the trick is to keep breathing [nathalie]

July 2002

It was a humid evening; the windows and doors all flung open in a desperate attempt to let some non-existent breeze in – the heavy drapes were unmoving, falling from ceiling-to-floor like columns of marble rather than linen. They were due a thunderstorm to clear the air, but in the meantime the atmosphere was thick and heavy in anticipation. Eris’ skin was glistening lightly in the fading light of the day; it was only the setting of the sun that had alerted her to how long they had been at this. Nathalie had arrived in the Cotswolds just after lunch, and neither woman had paused to rest since.

She just wasn’t getting it. “I thought with a father like yours, you’d be better at this.” Eris spat at the younger blonde, the frustration clear in her tone. Edward Wilkins had been a repulsive man; lecherous and vile – valued only for his unwavering lust for inflicting pain. Eris had disliked him from the very first moment she had met him, many years ago, and was surprised to find any woman would wish to voluntarily marry him, let alone have his child. Eris would have found it a blessing when he was imprisoned, had she been his wife.

The Auror strode across the room; they were in the dining hall, but the table and chairs had been stacked against the wall to create more space. When Eris had her other student here, Basil, they could use the library or drawing room – these lessons with Nathalie, however, were more physical.

Eris wanted the younger woman to be better. Nathalie was more calculated than her father, but hadn’t yet tapped into the bloodlust he’d been infamous for. Of course, there was no need for another hungry dog – the Death Eaters had countless thugs at their disposal – but she seemed hesitant to fully embrace what might be required. Now it was more important than ever that they be ready – perhaps a part of what was driving Eris this evening had been the front-page news a few days prior: STOCKHOLM DEMANDS IMMEDIATE PURCELL RELEASE.  She had written to Gaius, under an alias, of course, but was yet to receive a response. It seemed even in her own department nobody knew a damn thing about it. Eris daren’t risk trying to find out more under Silverman’s watch, so she was at present a volatile mix of hope and fury – right now, the latter was taking precedence.

“You must know how to fight it.” Eris paused and turned on her heel to face her apprentice, her voice low and venomous. “How can you cast it effectively if you can’t beat it?” She rolled her sheer sleeves up again from where they had slipped, her long fingers delicately stroking over her Mark as she did so. Perhaps Eris needed Nathalie to really not want to cooperate with her demands; asking one to walk backwards or sing hymns was hardly worth fighting against. Eris began thinking back to the various methods that had been used on her several years ago... The Press Officer seemed somewhat prudish, didn't she?

“One more, before you try,“ she said, barely a moment before raising her wand and aiming at Nathalie. “Imperio!” She fixed the younger witch with a hard stare, her wand still held aloft. 'Remove your clothes.'


@Nathalie Wilkins

Nathalie was busy picking herself up off the wooden floor, yet again. She rubbed at the crest of her hip, upon which she had taken the worst of the blow when Eris’ curse had knocked her down for the umpteenth time. It had seemed to be a never-ending session, and Nathalie was certainly bearing the brunt of it. She winced, but did not want Eris to see the discomfort that she had inflicted. The afternoon had been long, and as the sun had begun to set under the horizon the deep black clouds had come in low over the Cotswolds, and with them the heavy foreboding presence of a summer thunderstorm.

Eris made a comment regarding her father, and she tried not to let it get to her. But, wasn’t the older witch in some way correct? Nathalie had that gnawing sense of existential dread - a threat of a continual purposelessness - what if she should actually prove to be useless at all of this; at all these set tasks and skills and techniques that had to be learned, to become mechanised and unconscious? She had been struggling for months, that much was true. And as a result of her slow progress, she came to look upon these Saturdays with Eris with a feeling of nothing short of impending doom.

The younger witch made as if to dust herself down; running her hands over her pale linen summer dress. “Yes, well, I’m not sure duelling technique is exactly a heritable trait.” She narrowed her eyes as she looked towards her teacher. “But I suppose I’m truly blessed to have you then, aren’t I?” she replied with audible spite.

