[cork] success is counted sweetest by those who ne'er succeed || rowen

“I do not care what your mum says, Brennan will not be invited to Christmas dinner if he cannot find himself a respectable date, I do not know what possesses your grandfather to put up with his nonsense but I simply will not tolerate it in my home,” Genevieve noted. Though she would never say it out loud, there was a sense of nervousness that she experienced every time she was left in charge of these sorts of events, the constant reminder that the eyes of others would be on her actions at all times made matters worse; the heiress was accustomed to the holding the gaze of the world but not when everyone in the room was looking for an opportunity to point out her shortcomings. And though the young witch had plenty, those were simply some of the many truths she was compelled to ignore.

Even so, the pressure allowed her to revel in the control that it brought her, making her feel more powerful now than she had in the last nine months. It had already been established that the child would come whenever he decided to, and had she been more diligent about keeping track of these sorts of things as Effie, her maid, often encouraged, she might have known if that time was closer to now or several weeks later. But she didn’t want to dwell on things that she had no control over because it displeased her. So instead, she distracted herself in meticulousness, looking over the shoulder of everyone in her employment to guarantee that things were up to her ridiculously high expectations.

No one was pleased with this behavior, nevertheless considering that the woman’s reputation preceded her by leaps and bounds, they were content in getting their revenge by snickering and whispering with each other in the kitchen out of her sight. She’s just about ready to pop, the maids would giggle, I’d say she won’t make it to her own party, imagine what a Christmas gift that’ll be, they’d say, and had begun taking bets on when the baby would come and, more importantly, how she’d learn her lesson after she realized that she was no longer the center of her husband’s attention. 

By the time she had invited young Rowen over to get fitted for a dress, one that everyone else was sure to be envious of, the woman was exhausted and a little annoyed by the seamstress’ insistence that they might consider refitting Genevieve’s dress since she had expanded since several months ago. Miffed, and terribly offended by the older woman’s suggestion, she was intent on spending as much time as possible protesting everything she disliked about the way the young Ravenclaw’s dress was being made so as to avoid the focus on the changes of her own body. Soon, she’d return to her glory days, Genevieve was certain of it. It was now simply a matter of when such a thing would happen that concerned her the most.

As the woman’s assistant brought in a spool of pink tulle, shockingly pink at that, the woman found just another reason to become upset. “That’s quite enough tulle, she’s not thirteen for Merlin’s sake, and pink? How incredibly tacky, are you intent on ruining my party and forcing poor Rowen to buy a dress at a store, one someone else could be wearing? Really the quality of service one gets these days is absolutely dreadful, I’m indisposed for a few months and everything goes to hell,” she wrinkled her nose in displeasure, an arm draped over the deep jade chaise lounge as she reached for yet another macaron. The assistant, nervous by the woman’s sudden outburst, apologized profusely before walking out of the room again. “The Reinhardt's lack discipline, if it were my choice, I would have disowned him altogether, what an embarrassment of an older brother you have,” she added. “Did you make a little list on who you’d like to invite to the party, then?”

@Rowen Reinhardt

Hiding her snickers with the back of her hand, Rowen had pretended to clear her throat as the seamstress implored Evie to get another fitting. The little witch wasn't sure whether or not she should applaud or pity the woman for telling Genevieve she had expanded, but one look at Evie's face gave her the answer. Rowen fiddled with the clasp of her deep blue cloak, unlatched it, and held it out for whoever was closest to take. The teenager might have had to hang her cape back at Derbyshire, but she knew she wouldn't be expected to do such a thing here. It was part of the reason why she loved visiting Genevieve. The older witch lived such a glamorous life; it was precisely the sort of life Rowen expected to one day have, with some minor changes, of course. For starters: Rowen did not plan to get pregnant quite so soon. She had academic and professional dreams and the need to be the Queen of her marriage first.

"My brother is pathetic," Rowen added, not because her opinion was needed but because she wanted to express that she shared Genevieve's. "I'm relieved you are not inviting him; he will probably be off wooing some half-blood harlot with priceless paintings come Christmas time," Turning to face her role-model, Rowen gave her a quick nod before a bit of distaste washed across her features. "Merlin forbid he try to bring her to the party," While her brother wasn't the worst person in the world, Rowen knew well enough to pretend like he was when in Evie's company. Anyone less than perfect was not accepted here, and the teenager worked hard to fit in.

