up at her cousin. Cool contempt written plainly across her face. Farren wasn't sure where to begin with him. Disobeying family hierarchy by branding her without her permission? Betraying her trust by waltzing into her bedroom like he was here on friendly business? Betraying the heir of his own family by providing confidential political information to Nathalie before her? Or did she just snap his wand in half and shred the skin off his face like part of her so badly wanted to?

"I don't know where to begin with what just happened," she said breaking the cold silence. "I don't want to be a fucking Deatheater!" she screamed at him her voice cracking with anger and emotion. She clenched her teeth, she was nearly trembling with rage. "How could you do this to me? Do you think I WANT to be like her? Do you think I WANT to be like you? I don't. I don't want to be stuck in that past that made everyone including all of us so damn miserable and now thanks to you I will have to be if nothing else reminded of it every time I see my arm!" she was closing in on him, standing close to him as one would to intimidate someone with their presence.

"I have half a mind to rip your skin off you body and let you bleed out on this floor," she said with a cool scorn he'd have never seen from her. She was in a form he had never seen from her, if he'd ever thought she did not have the stomach or the brawn to live up to what her mother was he would likely be second guessing that. "I am next in line to lead this family - your family - YOU and you just grab me and mark me as some kind of a second string bloody Deatheater because my dead psychotic blood thirsty mother told you to?" Her eyes were wide, crazed almost as she stood under him just inches between them. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" she spat angrily.

Her emotions were so uncharacteristically out of control she didn't know what to do. She was so mad she wanted to mangle him. She was so conflicted over her mother she wanted to ask him questions. She was so frustrated other people knew about this before her she wanted to drag him by his ear to their grandfather for greater punishment. Instead she settled for the least mature option. "UGHHH" she declared shaking with emotion and she threw her hands forward towards him, casting a spell at him casually, sending him flying backwards into the wall so hard the portraits hung on it fell off and hit him on their way down. Fuming, her hands on her hips she paced on the spot in front of her vanity for a moment ignoring her cousin on the floor on the east wall of the room. She ran her hands over her face and through her hair sighing heavily before looking down at the dainty flowers on her arm, a knot growing in her stomach.

(tye - sorry - i hate this - this thread is hard lol)

The Deatheater forced himself to ignore the pang of guilt he felt as he listened to Farren protest against his actions, and her desperate attempt at calling his name in a warning tone that was clearly full of bravado. The man had to remind himself of the fact that he was not actually branding the heiress, but simply revealing something which had been a part of Farren for several years now. She needed to know about this. He would not force the woman into anything against her will, but he had to at least impart on her the knowledge needed to make an informed choice.  It was more than he had given several of his own sleepers. In those cases he had decided they were completely unsuitable to the mission and left them in a permanent state of rest. It was one of the most convenient things about the dark magic they had used to create the marks. Once the mark was put into a dormant state a subject could go their entire lives without ever knowing it was there. 

Pyxis stared at the elegant design that appeared on Farren’s arm with a sombre expression. It did not bring him joy to see her marked as such, but it had been her mother’s wishes that she be given this opportunity. The pureblood heir would not disrespect their family’s late matriarch by refusing to at least try to ensure her last wishes were followed. The twenty nine year old listened with an impassive expression as his younger cousin proceeded to berate him for his actions. The Deatheater could not help but feel disappointed by her behaviour. Farren was allowing her emotions to get the better of her. She made use of crude language and waved around her emotions in a manner almost as appalling as Nathalie’s little display in The Three Broomsticks. The pureblood understood that this was a life changing moment for the woman, but Farren was meant to be a lady. She was meant to be the very personification of grace and poise in every situation. Right now she behaved with the decorum befitting the lowest of peasants. It was quite frankly disappointing.

An openly contemptuous look graced the Briton’s features briefly when Farren threatened to let him bleed out in the floor. It was a controlled expression of emotion, and only lasted long enough for her to note, before his countenance returned to its characteristic neutrality. Was she really naïve enough to think that he would allow such a thing to happen? Oh he was certain Farren was a competent duellist, but he was confident he would always hold the edge if it came to a physical confrontation. He had not only been trained by professional duellists from a young age, but his skills had been further developed under the tutelage of Gaius. Pyxis had honed his skills through active involvement in one of the bloodiest wizarding wars of recent times. Then there were his skills at Legilimency which Farren’s unguarded mind was completely defenceless against. If she truly thought he was some weakling to be taken down at a moment’s notice then the woman was far less intelligent than he had credited her for.

The Hartridge heir had just opened his mouth to answer her angry query that he explain what was wrong with him when he suddenly found himself being flung into the nearest wall. A jolt of pain, he was certain would worsen in the morning without medical potions, suddenly flooded through his system. It was at that moment that something in the former Azkaban inmate broke. Farren had gone too far. Verbal lashing out was barely tolerable, but a physical attack would not be. With a discrete wave of his hand the former Deatheater conjured a shield to protect himself, lest she decide to try further attacks, while he made his way to his feet. Pyxis was quite frankly furious by Farren’s behaviour. However, unlike the heiress he did not shout or flail his arms around in a pointless manner. Instead his expression became something akin to stone with a sense of purpose permeating from the man’s posture. Years of Occlumency training had taught him how to channel his anger in a way that would allow him to maintain control, whilst using it as a way of keeping himself more determined. Farren was for the first time getting a glimpse at Pyxis the Deatheater. While he may not have been in the upper echelons of the inner circle like her mother and Dermod Larkin Morfessa he had been slightly below them. A figure the average grunt Deatheater knew better than to incur the wrath of.

“You may be the next in line to lead the Abercrombie line, but you will not be leading me. I will have a family of my own to lead one day” the words were spoken in a clipped tone whilst he stared at the woman as though daring her to contradict him. It was a blunt reminder of the fact that they were now equals and his days as her subordinate at the fringe of the family had passed. While it had never been openly spoken before, a separation of sorts had been inevitable from the moment he had been named the Hartridge heir. While he would always possess a certain loyalty to the Abercrombie’s and look out for the family’s best interests. The head of the Hartridge family could not be beholden to anyone and would need to maintain his independence in order to also look out for the best interests of that family line.

