[Schull estate] follow the trail i've always known [Gabriella]

Something seemed different in the past few days, but Cliona was having a hard job working out what it was. All the rooms were definitely in the same place; she'd checked them twice herself and then sent Tom the house elf round to draw her a map to make sure nothing had vanished when she hadn't been paying attention. Mealtimes were still the same; breakfast brought by her house elf; dinner eaten with the family and everything else a happy accident given her penchant for distraction. It was still early autumn because the leaves were starting to fall from the trees, so nobody had sneakily changed the seasons around without telling her.

It took her three full days to work out what was different. Her brother and Gabriella were talking again. Not the usual, “would you pass the wine please my dear” or “have you heard from Rhiannon yet this week?” but actual, proper conversations, like when they'd been... well, as happy as anyone could ever be in a world where mudbloods were still free to roam the streets. Cliona was glad there was no way they could get onto the estate, and secretly she hadn't found it at all strange that her little friend had stayed close to the castle for the past few years. The only reason the old woman went out herself now was because she was arguably the best at choosing appropriate presents for Rhiannon. If she left it to the younger family members, the poor girl would receive books for every single birthday and Christmas instead of exciting things like bright orange robes with a design of ravens or an unlabelled potion that would turn her hair the same colours as the Slytherin crest.

But now it seemed they were going to go out again. Certainly they talked about it, though the discussion was careful and tentative. Cliona thought she understood why. There was a time, a very long while ago it seemed, when she hadn't left the castle for a lifetime. Nobody had minded, they had just left her to her own devices. But her little friend was her little sister now, and she was too young for that kind of life. She deserved to come to the station to meet Rhiannon off the Hogwarts express, which seemed to be what they talked of most.

That was a big step to take when everything for the past years had been familiar. What Little Sister needed was something new, something interesting and unfamiliar and yet still safe. And Cliona knew exactly where they could go. Beyond the Dead Vines. Now that she had a plan, the woman wasted no time putting it into action. They would need food for the expedition, so she had Tom the house elf wrap up a suitable picnic, tomatoes and some fruitcake and a bottle of mead that had been lying under a pile of robes at the bottom of her wardrobe for some years. Tucking all these into a bag which she slung over her shoulder, Cliona emerged from her room sometime after what conventional people considered lunchtime. Her feet were customarily bare; she was dressed in one of her favourite robes, a deep blue one that had originally belonged to her grandmother and had been lovingly repaired by the house elf on several occasions, and the ugly gold and emerald earrings that adorned her mismatched earlobes would have fed a family of six for several years. She had neglected to brush her hair.

Outside Gabriella's study, she paused for some time, listening for sounds from within. Nothing out of the ordinary so she knocked and then, after glaring mistrustfully at the doorknob called out in her hoarse voice “Little sister? We're going adventuring!” 

It was amazing the difference their late night scare had made. Dermod was no longer shutting himself up in his office like it was some fortress of solitude, but instead often left the door open, and Gabriella had even started doing her afternoon reading in there. They'd had another cold day, and she'd even ventured in for a little while, trying to read while the fire crackled across from her. She mangled only an hour before the trembling witch retreated to the chill of her own study across the hall, unable to concentrate on the words on the page. even with the silencing charm he'd put on the fireplace, the occasional whiff of smoke or the flickering light drew her gaze, just to make sure it hadn't leapt forth from the hearth to catch the room ablaze. But an hour was progress; and her retreat to her study had not been an emotional one this time.

Dinners too, were livelier, though the large hearth at the head of the room remained unit. she almost felt bad for her sister in law who, for the past few years, was given free reign of the conversation, since neither of the two of them were doing much talking other than typical pleasantries and polite requests. But Cliona hadn't seemed to mind much as the two of them discussed the train, and the alternatives to the floo network for getting there. Dermod of course could Apparate himself and Gabriella to the train, if need be, but getting back would be interesting, as there were in fact three of them. If Gabriella's time with minimal wand usage had not been horrifically detrimental, they could of course take a portkey to Ireland and apparate from there; assuming the unlicensed witch still could. But that would involve practice, and she was uncertain she wanted to take such a major risk.

They had yet to discuss when they were actually going to go replace her wand, with Gabriella still uncertain about such a major foray so quickly after her self-imposed hermitage. She’d had another idea for their first excursion, and Dermod thankfully had confirmed that their favorite bookstore in Knockturn alley was alive and well. She’d even joked that she was surprised it was still there, after losing its two most frequent customers.