On days like today, Nathalie absolutely hated Eris and all she stood for. But it was a temporary reaction. The Auror pushed her charge hard; past all points of comfort, both physical and emotional. And the younger witch knew it was required, but that hardly made it any more pleasant for her to experience. Still, she returned again and again, each time of her own volition. Away from these sessions, Nathalie held Eris in a sense of near-awe; fascinated by this well-respected professional, so sure of herself, who only a few months before had revealed to Nathalie the truth of her secret double life; how she had been and still remained a devout follower of the Dark Lord and was marked to prove it. Hidden in plain sight. And she knew how lucky she was to have the opportunity to spend anytime at all with this woman; how fortunate she was to even gain a fraction of her knowledge and skills. However that did not quite make the frequent bruises and the continual embarrassments any easier for her pride to take.

They had started the day duelling, which had almost been acceptable. Naturally Eris had been far superior to her student, but Nathalie had nearly held her own on several occasions, which was an alien experience for her. Of course, pride often came before a fall and when Eris had continued into their main task; resistance to the Imperius curse; Nathalie had entered a spiral of failure after failure. Eris liked to alternate her application of Imperius between duels, as though aiming to drain the girl through the emotions and strains of physical combat before attempting to wedge her way into her mind. It appeared to be working all too well, for Eris had had Nathalie singing and pirouetting about the room; she had her sprinting head-first into the back wall and, most disturbingly for the younger witch, she had had her waxing lyrical about the inherent qualities of mudbloods.

Nathalie once more resumed the position, sweat glistening upon her forehead and reddened cheeks, her flaxen hair pulled back into a rough ponytail whilst several strands had come loose and hung lifelessly about her face. The darkened room was lit with a sudden flash that lasted barely a second, before the dull rumble of thunder rattled the wood beneath them. She tossed her wand onto the nearby table with a clatter in preparation for the curse. She closed her eyes and dug her nails into the palms of her hands. “I’m ready,” she spoke, and already a spectre of defeat haunted her voice.

The curse came, as it had done already several times today, not sudden or harsh, but rather calmly and, despite the strange taste in the back of her mouth, not entirely unpleasantly. She opened her eyes and everything was the same, apart from the unfamiliar calm, and Nathalie wondered if Eris had cast it correctly. She frowned at Eris, and gave a half laugh at Eris’ command. “Don’t be silly, Eris,” she replied, but her voice was off, childlike and groggy, and the more she thought about it, the more Eris seemed benevolent and, honestly, full of good advice. And it was terribly hot, and she only wanted what was best for her, she truly was becoming more and more like a friend to her, and Nathalie smiled in return, genuinely, and nodded and felt that warm sensation of companionship in her stomach, like soup on a winter's day, as she began to unbutton the front of her dress, button after button, and it was just at this very point that, like a cold draft from an open window, embarrassment hit her sharply. And just like that, she was again in the long, dark room with the stifling heat once more, staring with puzzlement upon her face at her teacher, and the ridiculousness of what she was about to do was all too clear. She shook her head and laughed to herself, for she realised that, for the very first time, she had overcome the curse, through nothing more exotic than shame. It took her a few moments to fully return to herself, her head still groggy, but most certainly under her own control once more. She looked up at Eris opposite her. “I don’t think so,” she replied with near glee.

Nathalie, like all beginners who have a stroke of luck, was overconfident. She strode to the table and retrieved her wand, and turned with a smile to face Eris, still standing proudly opposite her. “Imperio.” She spoke the curse clearly, and felt the shift in the air and the slight recoil, much softer than its sibling curses. “Eris, get on your knees and tell me that you worship me.”

Eris’ full lips curled up into a smile as her spell hit Nathalie. The immediate, if not unexpected, change in the younger witch’s expression -- calmness, contentment, peace -- was all Eris needed to know it had taken effect. Disappointing. Still, the Death Eater gave her charge time, and watched attentively as Nathalie’s fingers worked at each of the buttons of her sundress in turn, revealing flashes of pale skin beneath. Eris lowered her wand. Originally, she had intended to lift the curse before Nathalie stripped in front of her, but had since decided that perhaps this was the kind of punishment the young blonde needed -- the right motivation to not fail next time.