“Now that we have established that, you are going to sit down, and you are going to listen until I give you permission to speak. Do not try my patience even further Farren. You spoke of the dull insipid persona I have been projecting… You will not like it if I allow you to see the other side of me” the words were spoken in a matter of fact manner. Pyxis waved his wand and watched imperiously as the chair to Farren’s vanity suddenly skidded across the floor and hit against the pureblood heiress hard enough to force her to unceremoniously fall a top it. If she wanted to behave like a child then he was prepared to treat her as such. His words were a bluff to a certain extent. The wards of manors like Dalemain were infamous for their ability to protect the family, and he was not certain how they would react to him if the two did enter into a further physical confrontation. On the one hand, Farren was of the main line and thus their loyalty was presumably with her. On the other hand, he too was an Abercrombie and these wards were designed at a time when family infighting and uprisings were much more common, and thus they may not be activated at all by his actions. Regardless he had no real wish for things to escalate further. Pyxis’ aim was merely to instil enough wariness in the woman that she would listen to what he would say next.

The man took a seat across from Farren with his wand still in hand lest she try to attack him again. Pyxis had also opted to make use of low powered Legilimency. It was just enough to read Farren’s mood so he would have warning if her anger level stirred up again once more. “You are not, nor will you ever be, a Deatheater. The Deatheaters are dead!” The words were spoken in the same controlled manner of before, and he left it to Farren to decide whether they were an assurance or something horrifying. “The Dark Lord is gone… The war is over… But the cause itself has not been extinguished. Muggleborns continue to infiltrate our society with their foreign customs and pollute the ancient customs we hold so dear! Something needs to be done!” By this point passion had entered the Hartridge Abercrombie’s tone. It would have been obvious to the heiress that this was something that truly mattered to the man, and he was not just parroting out propaganda for the sake of conforming.

The pureblood heir maintained direct eye contact as he analysed Farren’s reaction to his words. “However, we will need to change our strategy! The two wars under the Dark Lord have caused irreparable damage to our kind! The Blacks, the Crouches, the Lestranges are all lines that were once powerful but have now become extinct! Other families such as yours and mine have also been damaged by it, my uncle and your mother being causalities for one. We cannot have a third war! Such action would destroy the little power we have managed to maintain”. It was here the man paused and took a sip of his whiskey as he gave himself a few moments to ensure his composure was maintained. “I am not asking you to fight! I am asking you to join me in gathering together as many like-minded people as possible so we can use our collective political, economic, and social power to try and fight back against the tide against us. To remind not just the dark but the neutral families of what we stand to lose!”

At this point Pyxis stood up and looked to Farren with a cold expression. “I have spoken my piece; I have given you what you need to make an informed decision. Now you have a choice. You can join us, or I can make your mark dormant once more and erase your memories of this encounter. I promise no harm will come to you if you choose the latter. It will be as it has been for the past three years since your mother marked you. You will live your life unimpeded free to do whatever it is you wish to do”. It was then he paused and looked at Farren with an openly curious expression. It was all up to the Abercrombie heiress now.

Farren's mind was racing too fast to care about Pyxis scraping himself off the floor and it wasn't until he addressed her that she noticed him at all. Pacing in front of her vanity, a ball of anxious emotional energy, she glanced over her shoulder at him as he puffed out his chest to remind her that out of lack of options the Hartridges had named him their heir. She smirked, almost cruelly, at him but didn't respond. The Hartridges were a great family and yes he had been named their heir and in some ways he would be her equal but he was paternally an Abercrombie. She was the head of his paternal line and despite what he like to think or imagine for himself he would still be beholden to her in some regards. At least though she knew now was not the time to get into the detailed semantics of power structures of blood lineage. Because afterall, he'd just forcibly branded her. She was too pre-consumed with actual concerns to worry about confusion amongst those beholden to the family line. His comment and snark would slide for now though she was unlikely to forget.

Not surprisingly it seemed that being slammed shoulder and neck first into a wall by an unarmed woman who weighed no more than 110 pounds soaking wet did not sit well with the great and powerful Hartridge heir as he took a rather forceful tone with Farren. She had stopped pacing and was staring at him still full of anger as he lectured her on how she would behave moving forward. If she had been in better wits she'd have scoffed at him trying to tell her how to behave decently when she were not the one going around joining people up to the Deatheaters at 3am on their birthdays. Truthfully though she appreciated that at least he seemed to have some kind of spine left under his shockingly amiable facade he put on for the world.

The gilded stool with velvet cushion that sat at her vanity shot across the floor scooping her up onto it with such force and so suddenly though she nearly fell off the back of it. Floundering to grab the sides on the stools with her hands to keep herself atop it and not from going clear over the back of it Farren had lost her balance entirely. Legs of the stool zoomed right atop her skirt, which audibly ripped from the tension of being pinned under the stool and her backwards tumble. Gasping she regained her balance and again ignoring Pyxis, began digging along the yards of hem looking for the rip. Taking her now tattered length of skirt in her hand she looked up at him, her lips pursed into an invisible line. "Really?!" she barked holding the ripped dress up. "As if you hadn't done enough?"

Her hand balled up around the ripped fabric as she sat glaring, loathsomely at Pyxis. Her anger simmered silently as he sat across from her, wand at the ready. As he launched into his seemingly well rehearsed and impassioned propoganda speech it took everything in her to not stand up and roll him out of her bedroom on his chair and lock the door behind him. Hell why should she stop there? She should roll him right out the front doors of Dalemain and into the dark moorlands. He was speaking to her as if she was a total moron who had no idea what the post war world was like or what kind of challenges they were meant to face in it. As if she hadn't spent her whole life knowing about these problems even, not just after the war. While she didn't dislike the idea of having like minded people together she'd already tried such a thing with other heirs and it didn't work. No one wanted to organize and she couldn't imagine branding people by Deatheater being a great recruiting tool if Pyxis was the one carrying out the act. What with his delicate way of handling things.