Her mind having been dwelling on the past few days, Gabriella was startled to hear a knock on her door, turning away from the window, her long skirts swishing around her ankles as she moved. She’d gotten used to wearing layers for warmth lately, and skirts of differing lengths created a lovely effect, besides doing their job of keeping her warm. Pulling her sweater closer around her, she was halfway to the door when she heard the older woman call out for her. There had been a time where she would have balked at the nickname the older woman had given her. She hated anything that made her sound like a child, or inferior. But from Cliona it was impossible to take it that way. The woman had basically decided that she was family, and that had been a large part of what had kept her going the past few years.

Gabriella opened the doors, smiling at the woman's gaudy attire, compared to her almost monochromatic grays, with a few hints of brown. She'd left Dermod to handle her shopping as of late, and it showed, as he stuck to mostly neutral tones. Gabriella had always been picky about when and how to incorporate color into her wardrobe. "An adventure?" she was a little perplexed, stepping outside the door of her rooms, glancing across the hall to Dermod's study, closed on account of the fire he had going in there. "where are we going?" there was no sense in arguing with Cliona when she decided something, and Gabriella had finished the book she'd been reading and had yet to pick up the next in the trilogy, so she supposed it couldn't hurt. "Will I need my coat?"

Little Sister opened the door, saving Cliona the need to touch the unpleasant handle, and asked where they were going. “On an adventure.” she said agreeably, as if that explained everything, and then, deciding they needed a little more detail, added “outside. Behind the castle”. Unfortunately she added this in gaelic, and mumbled it, so it was debateable whether Gabriella would have understood, though undoubtedly she was fairly used to her sister-in-law's unusual methods of communication by now.

Her coat? It didn't occur to Cliona that the season was advancing and that this was a sensible reason for any normal person needing a coat. Instead, she considered the possibility before deciding that they would want something to sit on for their picnic. “Yes.” she said simply, and once that was organised, led the way along the landing and downstairs. Upon passing through the entrance hall the Irishwoman liberated Dermod's second-best cloak and wrapped it warmly around her own shoulders, her own not having been seen for some time since she'd made it into a bed for her house elf the previous winter.

Down the hallway she led them, past the library, dining room and disused ballroom, then right down the corridor that led to the west wing of the castle. But not far down here did they walk; there was a passageway, rarely used, accessed by a door that blended perfectly into the wood panelling of the ground floor of the castle. Cliona almost missed it, then stopped, turned back, and ran her fingers along the smooth, dark wood. Ah, there it was! Once you knew where to push, the door opened easily, and from the other side it had a carved wooden handle, which the old woman eyed with distaste as they stepped into the narrow passage.

It wasn't without light, for there were slits cut into the walls, about eight feet high, which allowed illumination from the adjacent chamber. Once it had been used as a parlour by her ancestors, but now it was abandoned, largely devoid of furniture and unused. The disused parlour backed onto an inner courtyard. Another door opened into an overgrown corner, where ivy had mostly covered the walls. There was just enough space for the two women to slip through the bushes and emerge at the far end of the courtyard.

“This way” Cliona confirmed, after a moment's pause, and climbed over a low wall, slightly below hip height in her case. Now they were outside the castle, the North facing side which was surrounded by high, magically warded walls that left them as pristine as the day they were erected. Here, the gardens had been neglected for decades, with the result that self-seeded plants and even trees had sprung up haphazardly. “Used to be gardens” she confirmed, picking her way carefully across where bits and pieces of paths remained. Before long, they came across what she had brought them to explore. An abandoned cottage in the shadow of the much larger castle, modelled in the same design but seemingly never used. Appearing to grown out from it were trellises, adorned with vines that wound and twisted. Even that might have seemed normal but for the fact that the entire construct appeared to be built entirely out of stone.

“Beyond the Dead Vines...who knows?” whispered the old woman thoughtfully.

Four years on, and Gabriella was still having trouble understanding Cliona, but she'd been picking up a decent bit. She knew for instance that the older woman had said something about the castle, and thankfully had added the word 'outside' in English. Normally it was Rhiannon who wanted adventures, though that had gotten less and less over the years. Perhaps thirteen was a little too old for such childish flights of fancy. A twinge of sadness went through her as she realized that, in her lost state of solitude, Gabriella had missed the girl going from an innocent child to a teenager. Certainly they'd still played, and read together, and talked, but Gabriella had been lost in a haze, and the girl was growing up, going places and doing things while she remained trapped in a prison of her own making.