Nathalie laughed, and Eris continued to gaze, patiently, curiously. A strange feeling churned in her gut in the moment that she recognised that her student had succeeded in beating the curse. Eris pursed her lips, “Good.” she said quietly. It wasn’t much, but it was all the praise Nathalie would get from her for that small success.

They were finally making progress. It was slow going, but it was going. There would be a point where it all just clicked, but they weren’t there yet. Eris wanted to know if Nathalie was worth investing in. If she had value. To her credit, the girl had kept coming back -- she had not simply quit, despite being knocked back week after week -- and for that, Eris respected her. She wouldn’t tell her as much for fear of unnecessarily inflating Nathalie’s ego. It wasn’t a bad thing to be proud of one’s status or achievements, but arrogance was easily manipulated and Eris had already seen glimmers of what she thought was a tad too much superiority emanating from her student. She hoped, in time, to teach Nathalie that lesson, along with many others.

Another flash of lightning lit up the room in the same moment Nathalie aimed her wand at Eris, whose wand remained by her side. It was followed by a growing rumble that suggested the storm was drawing nearer. The spell hit the blonde squarely in the chest, and she felt an unnatural serenity wash over her instantly. There was a temptation to let it fully take over, remove all thought and feeling and just… do what Nathalie wanted. It would be so easy, to just obey -- but it wasn’t in her nature. There were some who thought Eris was a simple foot soldier; a private who did what she was told without question. In the beginning, she supposed she had been, but she’d had to become more, over time, as her superiors had fallen around her.

She would not fall. If Nathalie wanted to beat her, she’d have to fight for it or she wouldn't learn anything at all.

Eris kept her expression impassive -- a quick blink of her eyes and a tense in her jaw the only indication of shirking the curse -- hastily done in her moment of victory, it was weakly cast. She'd fought off worse. Still, the Death Eater lowered herself to her knees, one at a time, keeping her head held high. Her cold blue eyes bore into Nathalie’s. Her lips parted to speak, then stretched into a condescending smirk. “Did you really think it would be that easy?” She flicked her wand up quickly in Nathalie’s direction, throwing her back against the nearest wall with force.

The Auror rose to her feet and strode menacingly over to Nathalie. “Foolish. You need to mean it. Be confident, yes, but not cocky.” Eris spoke in a hard tone, not unlike a parent disciplining their child. Her cool fingers lifted the girl’s chin to look her in the eyes intently, her voice lowering but not softening any, “Seek to control every fibre of my being. Know that what you intend is what I will do, desire it.” She let her hand fall and stepped back, turning and placing her wand on the table -- the first time she had done so.

Eris faced her opponent, unarmed, hands on her hips. “Start with something innocuous, work from there. Lure them in before you rattle the cage too much. More flies with honey rather than vinegar or whatever it is.”   

Just as disappointment had began to sink in, all of a sudden Nathalie found herself winded, in a heap against the other side of the room. It took her a moment to work out that this relocation was due to her sparring partner, and meanwhile Eris was already advancing upon her, letting her know in no uncertain terms just where she had gone wrong. She was, groggily and rather ungracefully, getting back to her feet, more like an injured deer than a highly trained witch, just at the very moment when Eris put her hand upon her chin and raised her face to meet her own. It was the smallest of gestures, but it was enough to embolden the younger witch. For the briefest of moments, despite the older witch’s words, Nathalie nearly believed that Eris cared about her progress. The Auror stepped away from her, discarding her own wand, and presumably she wanted her to try again. Nathalie fixed herself, straightened her posture, closed her eyes, took a deep breath to fill her lungs, moved her head from side to side to loosen her neck, and, when she eventually reopened her eyes, her expression changed. Suddenly, she felt aimless. Her face softened.

Perhaps it was the weeks and weeks of a training that were, at times, akin to painful dental work. Or perhaps it was these claustrophobic sessions in which she would be taught these esoteric and advanced duelling techniques in large, empty rooms, with no particular reason why. She lowered her wand and instead wandered barefoot over to the large windows, pushing one of the heavy dark drapes aside, for air if nothing else, and there was very little of that available. Rather, she revealed the gloomy landscape that lay beyond Slaughter Hall; dark grounds that merged with nearly invisible hedgerows; and past those the black hillsides of the Cotswolds and the strange, angry leaden sky above them. Lightning flashed somewhere in the distance, momentarily outlining the horizon in a shade of bleached grey, but the thunder had not yet reached them.