He left her with a choice to join them or go back to exactly as she were having no idea any of the last 15 minutes had happened. Frankly she was debating telling him she voted the latter just because he was so bloody horrible at being the messenger and thanks to his lack of tact and respect for her he'd lost his stupid club a valuable member. However, his assurance that she was not a Deatheater did help a little to ease her immediate panic of government retribution. So once he finished his piece she let silence hang between them as she scowled hatefully at him, her damaged dress crumpled in her hand, knuckles white with tension as she debated internally just which part of this she was going to read him the riot act over first and which she would save for later.

Breath trembling slighting, eyes dilated from emotion, she leaned forward closer to him. "You've got to be kiding me?" she asked him as if he had just said some of the dumbest most obvious things she'd ever heard. "Do you really think I need YOU to march into my bedroom, forcibly tattoo my arm and then tell me that our world and culture is being poisoned by muggle lovers and we need to stop them? What in the name of Salazar Slytherin do you think my whole damn life is about if not preserving our traditions and culture? Do you REALLY think I don't KNOW that both wars were failures? Did you meet my mother? You know the one who was literally driven mentally ill by the first war and died in the second one? Or what about my namesake? Farrah Abercrombie who died in the first war? Oh and you know my ex-fiance, whom I know you know about because," she laughed sarcastically, mockingly, "everyone does, the O'Dwyer heir who also went MAD and become amongst other things a known drug addict and psychotic because of the war. Do you really think I need you to tell me that wars don't work?"

Her tone had gone quickly from teetering on mad rage to exasperated. It was obvious she thought he was treating her like a fool. That he hadn't bothered to consider his audience or his target before making his move tonight and in the process had terribly offended a surprisingly volatile subject. It was painfully obvious that any respect she may have had for him and his message was lost on his delivery and demeanor towards her. Though she had not been marked by The Dark Lord and though she had not fought in combat or gone on missions for the Deatheaters she had been just as affected as Pyxis if not more. At least he had been afforded a fairly normal childhood devoid of the constant suffering inflicted by Lord Voldemort's consequences. He had parents and grandparents and hand never had to hold the bloodied corpse of his mother for starters.

Farren leaned back, away from him and looked at him down her nose as she lifted her chin slightly. Her eyes narrowed and she shook her head disapprovingly at him.  " Do You think I have spent the last year at the Ministry lobbying against estate tax laws for fun? No. It's to protect us and the Malfoys and the Thornes and the bloody Hartridges! Don't talk to me like I don't know what the hell is going on or what needs to happen or what does or doesn't work. I may not have a Dark Mark and I may not have fought in battles for Him but I lived the war everyday of my life since the day I was born and it still goes on and on and on. I know you've been locked up and you don't know but don't you think organization has been tried? I'm not an idiot I know I can't go it alone. Don't you think it takes a lot of bloody work to keep the rest of us out of jail and the family name out of the mud? Or how about the fact that records show mum died or illness in October....not at Hogwarts. Who do you think has been making all this happen? ME. Me. I have been living and breathing this just as much as anyone since the day I drew my first breath."

She exhaled heavily shaking her head in frustration. Again she turned her attention back to her dress, her mind wandering back towards chaos as she fingered the ripped hem, trying to line the frayed ends of fabric up. If he was going to read her mind as she knew he could she didn't really care. She was livid and hurt and sad over the whole scenario. She felt hopeless against the tides of cultural change, the impossible legacy of her mother, and her own perceived inadequacies. The fact that someone the purported to be her equal had waltzed into her room on one of the few evenings of the year she was allowed to truly enjoy herself and done this to her and then virtually lectured her that they needed to be doing exactly what she were already doing, as if he had never paid attention to her or her life was infuriating and hurtful. He wanted her mutual respect as an heir when clearly he didn't respect her and her bare forearm and young age. Dropping the skirt back to the floor she looked back at him staring across the small space between them with cold eyes. For a long time she stared at him, a large part of her hoping he was reading her mind as it would be heaps easier than trying to explain to him how horribly he'd offended and disrespected her.

"How DARE you waltz in here and do this without bothering to give me a full history and reasoning. Wouldn't that have been logical? Why not just tell me and let me decide before going to all the trouble of making the mark appear?" She clucked her tongue at him tersely as if she were speaking to a stupid child, like it were Nathalie who had done something irrationally out of order and made life more complicated for it, as she always did, curling her lip slightly in disapproval. She was over this whole ordeal. For today at least she couldn't deal with him and his ridiculous show and his stupid Deatheater club.

"Tomorrow I expect you to apologize for my dress Mr. Abercrombie," she said cooly at last. Rising from her stool she looked down at him, her hands on her hips. "Unless you have something to say to me now you are dismissed." She was throwing it back at him now and she knew it would irk him but two could play the game. It was still her house and her bedroom he was a guest in. If he was going to piss her off and then lecture her for having any emotions she would gladly spare him from having to know she was in fact human and someone who angered when offended. It was nice to remind him of his place in the process. "I will let you know about your club tomorrow at tea," she said simply, cool, the rage simmering the lowest it had so far but still palpable.

Pyxis Hartridge Abercrombie felt torn. On the one hand, he felt the urge to roll his eyes in exasperation as Farren berated him for creating a tear in the fabric of her skirt. They were discussing matters of great importance, and she considered that to be something worth dwelling on? On the other hand, there was a softer, more humane, part of him that felt a dash of guilt. The Deatheater was aware of the fact tonight had been one of the rare nights Farren had been allowed to truly enjoy herself without having to concern herself with the fragile nature of the times they lived in. It was for that reason he opted not to castigate her for having misplaced priorities and simply responded to the complaint with a stony look.

The Hartridge heir’s sympathy for the Abercrombie heiress soon faded though as she proceeded to lecture him on the things their family had been through. Did she think he didn’t have distant memories of her namesake? That he did not remember the devastated look on her grandfather’s face at the funeral the family had held for her? Did Farren think he had not been present for her frankly scandalous engagement to the O’Dwyer heir? Did she forget that he had never approved of their union and had been proven right in the end? If she felt the need to lecture him on such basic tenants of their family history then the stupid girl had clearly gotten the wrong message from his words. The twenty nine year old listened in utter silence, his face practically like stone, as she proceeded to lecture him on the things she had done for the cause in recent months? Did she really think he did not know this? Was she truly ignorant enough to not realise he had done everything he could to catch himself up on the things he had missed during his two year stay in Azkaban?