But Cliona rarely left time for thinking once she had decided you were joining her for something. Gabriella grabbed her coat, thankfully recognizing the woman's affirmative response, following along and quickly leaving the well-known parts of the castle, at least to Gabriella. There were a few places that she and Rhiannon had explored, but not where Cliona was taking her. Still, the older woman obviously knew where she was going; something that Gabriella hoped was not an act. After all, how silly would it be if she got lost inside her own home? Gabriella nearly ran into the woman when she stopped and about faced, running her hand along the wall before pressing on it, glaring at the door handle on the other side before stepping through.

The younger witch had stopped to marvel at the secret passage's entrance, before realizing that she was being quickly left behind. "couldn't we just have used the main door to the gardens?" she asked as they passed through thin trails of light that she tried peering through to see what lay beyond them, before picking up her skirts a little so she could hurry to catch up. But of course not. That would have made sense, and there was very little Cliona did that ever made sense until you realized what the conclusion was. Often times there were perhaps an easier way that it could have been done, but Gabriella never pointed this out. Sometimes taking a strange and round about path was more interesting. Like following a woman barely in control of her senses into a secret passage way.

Pushing through the vines on the other side of the door, Gabriella let out a gasp at where they'd found themselves, marveling at the wild and untamed beauty of the little courtyard. If this was what Cliona had wanted to show her, she could not have been happier, and would have gladly stayed here for hours. There was a part of her that wanted to, and she resolved that she'd have to find this place again, as well as the disused parlor that looked out onto it. Gabriella had always wanted her own Tea room when she was a little girl, and with a faint smile, she couldn't help but imagine it. Not that she ever got visitors here... in fact most of her friends had dropped off the map years ago, and her own family had stopped writing, exchanging only the usual pleasantries at Christmas with the appropriately hollow well wishes for the new year. And that was from the Costello’s. The last she'd heard from her siblings was a picture of the twins jumping on Iago's bed while he tried to catch them, presumably taken by her sister. A full year or more had gone past since then.

"I'm coming, I'm coming." in a very undignified way, Gabriella frantically scrambled over the wall where Cliona had gone, falling on her arse but managing to hop back up, shaking her skirts and walking quickly to try to catch up with her. They might as well have found themselves in a forest, but she was surprised when the Irish witch told her that these used to be more gardens. Just how many gardens did the castle have? She could imagine riding through here on her horse, and smiled a little, but sadly, realizing that she had no idea what had become of her little mare, especially with Iago living in Italy and no one at her father's estate. Surely Iago had not forgotten about the horses...

"what was that about death?" she asked, stopping a little and looking closer at their surroundings, before realizing in stunned silence that they were in a vineyard. Or at least a petrified one. She couldn't imagine someone carving out each of these vines, even with magic. "Why would someone do such a thing?" she murmured, running her fingertips over the vines. They were young vines, not even old enough to bear fruit yet. Gabriella knew very little about growing grapes, but she had listened to the old Costello men talking about it. "What is this place?" she asked, hoping to get an answer she could mostly understand.

The stone vines were old but intact, in one or two places the beginnings of weathering could be seen where the surface of the stone had just begun to crumble. In others they were growing thickly with lichens, resplendent in a hundred shades of green and gold, shining in the weak autumnal sunshine. It was a while since Cliona had been here, twenty three years or so, and there were more lichens than she remembered. She took some time exploring these with her fingers, running calloused tips along the delicate fines, winding her fingers into the crevices, wrapping whole hands around the stone trellis. The unexposed surfaces were still soft and smooth; the weathered patches uneven and scratchy, like licking the vinegar bottle, but the lichen patches were as soft and feathery as a May sunrise. Picking off a tiny patch of orangey-gold lichen, dropping it into the palm of her hand, stroking it, putting it in her hair thoughtfully. Little Sister had been touching the vines too, but she seemed to have stopped now. What had she said?

Why, and what. Two very good questions, and ones that Cliona intended to answer. As she considered the exact format of her reply, a rare smile lit up her face. “My brother's not the only one who can tell a story” she said carefully, seating herself at the base of her favourite trellis. And then, in the manner of a storyteller and, deliberately for once, entirely in English for the benefit of her audience, she began.

“My mother was Riona, daughter of Fingein. Son of Tighernac, son of Cathal O'Driscoll. Cathal had two brothers, Cabhall and Callan. And at that time, there was a great famine across all Ireland. Muggles it was who died, mostly, but times were hard for people, too. Potatoes were the main crop, and they failed across the country for two years. The O'Driscolls were safe here, but food was rationed, so no wizard went without. Some misguided food even tried to feed the muggles, or to enhance their crops...” she tutted in revulsion and fell silent for a moment, then continued, miraculously keeping her train of thought.