The younger witch sighed. “Eris, what’s the point of all this;” more of a statement that a question. She waited before continuing, the deep tremble of thunder eventually hitting them, she could feel it against her diaphragm. Nathalie turned back to her mentor, her back against the door jamb, cast in the strange non-light of the evening, giving her a grey complexion. “I was thinking, there’s not that many of us. Purebloods, I mean, in relation to everyone else. And after what happened . . . with the Dark Lord, I mean . . . all that . . . what exactly can we do? There’s not enough of us. Not enough to make a real change. They hate us, anyway.” She met Eris’ eyes, and her own grey orbs contained enough malice to underline her words. “I feel like we don’t have much of a future. And at any rate, we’ll get fewer and fewer in number, and have to . . . intermingle.” The word appeared to disgust her, for her upper lip upturned briefly into a scowl. “I’m just wondering . . . at what point do we give up?”

A silence descended on the couple, and outside it had started to rain with some force, bringing with it a refreshing coolness. Nathalie turned away from Eris, one arm across her body whilst gazing at the grounds. A flash illuminated the horizon once more, and the younger witch pushed a strand of loose hair behind her ear.

“Eris,” she began again, but her voice lower and perhaps more careful now, “Where are your children?” She was speaking to the outdoors, as if acknowledging the sensitive nature of the topic. However to Nathalie, this was a valid point. Woman to woman, she wanted an input; a consultation. She had been immersed since she was old enough to understand the pureblooded convention of descendants and lineage; of continuing one’s bloodline forever; or being nothing more than a precious link in an even-more precious chain. The same chains that seemed now to be on the verge of breaking and being lost forever. “For the cause, I mean. Surely that’s part of our job, as women? Should we really be the ones on the front line? We can contribute in other ways.”

It was an unnatural feeling to be standing, defenseless (or almost), waiting to be attacked. The Death Eater was rarely without her wand at hand -- even less often when she knew she was a target. Eris’ cold eyes followed Nathalie as she lowered her own wand and moved towards the great windows. Was this a trick? Was she attempting to distract her? Had taken her example and her instructions literally and was trying to lure Eris into a false sense of security? Mildly impressive, if it worked.

Thunder rumbled through her very bones, punctuating Nathalie’s epiphany. Eris was thankful that the younger witch was facing away from her, lest she see her reaction. Instead of anger, or disgust, she was simply surprised and, if anything, felt a sort of harmony with her charge. What’s the point of all this? It was something she’d asked herself countless times over the last several months, years. It should have enraged her, to hear those words coming from Nathalie’s lips -- would have, had it been anyone else, she thought. Nathalie reminded Eris of herself, in many ways -- though she would never admit it: young, alone, living a sort of double life; continuing a legacy with no real say in the matter.

Eris remained silent, letting Nathalie continue her monologue. She’d turned to face her now, so the older witch adopted a neutral expression. She breathed in deeply, their eyes locked, and she tried to formulate a response. The problem was, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to agree openly with Nathalie; rally her with her very best attempt at a rousing speech; or scold her for being so defeatist. It was reassuring, at least, to see that the idea of mixing with them was repulsive to Nathalie, as it was to Eris. Words that Gaius had said to her, a long time ago now, came to her: “One of us is worth ten of them.” she said simply, quietly.

There was a telling silence, in which it would be obvious (or should be) to Nathalie that Eris was in at least some level of agreement with her. Lightning flashed once more, casting Nathalie’s frame in a harsh silhouette, and then came the rain.

Where are your children?