“Do you truly think I am ill-advised enough that you need to inform me of those things Farren?” The reflection of his thoughts were spoken in a soft and openly exasperated tone, as his cold blue eyes made direct contact with the twenty one year olds slightly lighter blue orbs. The Hartridge Abercrombie’s wand was still in his hand and the use of Legilimency allowed him to sense the offence and disapproval Farren felt. She should have considered herself lucky to have been awakened by him. He had heard accounts of Wakers revealing the marks of sleepers without any prior warning. Of them casting the imperious curse on unsuspecting relatives they knew would be unwilling to serve the cause willingly. At least he had provided her with some context for his actions. At least he had been kind enough to provide her with a way out that wouldn’t bring shame to either of them. After all, the Briton and Gaius were the only living souls to know of her involvement in this plot, and if she were to turn him down it would simply stay that way. Pyxis was tempted to obliviate the stupid girl and pass responsibility for her on to someone like Sampson Bane. Maybe then she would appreciate the generous initiation she had received in comparison to others. However, that was only his temper at play. He would not truly do that to Farren no matter how tempting it may be.

“I suppose I should not blame you for considering me a fool. Perhaps I have played my role as the naïve idealist a little too well, and you think of me as this ditzy heir who simply got swept up into something he did not truly understand. That I am too stupid to realise the importance of the work you have been doing these past few months. However, I can assure you I am quite aware of what has been occurring outside of these walls.” The man sighed as he lowered his wand and severed the Legilimency connection between the two of them. By this point Pyxis temper had dulled enough the man simply wished to talk, and he hoped Farren would take his action as both a sign of trust and a reconciliatory gesture. Pyxis was sorry that he had succeeded in offending his younger cousin, but she had to be told and there was no truly ideal way of doing this. The man was certain that she would have been irked regardless of the approach he used to break this to her.

The socialite sighed as he eyed the woman and considered her words further before he continued to speak. “You seem to have mistaken the purpose of my words, but first to clarify something, the reason I chose to make the mark appear before offering a further explanation is due to the fact, that frankly, I know to an outsider this must seem like an unbelievable tale. I thought that if I made the mark appear it would be easier for you to accept I was being serious and this was not some perverse joke” the words were spoken softly in an almost contrite tone. They were the truth. His actions had in no way been about causing Farren pain or discomfort. He had simply been trying to get his younger cousin to accept the truth of his words in the best way he knew how. Perhaps he could have handled things differently, but alas he was only a man and thus capable of making mistakes. However, he was still of the opinion she had been given a far better initiation than several of her contemporaries.

Pyxis offered Farren a soft smile before proceeding to offer the clarification he had mentioned earlier. “I did not tell you of what I wanted from you because I thought you were too dumb to understand our current situation. Earlier you expressed fears of becoming a Deatheater, a soldier in a war, much like myself and your mother. Therefore, while I am aware that you know about the current political climate, I was clarifying for you that myself and the others I work with are also aware of it. I was trying to inform you of the role we had in mind for you. I was trying to assure you that this is not about sentencing you to the life of a Deatheater” the words were sincere as his stony façade softened. It was funny how people miscommunicated in the heat of the moment. What the Hartridge heir had intended as assurances had been perceived as belittling by the Abercrombie heiress. It seemed even receiving the best training in etiquette and communication did not stop mistakes from being made.

When she suddenly demanded that he make a future apology for the dress the man simply arched a brow in amusement. Under different circumstances he very well may have made such an apology, but due to his earlier highlighting of their equal status he decided that the apology would not be made. Pyxis did not wish her to continue operating under the delusion that he was some subservient she could control the actions of. “It is not that simple Farren” he declared before the socialite stood in response to her dismissal. She had clearly not taken in his words if she thought he was so easy to get rid of. However, his soon to follow actions were not about an individual power play, but the overall safety of the society he belonged to. “I cannot just leave you to make the decision without some sort of assurance. In fact every few people in your position are even being allowed to not make their decision there and then”. The Deatheater had decided to purposely give her a preview of the nightmarish scenarios she could have faced at the hands of another Waker.

“I will take my leave until our customary afternoon tea tomorrow. However, first you must meet security policies and make a vow on your magic that between now and then you will not share knowledge of this with anyone without my permission. If you cannot meet this condition then I am afraid I will have to obliviate you now”. The heir’s wand was still in his hand in case such a drastic measure was needed. Although, he hoped Farren would consent to his conditions. Pyxis thought he had been rather reasonable with his proposal especially when one considered the fact he had only requested Farren be bound to the vow until the following day. After that, well they could come to a new arrangement that would hopefully be pleasing to them both.

Farren was exasperated with her cousin. It took all of the strength to not roll her eyes at him and leave the room herself to escape him and his holier than thou attitude. The man had trounced into her bedroom at the crack of dawn nearly, informed her that the DE had selected a secret second string, then basically assaulted her to prove it to her. He was too blinded by his silly mission from dead Deatheaters to listen to her and use good sense when approaching situations. If there was anything the heiress couldn't stand it was a lack of cunning and forethought. Having to smack down Nathalie Wilkins for being an airheaded fool with no foresight or judgement in high priority situations was surely enough to deal with on her birthday. Now Pyxis too had acted in a rash manner causing a great deal of strife between them which previously had not existed.

To be fair she didn't care at all about the Deatheaters or what they might have agreed. He could explain it all he wanted and she'd still find it ludicrous that he was acting on an agreement that was several years old and seemingly created by a group of people whom were dead or in jail. She did not want to be a Deatheater and she would not be but unlike her cousin and stupid Nathalie when presented with a heavy matter she would at least give time to debating what course of action she should take. Hoping that tea time tomorrow would even be enough time to consider the bizarre offer and the potential dynamics of this coven.