“The brothers liked competing, and they liked to gamble. Each of them wanted to be the best, so they made a bet. Each would try growing the food of his or her choice, and the winner would receive...” Cliona had no idea what the winner would have received. That part had never been in the story she'd been told by her grandmother. Oh, well. “...tomatoes. The winner would receive many, many special tomatoes” she improvised unconvincingly.

“Now, Cathal was skilled in the art of potions, and he produced a tincture that, when painted on the leaves of the potato plants, would protect them from the blight that was sweeping across Ireland. In secret, he sold the recipe to a potioneer in Dublin for a great many galleons. His youngest brother Callan, whose talent lay in herbology, chose to grow peas. In pots, in the ground and even against the castle walls, wherever there was a patch of earth, he planted seeds. Some of their descendants were still producing pods in my grandmother's time.”

“But Cabhall, whose talent lay in charms and curses, had a passion for wine, and he chose to grow grapes. Dismissing his brothers' concerns as jealousy he built a vineyard, planted his vines, and waited. And waited, and waited. Charming the entire area to stay warm, he spent the entire winter in the grounds, speeding up the growth of the vines, forcing them taller, bigger, longer. He built this cottage to live in so convinced was he that his brothers would try and sabotage his efforts. Once spring came around, he waited for the grapes, but none came. In the castle, there were potatoes and peas for every meal, but none of the promised wine.”

“One day his brothers came, intending to ask him to rejoin them in the castle. It didn't matter that he hadn't yet produced any crops, they just hoped he would come home. But his obsession was such that he mistrusted them, firing curses from the window of the cottage that he had never furnished. A less skilled man might have only hexed a small area of vine, but once the curse struck, it spread throughout all the plants, until they were...as you see them now.”

Gabriella grinned, knowing exactly what Cliona had said from the context and bits of English her older friend had spouted. “No, he’s certainly not.” she replied with a knowing smile, fingers gently tracing over some of the buds on the stone vines. She watched the woman settle herself on the ground, before finding a low stone wall that she could perch on, her long woolen skirts hanging down an brushing the ground as she settled comfortably in place to listen, very interested in hearing the history of this place.

She was familiar with the Famine, as it had come up several times in some of her readings, especially as lara had wanted to know more about the history of Ireland but hadn’t wanted to read it herself. Those were the sort of requests for her sister  that gabriella was all too happy to fulfil. She was also aware that many of the poorer wizarding families suffered as much as many of the muggles did, but didn’t interrupt Cliona’s story to correct that little fact. She was used to being keenly aware of unpleasant truths that many wished to ignore. Reading often did that. Though in a way, she’d been avoiding a world full of unpleasant truths for the past few years, so she supposed she really didn’t have a right to chastise anyone else on the matter.

She listened in silence, nodding as Cliona continued her tale, and couldn’t help but think that Cabhall reminded her a lot of Iago when he was younger. Charms and Curses and Wines. But the man seemed a little crazy, even for her brother before he’d matured and learned the art of responsibility. She looked up at the cottage, before her gaze turned back to the vines, almost a little incenced on their behalf.

“He was an Idiot. Vines don’t produce grapes for the first five years or so. Even with his enhancements and speeding up their growth, these don’t look old enough to have started making grapes yet.” she shook her head, before straightening up and looking around. It might be possible to unpetrify them, were gabriella so inclined. After all, there were some delicious wines that could be made even in colder climates. In fact a favorite of hers required that the grapes freeze on the vine, harvested after the first hard frost and processed then. Perhaps… but that would be a project for another time, if ever at all. She had so many other projects in the garden, that taking on yet another one would be almost too much. Besides, grapes required a lot of work and patience to get them going. At least in this climate. Further south, it might have been possible to let them go wild… but she’d have to read up on that.

“Oh merlin there goes my mind again wanting to add yet another gardening project to my ever growing list.” she laughed lightly, hopping up from the wall and wandering through the trellises, her fingers running along the tendrils of stone. “Thank you Cliona. This place is positively lovely.” for a fleeting moment, she could see Lara setting up her easel and paints amongst the trellises, and a pang of longing hit her. She loved her siblings dearly, and knew that they were only cruel to each other because of their father’s forced competition for his approval and affection, one that Gabriella had lost before she’d even had a chance to compete. Surely they didn’t spare much thought to her, but still… she could not help but miss them. 

Cliona was pleased with herself. Her story had clearly been well received, and she was delighted at how well she had told it. Although she wouldn't admit as much to Gabriella, her only previous audience had been Rhiannon, and when the little girl was younger she'd had a disconcerting habit of interrupting and asking questions. What colour were the peas? What sort of robes did Cabhall wear? How did you make wine from grapes? Often, Cliona had answered the questions and then completely forgotten the story she was telling, so she felt very proud of herself now.