When the seamstress's assistant began bringing in, fabric Rowen stuck up her nose, following Evie's lead (as she always did), and put her hands on her hips. "You can not expect me to wear that," She looked from the hideous tulle fabric to her Heroine and sucked in a breath. "Genevieve," She whined, but the older witch had already set in on destroying the assistant in that exceptional trademark Genevieve Reinhardt way, and Rowen reveled in it. Watching closely and learning everything she shouldn't, the teenager's eyes crinkled joyfully as the helper seemed to fold in on herself and run away. Entertained and encouraged in all the wrong ways, Rowen nodded. "Some people have no standards," She insisted with a smile, insidiously including the seamstress for her choice in assistants. "I want something in dark indigo," Rowen announced; of course, she had made her mind up about the color before she arrived in Cork but making the dress wasn't her job, so she hadn't been forthcoming with that helpful tidbit from the start.

"Unless that is too exotic for your boutique?"

Rowen copied Genevieve's motions, plucking a macaroon from the ornate platter. Still, she paused before eating it and inspecting it with a childlike interest before sitting back with a bit of a bounce and taking a bite. "I have," She began, brushing her lips with a silk napkin before finishing the thought, "Its a shortlist this year, just Barbara and Billie," Rowen had thought to invite some of the others, but when it came down to it, she decided to keep her invitation list small. It would make it more elite, and she hoped, coveted. Maybe the others would do more to earn an invitation to next year's party. "And Barbara's family will likely want to escort her," Rowen folded her legs at the ankle, letting them fall to one side, as she turned to face Genevieve.

"The Gibsons, they are Pureblood," Feeling like that was an important thing to lead with Rowen's eyes searched Evie's for the approval she so desperately sought. "Related to the MacClellands of Scotland, they are large landowners in Hogsmeade," Sure that land was heavy with dead bodies, but Rowen didn't find that nearly as bizarre as she should have. The young witch had always had a penchant for the dark and macabre. "Have you heard of them?"

The thought of Brennan appearing on her doorstep with any of the company he tended to keep almost made her physically ill; to think that she had almost been destined to being the wife of such a dunce made her momentarily gracious for the act of fate that had intervened and led her to Wolfgang instead. Not only was her husband terribly handsome but he was also extraordinarily clever, pensive, and allowed the young witch to do as she liked, often encouraging her frivolity as much as she allowed it herself. There was nothing too good, too expensive, or too out of reach for his darling little dove and she liked it that way. It was the positive effect of their union that encouraged her to extend her magnanimity to his younger cousin, the only other Reinhardt that Genevieve was extremely fond of. It was blessing that the young woman had not turned out rotten like her brother or her little siblings, who often wreaked havoc on her home whenever the family ventured over to the Cork estate for a visit.   

“If she wants dark indigo it is what she shall have, and let’s choose something with a bit more sparkle, tulle is for children, Rowen is fifteen, now,” she added pointedly, though if the seamstress was aware she pretended not to know and made a short comment about how much fun it must be for Rowen to have a dress made at her age, “We haven’t hired you for conversation, darling,” she started, furrowing her brow slightly and glaring in the woman’s direction so that she knew exactly what she meant by her words, “now do what you’ve come to do or I shall become very cross, and let’s not forget what happened last time I became very cross, Beatrice,” she added. The woman opened her mouth to protest but Effie leaned in to tap her arm gently, almost as if to remind her that it was of no use or that she would be better off finishing her work and leaving. Whatever it was, Genevieve left it alone and returned her attention to the young woman.

“Barbara and Billie,” she repeated, the names were unfamiliar to her but only because the witch had no need to keep up with the students at Hogwarts. She trusted Rowen’s judgement enough to know that the girl would not dare bring anyone to the party that would exasperate the hostess; Genevieve had taken special interest in Rowen from a young age, ensuring that this one would be the saving grace of the entire family. The Reinhardt family had plenty of money but did not value tradition and pride as much as the Grosvenors did, there was only so far, the witch was willing to go to make a sickle, not that she’d ever had to lift a finger to earn a living in her life. The point was that if Brennan and his siblings wanted to waste their money and status on frivolous ventures, then Genevieve would guarantee that at least one Reinhardt, other than her darling husband and their children, did not fall prey to need to grovel at the feet of the public.

“I should hope so, I understand the need to tolerate everyone else but I expect that you’re clever enough to choose the right friends, think of yourself as a national treasure that not just anyone with a friendly smile can get close to,” she offered. She, too, had befriended many people she’d never invite to her table but always with ulterior motive, there was no shame in assigning other a purpose, if anything she expected that it ought to make them feel special. “I have heard of the MacClellands, though I cannot say we are very close, I do know that Jacqueline is dating Andronicus, my younger cousin on my mother’s side,” she added, “I suppose I do not mind. And this Billie is also a Gibson? Or, a MacClelland, perhaps? What are they like?”