"Pyxis," she began calmly though inside she was still beyond vexed, "let me be clear about this. I do not want to be a Deatheater and I find it completely bizarre that you seem to think there is any merit in this endeavor. You could have explained it to me for five hours and it would not change my feelings and I do not think it was necessary, proper, nor respectful of me to assault me for the sake of proving to me my mother branded me for this coven. You didn't give me time to ask questions or express my belief or disbelief. You just acted, rather impulsively I think. Obviously I -know- you know what happened in this family during and after the war but I do not think that in approaching this tonight you put any forethought or analysis into the scenario and the implications of the war outside of how it affected you and the people who formulated this plan."

It was obvious from her tone that she was not going to forgive the man easily for his behavior which explanation would only fix so much in her eyes. It was also clear that the brief and rare glimpse at her actual emotions and feelings was being masterfully wrangled back into her control. He had apparently no respect or interest in her feelings so she made a note that he would not be privy to them again, a disadvantage to anyone wanting to recruit a soldier and ally.

"I have been appalled by what has transpired here tonight and your behavior. While I do not think you a fool of any kind in reality I do think you need to reevaluate how to handle certain people. If you're going to be an heir and expect to be treated as an equal you have to realize it's a dual commitment. I would never dream of swooping into your bedroom, in your home at which I was a guest, on your birthday night and doing such a thing to you without the benefit of your full consent and agreement. Perhaps the Deatheater mentality of brutish force is harder to shake than I can realize so I will try to find a way to forgive you before we grow old but I cannot say I will forget."

Her tone was not berating and she wasn't lecturing him further but she did have the advantage of not being new to her lot in life. He may have been disgusted with her and likewise, no gentleman would dare do this, tonight Pyxis was not the Hartridge heir he was Pyxis Abercrombie, the Deatheater respected and accepted initially because his aunt and her friends were highly regarded by the Dark Lord. "I will not betray what has transpired here or your secret coven to anyone. Salazar knows I'd be too embarrassed to do so," she added in response to his security conditions. "We can perform a proper vow if you wish," she said cooly extending her right hand, her wand sailing from across the room into her extended hand. The petite wand was made from wood so pure it was almost white, the handle was silver filigree, wrapping up a third of the wand with silver wildflowers and vines, exactly as was seen on her new mark. Lowering her right hand, wand pointed down, willing to take a vow, she locked eyes with him for a moment considering him carefully.

"Oh, and you needn't worry about Nathalie," she said cooly, a hint of devious in her tone, "Miss Wilkins is in the pocket of yours truly and was rushing to me tonight to inform on activity against our family at The Ministry, hot off the presses and dire enough for the stupid child to literally run across London in a downpour to find me." Her cool eyes flashed, she knew Pyxis would be surprised and curious at this tidbit of information. Perhaps if he had given her time to discuss the full scenario at hand before forcing things forward he would be leaving the room with more information than not and a much more willing and compliant companion. "Tea, tomorrow."

Pyxis listened in contemplative silence as Farren proceeded to explain her perspective on things. At first the former Deatheater found himself irritated. Had he not already categorically denied the possibility of her becoming a Deatheater? And if he had been a lesser man the hint of condescension to her words would have made him refuse to listen out of principle. Thankfully Pyxis was smarter than that. The man even found himself nodding in agreement as the heiress spoke of the dual commitment between them. She was right on that much he realised. If Pyxis wished for her to respect his new place in society then he was going to have to treat her with the respect accorded to an equal. While the Hartridge heir still considered his actions a necessity, he realised that he could have dealt with the situation better. Perhaps he needed to book some more sessions with his mind healer. Just to be certain he had truly recovered from the mental trauma of his stay in Azkaban.

When Farren offered to make the vow Pyxis offered her an appreciative smile. He was pleased she had not been offended by his condition and understood the need for secrecy. Had this been a secret related to just the two of them he would not have demanded the vow as a gesture of good will, but alas too many were involved to break the rule for anyone. “I do. We can’t have anyone complaining about favouritism can we?” The words were followed by a wink and the slightest hint of teasing. The Deatheater brought his wand against Farren’s and cast the necessary charm. Without a third party to act as a bonder the vow was not truly unbreakable, and given enough time, its magic could be dissipated by a competent curse breaker. However, it was the best option available to them in these trying circumstances.

The Deatheater stepped away from the Abercrombie heiress once the vow was completed. The Hartridge heir was astute enough to realise that his younger cousin would not welcome him in her personal space for any longer than strictly necessary. Thick brows arched upwards as Farren made her sudden reference to the Wilkins girls. “How curious” he simply replied. The twenty nine year old did not attempt to hide the surprise he felt at the news of their relationship. However, he was not about to lower himself to asking for more information about this development from the recent birthday girl. At least this will make my duties as a Waker easier the man thought with a smirk. If Farren consented to join them, and he suspected she would, then Pyxis could train the two of them together when he wished to impart on them the same lesson. Farren could even aid him in teaching Nathalie the political intrigues she may not be aware of due to her less than privileged background.

“Tomorrow at tea” he agreed with a nod of his head before Pyxis turned away from the younger Abercrombie. “Good night Farren… And this incident aside, I hope you had a happy birthday”. The words were as close to an apology as the man was willing to concede in that moment. It was not long before the Deatheater had made his way out of Farren’s suite of rooms. Mr. Dosett hot on his trails wishing to know about everything that had transpired and the Deatheater was certain Farren was dealing with similar questions from Miss. Sedley. The Hartridge heir kept his answers to the questions to a bare minimum before promptly dismissing him upon their return to his suite of rooms. It had been a long day and he suspected tomorrow would be an even longer one.

….


When Miss. Sedley informed him that tea would be served in the men’s parlour Pyxis had been surprised. It was not their usual spot for such activity, as the heiress generally preferred one of the drawing rooms near the front of the house. The Hartridge heir instantly assumed that Farren had chosen this spot to allow them extra privacy. Unlike the drawing rooms, which often had servants coming in and out of them to tend to their duties, the men’s parlour was rarely occupied by anyone. The twenty nine year old had opted to dress up for the occasion. It was nothing too fancy. They were only dining in their home after all. He had opted to wear a bespoke set of emerald green wizarding robes, which flowed loosely around him. While the man’s physique was no longer the emaciated form it had been upon his release from Azkaban it was still not back to peak condition and the former Deatheater was insecure about it. On his arm was the silver watch gifted to him by his maternal grandfather as a coming of age present. It was a Hartridge family heirloom and one of the man’s most prized possessions.