But she frowned a little at Little Sister's reaction. Calling one of her ancestors an idiot? The old woman started to feel offended, working herself up into a sulk which could have lasted several days if it weren't for the fact she heard the young woman's words.

Oh. But if he hadn't known... they had a massive library with books on every conceivable subject. But he didn't want his brothers laughing at him...the story said they hadn't even got within speaking distance before he started firing curses. But what if... Alright. Perhaps he had been a little silly to curse all the vines. Although... “If he hadn't curse them, they would have died a hundred years ago” she muttered, still wanting to have the last word on the subject, determined to paint her ancient relative in at least a slightly positive light. She watched Gabriella examine the vines in more detail, and decided they really were rather beautiful. Most people didn't notice how many shades of grey were in a single wall. Cliona had tried to count them once, but had fallen asleep before she'd come up with a definitive answer.

Surprisingly, she was still paying attention. “What sort of gardening? Could we make wine? How do you make wine?” she asked, suddenly brimming with curiosity. To Cliona, food was something the elves put on the table, already cooked and ready to eat. With the exception of her tomatoes of course, which still adorned several rooms and corridors on her floor despite being distinctly past their best by now. But Gabriella looked sad. Just for a moment, but it was there nonetheless. The old woman was pleased with how exceptionally observant she was being today. She beckoned, and led the way into the little stone cottage. It was tiny; just a rudimentary kitchen and sitting room downstairs, a third empty space that could have been anything. and a winding, dark, tiny staircase leading upstairs.

Cliona went to the base of the stair and peered up, curiously, a grin on her face.

The welsh witch couldn’t help but nod at her fatalistic prognosis of the vines, she didn’t know how long grape vines lived for but that probably would have been the case. Even if in some cases plants re-seeded themselves. She’d have to look into it further and… no she had enough projects going on at the moment. Of course Cliona didn’t help any with her questions. Once again, Gabriella’s brow furrowed as she tried to figure out what the woman was asking, before smiling softly. “I was wondering to myself if we could somehow un-curse the vines. I know there are potions that can fix petrification in people, it shouldn’t be too hard to find something… but I have so many projects already in the gardens and grapes take a lot of work. We’d probably need to hire an actual person to take care of them, otherwise we’d never eat because the elves would be so busy.” she smiled sweetly before following Cliona up towards the house.

“Oh but you would enjoy the process of making wine. At least one of them. There’s plenty of ways to get the juice from the grapes with magic, but the most fun way doesnt use it at all. You build a big stone basin with a drain for the juice to come out of and fill it with grapes. And you build a scaffold over it with ropes, and then everyone carefully washes their feet so they’re perfectly clean, and stomps all over the grapes to get the juices out. The costellos hold a festival for first harvest on their Vineyard where they do this. My elder sister tells me it's a lot of fun, but i’ve never been….”

She stepped into the stone cottage, marveling at the dust over everything, but how it all seemed just the way it had been, though very sparsely furnished. The large window in the sitting room was pretty enough to draw her attention, with triangular panes spoked like a wheel. But she didn’t have much time to look, Cliona was already venturing towards the stairs, peering up them with curiosity on her face. “Have you been inside before?” Gabriella asked, a little intrigued and thankfully distracted now from thoughts of her sister. “Shall we go up?”

They could make wine! Cliona liked that idea. Once, she'd read a book that said that the grapes had to be crushed in giant vats while people stomped on them with bare feet, and the thought had appalled her. Did they make sure that the people who stomped the grapes were purebloods? It sounded like quite heavy work, so surely house elves would be too small... The idea that a halfblood or even - she shuddered a little - a mudblood might have walked over the wine they drank with their evening meal repulsed her. She had refused to drink wine for over three years after reading that book. But if they made it themselves, they would know exactly whose feet had stomped on the grapes, and they could even wash their feet beforehand!

She congratulated herself for knowing all about the grape-stomping thing as Little Sister confirmed it, trying to understand what the younger woman was describing but in truth finding the bit about the scaffold and the ropes rather difficult and confusing. Why did they need to do that? Couldn't they just magic something? Or if it came to that, why hadn't anyone invented a charm to stomp grapes so they didn't need to use their feet at all? Cliona suddenly thought of getting a bit of grape peel stuck in between her toes and how nasty that would feel, and she had to stop herself from sitting down there and then and checking that there weren't really grapes stuck to her feet. Luckily, Gabriella said something interesting enough that she was distracted.