"tulle is for children, Rowen is fifteen, now,” The teenage witch beamed as she turned to smile at Genevieve. She was fifteen now, and even though it shouldn't have been that big of a deal, the girl couldn't help but feel like she was all grown up. Rowen had always felt like she knew more than everyone around her, that she was smart and mature for her age, but now she felt like her age agreed. Fifteen was a significant milestone, and more importantly, it was another year closer to sixteen.

Not bothering to hide her snicker this time, Rowen's icy blue eyes flickered from the Queen next to her back to the seamstress in the middle of the room. "Yes, Beatrice," Rowen chimed in, folding her arms across her chest triumphantly. Rowen was also feeling like she was always winning, even when she was the only one who knew they were playing.

The teenager tried to hide her annoyance when Genevieve repeated the names of her best friends. Girls she had been friends with for years now, Barbara had been her closest friend since before they had even started Hogwarts. So, of course, Rowen felt slighted that Evie barely seemed to recognize their names, but she did her absolute best to hide it. Another skill she had learned from the very witch who was causing her to use it.

"Of course, Genevieve," Rowen nodded, agreeing vehemently and nodded. The Ravenclaw considered telling Evie about the half-blood or fewer friends she had made in Hogwarts, the ones that were highly academic or otherwise not terrible, but she knew better. Rowen believed in the things that Genevieve had taught her; she believed in the purity of magic and knew that they were better because they were pure.

Soon enough, her forced smile turned into an authentic one; loving to hear that she was a National Treasure, the little witch let it go straight to her head. Inflated and impressed, Rowen finished her macaroon and took a sip of the tea only to discover it had gone cold. She could have asked for it to be reheated, but that was too mundane. "This won't do," She began, setting the little cup back in the saucer, "Can someone please get me a new cup?" Rowen said, please, but the look on her face was far from polite."Jacqueline is Head Girl," Rowen said, the jealousy clear in her eyes as she waited for someone to replace her tea.

The next question had Rowen shrugging, "No, neither, she is a Fay," Rowen had very little information when it came to Billie's family. While they had never really talked about it, the witch got the impression that Billie was from a good family. "She lost her family, but she is a Pureblood," Rowen should have concerned herself more with the details of Billie's past, but they had only become close last term. Billie and Barbara had been friends a while, but Rowen had not always been friendly to Billie.

“What in the world has gotten into the staff today,” Genevieve said, rolling her eyes as she snapped her fingers at Effie and pointed in Rowen’s direction, “and the poor girl has gone out of her way to even say please, see Rowen, they become absolutely inefficient when you are polite to them, they aren’t your friends, they work for the family and they ought to be treated as such. If you start treating your employees like best mates, they start forgetting their place,” she noted, using every opportunity as one to further the young woman’s education.

It was never too early for her to learn that this position was equal parts status and commitment, if Rowen was not committed to acting the part, then she would never get the respect she deserved. Genevieve had learned long ago never to expect anything from anyone but rather, to demand it. It was the Lovecraft in her; generations of women that often had to prove themselves worthy that inspired the witch to justify her actions. She supposed that to a considerable extent, she was Slytherin in every sense of the word, but she also did envy Rowen for landed herself into her second favorite house. If it were not for the sake of image, Genevieve might have liked to be a Ravenclaw herself.

As Effie left the room in a hurry to fetch a new cup of tea for the young lady like she should have much earlier, Genevieve considered the girl’s words. “I see, well let us hope that we might say the same thing about you in two years’ time,” she said graciously, no doubt in her mind that Rowen ought to be made Head Girl. If the position managed to miss her, Genevieve was certain there would be a way to work around it and was intent on doing what must be done if it was the girl’s wish.

“A Fay?” she asked, a little confused by the surname as it was not one, she had heard of before. Or, if she had, it certainly did not ring a bell, “are they poor?” she asked rather suddenly, Beatrice giving her a look, a very slight one, as if it seemed terribly improper for her to say such a thing, “or rather, are they common?” she corrected, figuring that sounded significantly more polite. Not that she cared, nor should they Fays, everyone played a role in society, some were simply more fortunate than others.

Genevieve did not want to be the sort to mold the girl’s circle but if she was going to sing praises in her name at every afternoon tea event in the foreseeable future, she needed to make sure that Rowen was not known as the Ravenclaw who spent her academic career involved in charitable acts befriending those in dire need of an upgrade in status. She wondered momentarily if Rowen might have known Sybil instead, who, at least the last she had heard, had been made into Ravenclaw prefect. “You haven’t a boyfriend yet, do you? Because if you do, you ought to bring him to dinner too, let me size him up and see if he’s worth your time,” she teased.   