The men’s parlour room had a distinctly masculine feel to it. On the walls hung the heads of animals which had been hunted by Abercrombie men of recent generations. The decorative pieces had been enchanted to last at least a century without any signs of decay. The table cloth was tartan and beneath the animal heads many of the walls were lined with book shelves. The Abercrombies were a family of scholars. They owned the largest publishing company in Europe and held a private library used by the Dark Lord himself for research during the war. It was unsurprising that many of the rooms in their home reflected this interest of the family.

In the centre of the room there was a majestic ebony table which had clearly been there for decades already. Sat at this table were Pyxis Abercrombie and his younger cousin Farren. So far conversations between the two had been strained. They were both aware that their talk from the night before needed to be completed, but neither had been willing to bring it up until the usual social niceties had been observed first. It was as Pyxis poured them both a new cup of tea that he finally looked into the woman’s eyes and queried. “So, have you any questions for me?” While he neglected to make an explicit reference to the night before his suddenly serious demeanour should have made it obvious to Farren that was what he was referencing. The man sipped on his new cup of tea as he awaited an answer from the heiress. He was certain there were things she would wish to have confirmed before choosing whether to accept or decline his offer. Unlike the previous evening he had his full composure and was happy to oblige in answering said questions.

((OMG this post is so bad. I'm sorry))

There had been little sleep after Pyxis left Farren's bedroom that night. What little sleep the heiress did get, which could not have amounted to more than a couple of hours, was riddled with dreams of her mother. By seven in the morning she'd given up trying and had risen when her elf came in to set out her morning materials. It was a Sunday so Farren was happy to be distracted by an extra thick copy of The Prophet as she perched in the corner of the chaise lounge at the foot of her bed. Once she'd tired of that and reading over the society pages of which her birthday party consumed the most content she turned to her daily memo. The memo was provided to all residents of Dalemain upon waking, a note from the Butler, highlighting goings on or the schedule for the day. It was mixed in with any mail that may have arrived between bedtime and breakfast. Luckily for Farren the memo this morning had been the ideal distraction from her troubled thoughts.The young woman had dressed herself and headed out of the house, a breakfast sconce in one hand, a tin canister of coffee in the other. Expecting the task at hand would be neither easy nor short she left direction to have her afternoon tea with Pyxis moved to the men's parlor instead of the formal drawing room where they usually took tea. If things went as she hoped they might she'd be in no state for the drawing room at 4pm. Heels of her boots clicking through the empty halls of Dalemain the lady of the house was out the door and off to tend to her duties before breakfast was served for the rest of the house.

It was easy for everyone, Farren herself included to forget that she was, first and foremost, the keeper of the great lands the Abercrombie's owned.  The stately home occupied by the family as well as the surrounding area was called Dalemain however this was not the only home on the massive estate. Just over five miles from Dalemain in the confines of their estate lands was another, long empty home. Hutton-in-the-Forest was the second great stately home of Dalemain Estate, built for housing the extended family in the middle ages it was able to rival Dalemain in size and was once planned to be even more grand than it's older sister. However, the home had been shuttered after disease and blood politics had wiped out over a third of the Abercrombie clan. The large, opulent home had become too much work and cost for the portion of the family occupying it and so in 1720 it had been closed, preserved in time, all but the rarest of items sealed inside to protect them against time. Living up well and good to it's name the forest had encroached on the great home, spreading up to it's garden walls. As Farren mounted her grey gelding in the stable behind Dalemain she wondered if today would be the day those encroaching forests would reveal to her their greatest secret.  She wondered if the legends of Dalemain being so magical it could sense it's Master's needs were true. Had Dalemain sent her this distraction? She knew it was silly to think that way but part of her hoped that all of this was part of something bigger than her and Dalemain was reminding her of that.

-----------------

By the time she returned to Dalemain it was far too late to bother changing. She left her long, fur trimed black wool cloak at the back door with an elf and made her way through the back of the house to the most rugged entertaining room in the house. Not surprisingly Pyxis was already there waiting for her as she was in fact just a tad late. However it was obvious from her abnormal style of dress that she had been quite busy and not kept him waiting on a whim. Her long woolen skirt, a dark grey tartan, was flecked with mud and showed enough wear to demonstrate the habit was ridden in often across the often wet winter terrain of the estate. A stylish but utilitarian black leather jacket hugged her body, open just enough at the collar to allow a hastily tied silk neck tie poke out. The brunette locks which had been so polished just 12 hours ago when he'd seen her were pulled back in loose plaits, tucked into eachother at the the nape of her neck. She was an elegant equestrian, as dressed for work as a woman of her station could be. "There is a unicorn foundling in the forests at the edge of Hutton," declared as she crossed the room to where her cousin was sat. "Mr. McDougal, the game keeper, he found the mother dead last evening but he knew she had born the foal some four days ago." The sight of the heiress as someone other than a headline grabbing socialite or a witness testifying to the Ministry might have been surprising for Pyxis.

Farren had filled Pyxis in on how she'd ridden to Hutton first thing that morning and with the game keeper and a spare hand or two from their grounds crew, had spent the day tracking the foundling. If they were not able to find the foal within 48 hours it would surely perish in the elements. Though she shared only the events of the day with Pyxis she had had plenty of time as she rode silently through the forest, scanning the wood for a sign of a unicorn. Farren had no intention of becoming a Deatheater. Nor did she have any intention of taking orders from someone but there was no doubt she needed other's help in fighting to keep their kind alive and in power in any sense of the word. She had talked to a small number of her peers over a year ago about mutual support and efforts politically and it had gone nowhere. She doubted that anything good would come of this coven Pyxis had brought up but she supposed if conditions were right it didn't hurt to try it. Not if it meant protecting Dalemain, it's traditions, and places and people like it, anything was worth at least trying.