"A festival? Can we go?" she asked suddenly. She didn't just mean them, she meant Dermod should go too, and they could take Rhiannon, and it wouldn't be like having to go somewhere strange and frightening because it would just be visiting Little Sister's relations and then she could see how the wine was really made. And then they could come back and she would know how to make wine on the estate and everyone would be proud of her! Yes, Cliona liked this idea a lot...right up until the moment she became distracted by the upstairs of the cottage.

No, she'd never been upstairs before. She'd been inside, but it hadn't seemed very exciting so she'd just sat there for a couple of hours watching a beetle crawl along the stonework before her legs had grown stiff and she'd decided to go back inside. That had been quite some time ago - about twenty three years, if her memory was accurate (which it usually was) - and she thought what a shame it was that she'd never explored properly. "Yes, come on..." she muttered, leading the way up the staircase. Entirely made of stone, neglected for well over a century, the steps crumbled a little as she set foot on them, but the old witch failed to notice, so engrossed was she in finding out what was upstairs. What an adventure they were having!

Gabriella found herself smiling as she gladly explained about the wine. And small victories she was actually holding Cliona’s attention. It was a hard thing to do, but she’d done it  a few times. It still felt like a victory every time. Pleased with this, Gabriella kept talking about the Vineyard and the festival, filling in details from her cousins until she was suddenly interrupted. Though her friend and sister in law had switched to gaelic, Gabriella was able to piece it together from the little that she knew, as well as the sudden excitement on the older woman’s face. The welsh witch laughed softly, pleased by the idea. She’d been wanting to visit italy for some time, and see her family there.

“Well from what I remember the Festival is held in August, so it could perhaps be a fun family trip.” after all, if she and Cliona were going to go, she certainly wanted to bring Dermod with her, and how fair would it be to Rhiannon if all of them went and left her behind? Even if it was during the school year. “I think that’s an excellent idea. I should speak to Dermod about this.” there was excitement in her own voice as well at the idea, but true to Cliona’s form, she’d already moved on from the thought and was eyeing the stairs.

Moving to follow her, Gabriella watched her take the first few steps, wincing as there was some crumbling. “Do be careful Cliona… the steps don’t seem completely stable.” she offered, but didn't think the woman would  actually listen. Against her better judgement, Gabriella carefully took the steps, careful to test her weight before fully putting herself up on the step. She couldn’t help but share in Cliona’s excitement however, and by the time she was halfway up, no longer checking herself. When they reached the top, she was only slightly disappointed. Like the rest it was sparsely furnished, the remnants of a bedframe in part of the room, and two collapsed and moth ridden chairs by a beautiful circular window. That had to be the best part. But it was the sound of birds that caught her attention, as she realized that the light up here wasn’t coming from just the window.

There was a massive hole in the roof, though the trees blocked out a good bit of the sun still. “Oh look. A skylight.” she teased, stepping out underneath it so the light streaming in danced across her dark hair and porcelain features. “Its really lovely here.”

August. They were going to go to Italy in August.

That was absolutely fine, not frightening at all. August was nearly an entire year away, Cliona would have lots of time to get used to the idea, to read books about wine so she understood what was happening, and she could decide which clothes to take and maybe even remember to wear some proper shoes. As if remembering for the first time that they belonged to her she looked down at her feet; yes, they were bare, engrained with months of dirt as she hadn't worn shoes since last winter's frosts had subsided and probably she should trim her toenails at some point.

This thought occupied her mind as she ascended the stone staircase, her naked feet noticing the crumbling of the steps long before eyes or ears would have brought it to mind. She grunted at Little Sister's words, knowing that she was perfectly safe. Even if she fell, there were spells that could break one's fall, just cast the correct words and... Cliona didn't know what the spells were. Once she had known of course, but she didn't seem to use her wand very much these days, and such things slipped her mind. Perhaps she should practise? Yes, that was another good idea. She could go to the library and as well as reading about wine, she could read spells about wine. And probably drink some wine as well while she was there. It seemed like a pleasant way to spend an evening, and if she decided the library was too large and crowded she could always take the books she liked up to her own rooms. Dermod hadn't realised yet, she'd been doing it for at least three decades and now there were a couple of hundred stacked up on windowsills, under and on her bed and in Tom the house elf's closet; mostly forgotten and discarded when she'd lost interest.