And just like that, any sort of maternal instinct towards Nathalie was replaced with pure, hot, rage. It was a kick to the gut -- a reminder of what could have been. Nobody knew, nobody but Melissa. Not even Gaius…

“Dead.” She replied in a monotone voice; it was half-true.True enough, to her. Eris turned on her heel and walked across the hard floor to retrieve her wand, gripping it tightly in her hand. She paused, staring at the opposite wall -- knowing if she turned to face Nathalie right now she would unleash upon her. The Auror breathed in deeply, then exhaled slowly. “Do you really want to be another @Genevieve Grosvenor or @Farren Abercrombie?" she asked harshly, speaking loudly into the room and revealing just how much she’d seen into Nathalie’s thoughts and feelings. Eris turned finally, glaring at her with contempt, “Sit at home in your grand manor and pop out a handful of screaming brats and think that you’ve really contributed?” The older witch had known so many girls just like them; born with a name and breezing through life. She could have been one of them, too, but someone had seen more in her.

“You’re better than that, Nathalie. You could be something so much more.”

Dead, indeed. The word ended suddenly in mid-air, and the ensuing silence chilled Nathalie’s blood. Instinctively she turned to face Eris, met her eyes, and dropped her gaze to the floorboards of the great room. Had Eris borne children? Had something happened? No matter, the younger witch felt the stinging, harsh shame of having crossed a personal threshold, of having pushed too far into a past that was not hers to pry into. A wound of Eris' that had not healed. Her cheeks burned red. “I’m sorry,” she replied too quickly, her voice clear and low. When she looked up again; carefully, like an admonished child; she watched as Eris walked away from her with a forcefulness that betrayed her simmering anger. “I didn’t mean to pry,” she called after her, but this time her voice had lost most of its energy.

A moment passed before Eris spoke again to her. Nathalie crossed an arm about her midriff, her head slightly lowered as she considered the words of the Death Eater. Eris turned quickly and glared at her, demanding an answer. No, I suppose I don't want to be like them, she thought to herself. Although, she had often found herself doing the very opposite. Nathalie was jealous of the wealth and the palatial splendour that the Abercrombie Heiress pranced through. A childhood with summers spent within the walls of Dorfold with Genevieve had always contrasted sharply with her own small and bleak family home. Genevieve had not known the meaning of wearing clothes that someone else may have once had upon their back; of having to repair tears and ripped seams. Had Nathalie herself not craved and coveted such a life? And had she not railed at the fates for having been born in a family of much more limited means? It was always something of a pureblood crutch; to simply not be drowning in opulence. Perhaps, in her darker moments, a reaction to this lazy excess underlined her devotion to all this; to this cause - if that was what it truly was anymore. Even after the thorough destruction of the Dark Lord and the ravaging of their people, as soon as Nathalie had received the call, it was enough for her to be blindly lead forth by Eris and the like through their labyrinthine machinations. For, if she could somehow prove to them; not just to Eris, but to Genevieve and to Farren and to the others; that she indeed would be more practical than they would ever dream of being; perhaps she could somehow invalidate all their grandeur and all their privilege. The movement was perhaps her only chance at equalisation.

She looked to Eris, standing proudly in the centre of the room, a woman with enough distance in her eyes to indicate that she had been through enough nonsense in her life.

“I - I don’t want to be like them, no,” she replied, somewhat unsure of her words, mostly because she had never had to state this sensation aloud before. It felt like a betrayal of friendship, but it thrilled her to say it because it felt like a statement of intent, an affirmation of a belief in what she and Eris were doing; a carrying forth of a flame that proved all those lost before had perhaps not quite died in vain. “I want to be useful, Eris. I want to stand for us. I don’t want to rot in a dusty old mansion with nothing to care about in the world beyond the walls. What happens in society doesn’t affect them, they can always escape the worst. They always have.”

It was not strictly true. Families still had been gutted by the ghouls of Azkaban. The response of the Ministry after the fall of the Dark Lord had been democratic in its retribution. Still, Nathalie trusted that Eris would understand her point. It would be easier to hide from the corruption when one has all the money in the world.

“I’ll do whatever you tell me, I didn’t mean to sound weak, or that I don’t trust you. I do.”

She wanted the lesson over; she felt she had gone too far and was one step away from Eris cursing her into the following week. “Perhaps we can practice Occlumency?” she offered meekly as a way to move things forward, because it normally would signify the end of their lessons - Eris had usually enjoyed torturing her mentally after exhausting her physically.