Her simple lunch of soup and bread, delivered to her by an elf on the front steps of Hutton had long worn off and she was more than happy that the piling of cakes and sandwiches today were fresh and warm. The silence of the room was filled by the flickering tips of the fire in the large stone hearth. Though she was dressed simply and in a utilitarian fashion she delicately worked her way through two small sandwiches before getting around to the questions and conditions she had for her cousin. Pushing her china plate back from her setting at the table she reached for the pot to refill her cup as she began. "Well, first I want to be very clear that I think this coven is a terrible idea. The Deatheaters only worked when The Dark Lord was present and only because they were his servants held there by fanatical devotion and or fear.  What is going to unify people now? People are more selfish than ever, there is no sense of unity and no one will cooperate unless they are the direct beneficiary in the immediate sense."

She wasn't done and looked up at him communicating that he should not interject yet, "Whom exactly is in this group? You know I won't agree to be part of an organization that puts us as a family at risk. I won't be cooperating with or supporting anyone the family does not approve of, any undesirables." Pausing she took a few sips of tea, absently looking at the snow that had started to fall out the window. "How..." she started slowly, pulling her bright eyes away from the window and back to him, "how will you or we protect me and this family? I can't possibly trust a bunch of Deatheaters and second string recruits with any information about this family or even my identity and possible involvement. I can't honestly imagine that my mother would have dragged me into this kind of non-sense were she alive. No one is trustworthy or loyal now. No one else in this family is going to jail and I certainly will not risk it, even if you tell me my mother would have wanted it."

Pyxis listened with polite interest as Farren proceed to explain to him the situation with the unicorn. The former Deatheater expressed dismay when she spoke of its inevitable death, if it could not be found, and he offered sympathy when the heiress spoke of the effort she and Mr. McDougal had gone to thus far. The emotions displayed were genuine, which would have been a shock to many who knew him. Pyxis Hartridge Abercrombie was not known as an animal lover; in fact, Care of Magical Creatures had been one of his worst subjects in school. However, unicorns were one of the most profoundly magical creatures in existence, and for that reason alone, their lives ought to be held with the highest of regard. They were a natural representation of the magical world that Pyxis sought to preserve above all else. 

The Hartridge heir happily ate his lunch. The twenty nine year old had proceeded to eat six finger sandwiches and a large slice of cake, as he had built up quite the appetite whilst waiting for his younger cousin to arrive. When Farren began to speak the handsome Slytherin alumni gently pushed his plate away as a way to assure her she had his full attention now. Thick eye brows arched upwards as the Abercrombie heiress shared her concerns about the sleepers and the potential effectiveness of the group. Pyxis offered Farren a small encouraging smile once she finished speaking of said fears. Unlike the night before, the pureblood wholeheartedly approved of his younger cousin’s actions. It was clear to him that she had used the time granted to her to truly consider the ramifications of his offer and had gone as far as to anticipate potential problems that would need to be dealt with should she accept. Her words conveyed a shrewd nature Pyxis very much respected.

The twenty nine year old had just opened his mouth, to retort, when the fashion aficionado looked up from the cups of tea she had been pouring to signal her intent to continue speaking. The former Deatheater nodded his assent before he leant back and listened to her speak. The Hartridge heir’s handsome features suddenly bore a thoughtful expression as the Abercrombie heiress laid out her conditions for becoming a part of the group. Pyxis knew instantly that this meeting would be unlikely to run smoothly, as there were several individuals involved that he knew Farren would consider undesirable. For instance Farren was known to dislike Persephone Bane and her daughter Rosaline for reasons unknown to the former Deatheater. His thoughtful expression turned into a pleased smile as his younger cousin proceeded to question him on the security measures that would be put in place to ensure anonymity and the safety of this family. Thankfully, this was an area that Pyxis had already considered in great detail.

“There are a number of individuals involved in the group. The ones you are most likely to know are Dermod Larkin Morfessa, Jafar Awning” He paused at the last before he hesitantly added ”and Persephone and Sampson Bane”. The former Deatheater then proceeded to list a number of lesser known Deatheaters he had recruited in recent months along with his speculation on potential sleepers. Unfortunately, Pyxis did not have the full list available to him as security had dictated that only Dermod and Gaius would have access to that information. Although this had been an unofficial gathering, entirely unknown to the Dark Lord, in many ways the Deatheater hierarchy had remained in place and thus only the inner circle members involved had been declared as principal wakers.

Rather than allowing Farren to voice her objections to some of the names he had mentioned, the former Deatheater held up a hand to gesture that he would like to continue speaking first. “Do not worry! I have spent time carefully considering the measures needed to ensure that our safety is not put at needless risk. Trust me; I have no desire to see the inside of an Azkaban cell any time soon”. It was then Pyxis reached for his cup of tea and blew gently on it before he took his first sip. “I will share with you what I have decided on and then I would welcome your thoughts on the issue…” the sentence followed by a soft smile at the Abercrombie heiress. It was intended to be an olive branch of sorts. The Hartridge heir was aware that his younger societal counterpart had felt disrespected by his actions the night before, and he wanted to show her that he was now prepared to treat her as the equal he ought to consider her.

“The initial meeting will be held at an abandoned home without ties to anyone involved. The invitations will be charmed so that those who RSVP will have in effect signed a magical contract to keep it secret from outsiders. The invitation of those who decline to immediately sign will incinerate and they will forget ever receiving it”. The magic involved was complex, but Pyxis was perfectly capable of making use of it. He had after all used similar enchantments whilst organizing a meeting of the Wakers during the summer. “During that first meeting you will arrive in Polyjuice, preferably in the form of a servant girl or other lower class citizen no one will pay much heed to. This is to ensure that no one aside from myself and Dermod will know who you truly are”. He hoped Farren would not take offence at his suggested decoy. Pyxis intent was not to belittle her station, but to keep her anonymity safe. After all, it was one thing for her to attend as Farren Abercrombie, one of the most prominent socialites in the country, and quite another to attend in the guise of a servant who faded into the background as she served her masters. “During the meeting I will insist on everyone in attendance signing a magical contract that will essentially bind them to keeping our activities secret or lose their magic. As the most accomplished of us in the art of Occlumency I will then store this contract, the only written source with all of our names, in a location that will be known only to me. This is to ensure that our enemies cannot learn of it from an unguarded mind. After these measures have been taken it will then be up to you to decide if you wish to reveal your true self to the assembled group” It was then he took several more sips of his tea before gesturing for Farren to speak if she wished.