Here, she was still interested. The stone was pitted and scratchy beneath her feet, and she wasn't sure if she liked the sensation or not. It was nicer than carpet, which some of the castle rooms had, and a lot nicer than walking on fallen twigs after a heavy gale, but less pleasant than the cool tiles that graced most of the castle floors. The cataloguing of sensations took her to the top of the stairs, and she was slightly disappointed to step into a fairly ordinary room, much smaller than she would have hoped (though without liberal use of magic, entirely impossible to be any larger) and liberally scattered with bird droppings which she barely noticed, but with a particularly nice window which she immediately crossed to. Leaning out, she could see the whole back part of the estate, not a particularly impressive view given that they were only a dozen feet higher than ground level, but pretty nonetheless. She turned around when Gabriella spoke, noticing for the first time the hole in the roof.

It was nice, Little Sister was right. If they could find a spell to stop the rain coming in it would be even nicer, but... "Bran" she said, pointing up through the roof to an overhanging tree. Sure enough, Dermod's raven was perched on a nearby branch, watching the two women intently; further up, a certain pair of crows looked like they were considering a visit directly into the ruined cottage.

Unlike her slightly insane sister in law, gabriella had in fact noticed the bird droppings, which was what had prompted her looking for where the creatures might be getting in. the cottage was absolutely charming. And if she and Dermod had any inclination to invite guests to the estate, it would have made a nice guest cottage. Assuming they were the sort of guests you wanted to keep at a distance. But they didn’t have guests they wanted to keep close, let alone reluctant visitors. After all, the estate was unplottable to begin with, and there were few she would have even asked her husband to have over. But it was a pleasant little thought. One that reminded her of the friends she’d lost contact with, promting a soft sigh. But those friendships had been fading even before the fire, moving on with their own lives and leaving her to her dreary existence. Not that it was such anymore.

Upon hearing the name of Dermod’s raven, she turned towards Cliona, then followed the pointed finger, a smile crossed her face as she saw who was with the black bird, one branch lower in the same tree. If Bran had been a Crow, they’d obviously formed their own little Murder. And of course Rhiannon’s Jackdaw, even if the thing couldn’t fly to join them. She grinned and held out her arm, though only Desdemona came to her, Othello hopping over into her sunnier spot on the branches. “So this is where you three dissapear off to at all hours.” she murmured, stroking the bird’s feathers.

But the arrival of the birds had brought one other thing to gabriella’s attention. The light that Othello had hopped into was fading and low. Looking around again, Gabriella realized just how late it had gotten, and was a little surprised that there was no letter attached to any of the three birds from her husband. She giggled a little, imagining him suggesting that if she wasn’t home by nightfall he’d have to mount a search party for her. Then again, he’d probably not even wait until that late, considering how obsessive he’d been in making sure she hadn’t skipped meals. “Cliona, we really should start heading back. Its nearly dinner time.”

Little Sister was talking to the birds. Cliona saw nothing strange in this, though she hoped that her young friend wasn't going to expect them to reply. Surely she knew by now that Bran was far too sulky and temperamental to do anything that could be mistaken for helpful behaviour? Thankfully one of the crows flew down and landed on her arm. Cliona stood and stared at the others, liking the dappled patterns of light and shade that were cast by the branches through the hole in the roof. When the other crow moved, its shadow grew and elongated against the cottage wall. The old witch turned and looked at it, imagining a giant crow creeping through the branches...was that a story she'd told Rhiannon when she was a tiny girl? It felt like something she might have told...a giant pureblood crow of course; she had never risked telling the little girl stories that were less than wholesome.

The shadow faded and Gabriella's words filtered into her consciousness. Dinner time? Was that a reason for heading back, then? Certainly the Irishwoman never worried too much about letting such things as mealtimes distract her from what she was doing, but...it hadn't escaped her attention that Little Sister had lost weight. To put it more accurately, Dermod had told her in no uncertain terms that they should all take their meals together at regular times from now on, because Gabriella needed 'feeding up'. Cliona didn't really want to go back yet; she wanted to sit out here and look at the fading light until it was all gone and she would have to find her way down the crumbling steps and out of the cottage, and then creep through the estate grounds as if she were a spirit and had to be sure nobody saw her. Cliona liked that game; she'd liked it since she was a small girl and had hidden out here from someone who wanted her to learn her lessons.

Later, she'd played the game when her uncle had been looking for her, when he had things in mind that certainly weren't lessons and certainly were no games she wanted to play with am uncle thirty years her senior. Cliona had been clever, playing her special game and hiding behind the trees until she'd seen him and the other men of the estate pour out of the castle doors, rowdy with too much liquor and ready to fire their wands at anything that moved. Cliona hadn't needed to move; she'd just waited until one of them fired off a spell and then she'd cast a spell of her own. Nobody had even heard her cast it, they hadn't even realised he wasn't moving until she'd begun to slip away and had heard their shouts of shock and horror, each accusing the other of being the one whose wand must have backfired.