---------

Farren listened with rapt attention to her cousin as he went over the details of the Death Eaters arrangements and new make up. He was right to sense her areas of concern and doubt. There were many and she would not be shy to voice her disdain over such matters but lucky for him Pyxis had the good sense to proceed without room for her to protest as he laid out the information. Her eyebrow arched at the mention of the Banes, a family with no social graces who seemed to be a group of professionals with no special commitment to The Cause or blood purity at all. The mention of Dermod and the Awnings hardly sat much better with her, what with Dermod hiding in his stupid ramshackle castle pretending to be dead and Awning having seemingly disappeared from society all together, though at least he was not pretending to be dead...as far as she knew. Then there was Nathalie who he'd mentioned before, fanatical and dumb as she was, she did not give Ren much confidence in this group either.  It seemed like a rather untrustworthy bunch if there ever were one. Though assumedly the remaining Death Eaters that were not in Azkaban were to be included which was only somewhat reassuring.

Her expression had settled into a scowl soon enough as he moved onto how the meeting of this rag tag group might transpire. The invitation for her opinion on how to handle this did put her at ease that he was amenable to her ideas but she was deeply concerned still. The plot sounded rather outlandish in some regards but at the moment she didn't see any glaring holes. There were questions she had remaining. The group were not the Death Eaters. There was no central leader. It was going to have to be in some sense democratic and just who would be in charge of this remained unclear and how that person retained authority was even more unclear. The coven was a terrible idea if she ever heard of one. Perhaps if wizards like her mother and Giaus were free and alive to run this sort of thing it might have more weight in her mind but with people like Pyxis and Dermod as the veterans, well, there was much to be desired still. Hierarchy, mission, long term secrecy, and a dozen other finer points to be ironed out but she had decided for the sake of being in the know she would agree to this for now.

"There are still many parts of this I doubt..." she said slowly leaning back in her chair. "We cannot risk anything and there may be a point where we both have to walk away from this. I hope you understand that. For the family." Farren was being completely serious as this all sounded quite risky and though he had seemed to have taken precautions and thought this all through she didn't for a moment think anyone of the people outside their own family were completely trustworthy. Without the Dark Lord who would hold loyalty in check. There were many questions and many more doubts. "I am in, for now, but I will voice my opinion and I will say no if I think something is a bad idea."

She lay her cloth napkin on the table, the universal signal that one had finished dining. "Now, I've hardly had a wink of sleep in the last two days. If it wasn't for the energy potions I'd be passed out on the steps of Hutton. I'm going to retire to my room so I can rest before we resume the hunt for the unicorn at nightfall. If you're able to join us an extra wand and set of eyes is always welcome. I'll ride out again around 10pm unless they send word up that they've found the little thing."



(((worstpostever/takesabow/runsaway)))

The tips of the fire flickered in the background as the former Deatheater noted Farren’s reaction to his explanation. The arch of her brows revealed to the expert Occlumens that Farren was unimpressed by some of the names he had mentioned. In all honesty, Pyxis felt the same wariness towards many of their prospective allies. However, circumstances were against them. Most of the prolific veterans of the war were either dead, or serving life sentences in Azkaban, and those that weren’t had chosen to fade into obscurity. That meant that the Abercrombie heiress and the Hartridge heir were left to manage a rag tag team that consisted of young and dumb revolutionaries such as Nathalie Wilkins and Basil Stringfellow, or veterans whose actions had cast doubt on their commitment to the cause. It was far from an ideal situation, but the two of them would just have to do their best with the limited resources available to them.

As Farren proceeded to speak the Hartridge heir listened with rapt attention. He offered the slightest bow of his head in response to her declaration that they may have to leave the other Wakers and Sleepers to their fate one day. It may surprise Farren to know that this was a sentiment the twenty nine year old wholeheartedly agreed with. Pyxis thought the young heiress probably saw him as an interloper who was recklessly pleased with his sudden rise to the top of his family. However, it was not as simple as that. Ever since the death of his Uncle Edward there had been a huge weight on Pyxis’ shoulder. It was a weight he was certain that Farren had always felt, as it related to the responsibility that came with being a heir. Of knowing that you had been entrusted with the future of your family and that your actions could see the legacy you had been handed continue to prosper or fall into irreparable ruin. Pyxis would not risk returning to Azkaban for a second time. If he thought their involvement was putting the Hartridge and Abercrombie families at risk he would leave the others to their fate without a second thought.

When Farren listed her conditions for joining the former Deatheater nodded his assent. “But of course, I would not expect anything less. You have the family’s interests to look out for and therefore deserve a say to ensure that said interests are being met”. His comment was spoken in a matter of fact tone and was intended to convey his understanding of the predicament she found herself in. “Besides you have been dealing with this post war mudblood loving, liberal world from the start, while I was serving my sentence. Those experiences make your advice much more valuable than many…” Whether that was a compliment towards Farren and the keen insight she possessed, or a disparagement towards the others involved he would leave for her to decide. In all honesty, it was a mixture of both.

It was then that the heiress announced her intention to get some sleep. The handsome pureblood stood and offered a soft smile to the younger Slytherin graduate. It was not a course of action he was about to protest. After all anyone with common sense knew that energy potions only worked as short term solutions and overuse of them would result in the body beginning to fail due to a lack of genuine rest. “Of course, I will not keep you from getting some much needed cessation. Besides, I have some documentation on the Hartridge estate to go through before my meeting with grandfather Hartridge tomorrow. I will see you in the foyer at ten. Rest well Farren.” Pyxis glanced a final time at the heiress before he proceeded to exit the room. His head was held high and his posture reflected the regal nature of an aristocrat. He had much to ruminate on before his next encounter with Farren.

((And scene. Worst post ever, but at least we completed a thread <333))