Her mind had wandered; she realised Gabriella had asked something and now, with those thoughts in her head she felt strangely exposed, as if Little Sister could read her every thought. So maybe it would be best to go along with the dinnertime plan. For now, anyway. "We should have some wine" she said agreeably, as if wine were not served at almost every evening meal on the Schull estate "wine, and...plans." she nodded and moved towards the staircase, made her way carefully back down, pausing briefly halfway down to consider once again the feel of the ancient stone under her bare feet, then turned once at the bottom to be sure Little Sister found her way safely down. "We're going to Italy!" she announced once they were back at ground level, firmly changing her thoughts back to a much safer subject.

Gabriella had never imagined that her closest friend could be someone old enough to be her mother, with the other more akin to a daughter. She’d had friends in the past but now, there remained only those two. Family. Something she’d always desperately wanted. She smiled, a warm feeling in her heart as she headed for the stairs. “Yes. we should. If we get back quickly enough, I believe I have a bottle of Costello wine I can get from my study.” wine was one of the words that she actually understood, although she was getting better. Perhaps with enough time, she could actually learn the language, but it was so different then anything else she’d studied. Perhaps she should have asked Lara for one of her books… “yes. And plans. I’m sure if both of us tell him we’re going, Dermod will have no choice but to agree. Although it might be good to get Rhiannon in on this too. He can’t deny all three of us.” she replied lightly, a bit of joy in her voice.

The idea of going to see her family filled her with both pleasure and a bit of dread. But the whole family? She could handle that. If they all went together, she wouldn’t feel so worried that they might try to keep her there. As sheltered as she’d been, Gabriella often wondered if her siblings believed she was capable of making any kind of judgement for herself. She found herself worried that they might take her away from her husband, or try to convince her that he’d manipulated her in some way. But with the whole family there… and certainly grandmother Costello wouldn’t let them.

She was worried however, as the nausea was starting to return. She didn’t want to worry anyone of course, so she hadn’t brought it up.after all, there were so many things that could cause this, none the least of which was her frequent illnesses. Or perhaps it was just that her body was rebelling against food after so long of eating sparsely. Still, she was hungry, and eager to head out, feeling rather tired. And they still had to walk back. With a little laugh, Gabriella made her way to the door to head home. “Yes… we’re going to italy.” she echoed.

(Fin)

It took Cliona a few seconds to connect the phrase 'Costello wine' with Gabriella's own family despite the conversation they'd been having just minutes earlier. She was happy and content though, and nodded at the words without really listening. Her attention drifted back as her brother was mentioned, and she smirked, liking the idea of both women ganging up on the stubborn man and convincing him to do something that wasn't entirely his own plan for once. And then... "Rhiannon?" she asked, a smile on her face. The little girl - who wasn't really so little any more, already in her third year at Hogwarts - would love a visit like that. She'd never been to Italy before, never been anywhere other than Ireland or the British Isles in fact...or so Cliona assumed. She wouldn't really have had an idea even if Dermod had taken the child on a world tour five years earlier...

She began humming a favourite tune, one her grandmother had sung when she was a child, one that had already been old when her grandmother's grandmother was young. Cliona's singing voice as was rough as might be expected for a woman who had once spent months screaming for her lost love, as rough as her speaking voice yet somehow still melodic. It sounded, in fact, rather like a crow singing a lullaby and her smile widened. "Rhiannon will like that" she said, looking once again up the stairs they had just descended. Then she spotted a particularly nicely-shaped piece of loose stone, bent down and picked it up. It fitted nicely into the palm of her hand, feeling pleasantly crunchy and cool. She tried to close her hand around it but the sharper edges dug in, and when she opened her fingers to look closely there were chalky marks there. While she was examining these, Little Sister had reached the doorway to the petrified cottage, ready to head back they way they had come.

Cliona still wasn't sure she wanted to leave so soon, but she'd promised. Cliona didn't break her promises, no matter how difficult they were. And really, it wasn't so difficult to go in and eat dinner, where there would be special wine and actual proper conversation (that obviously she wouldn't have to join in with unless she really wanted to) and then after dinner she could check on her tomatoes and find a nice book from the library and..."Yes, yes. I'll come back tomorrow" she said in answer to a harsh cawing from somewhere in the roofspace. Then she turned to follow Gabriella out of the doorway and back to the castle.

[Cliona out]