Rowen nodded sharply, soaking up everything that Evie was telling her like some evil little sponge. The servants were not friends; they were not treated as such; she repeated it like a mantra in her head, committing it to memory and falling a little bit further down the rabbit hole. "Understood," She claimed, nodding once more and finding comfort in the absolute certainty that Genevieve seemed to possess about such things. Hoping for hot tea in a hurry, Rowen shifted in her seat and leaned back. She folded her arms over her lap and listening to Genevieve as she parted with more wisdom.

The Ravenclaw witch desperately hoped to be Head Girl one day, and it would be a lie to say she wasn't feeling a little bit discouraged by her lack of a Prefect's Badge. It had felt like a slight, an embarrassment even, and Rowen hoped Evie wouldn't mention it. "Hope is unnecessary," Rowen replied, head held high despite her worries, and smiled. She would be head girl, it was a requirement.

Continuing to tell Genevieve about the girlfriends she had chosen to invite to the party, Rowen nodded again. "I believe she was adopted," Rowen felt a sudden surge of panic, realizing she had invited questions that she did not have answers for, and feeling inferior because of it made her cranky. She hated not being the smartest person in the room. "I would also like to invite Hyacinth Reed," Rowen added quickly, hoping to intercept any more questions about Billie's lineage that she couldn't answer. Rowen made a mental note to find out more about the little blond later while also chastising herself for being so careless. The teenager assumed Genevieve would agree to Hyacinth, now that the Reeds had married into the Reinhardts as well.

"No boyfriend yet," Rowen said with a dramatic sigh, "But certainly not for lack of options," She wiggled her brows at the witch besides her and covered her mouth as a giggle escaped. "Oh Evie," She went back to being dramatic in a flash, sighing as she fell against the back of the cushioned chair, "You have to help me. I think my parents are discussing an arranged marriage with the Heyward boy," Knowing that Genevieve had once been expected to marry her brother Brennan, only to level up and earn Wolfgang instead, Rowen pleaded with the other witch for guidance.

"Horus is absolutely tragic; it would be a disaster," His family was loaded, but their wealth didn't hold a candle to the Reinhardts. Sure they were many academics, and Rowen could get behind vacationing in Egypt, but Horus was dreadfully boring. "What should I do?"

In some ways, Genevieve often found some of her own life experiences reflected in the Ravenclaw girl and wondered if this was why speaking to the ambitious girl felt much more rewarding than speaking to anyone else as if she were consulting with her younger reflection. And therefore, it only seemed right to take this opportunity to impart some of her own knowledge growing up to the girl who had yet so much life to see. Genevieve, too, had been overlooked as prefect and later as Head Girl but the witch knew it had to do with her overwhelming amount of qualification for the position. The school was notorious for giving positions out of the goodness of their heart rather than to whoever deserved it the most and it was with this spirit that many great people were often overlooked for positions they rightfully deserved.

“I see,” Genevieve noted at news of the girl’s adoption but did not pursue the matter any further, she knew that Rowen understood the importance of events like this and surely, she had realized how gracious the hostess was for even allowing her to invite her preferred guests to begin with. It was a gesture of the woman’s confidence in the younger girl but also a way to dig a little deeper into what she was actually like in public. Genevieve would be observing her closely, in between attending to the needs of her guests and entertaining them, to ensure that Rowen was surrounding herself with the right people.

“Hyacinth,” she repeated, “that’s quite a name,” she smiled a little at how utterly complicated it sounded then again with people like Andronicus and Hesperia in her family, Genevieve assumed that naming customs were only another way to recognize the people closer to her own bubble of influence. “I know the Reeds,” she nodded, one of her favorite male cousins was a Reed so she wondered if there was a connection. Genevieve also knew that there was a Reed in the Reinhardt family, married to a distant uncle or cousin, the woman hadn’t been as well-versed in the family genealogy as she liked to be, but she’d have plenty of time to brush up on all that knowledge before the party. Unless of course, her child decided to make an unexpected appearance and ruin her preparations.

“Well boyfriends are unnecessary, I never had a boyfriend, you know,” she explained though that was not entirely true. Wolfgang and Genevieve had often tried their hands at a relationship, in private, but it often fell through as the woman had too much trouble establishing meaningful connections if it meant that she had to show who she truly was. And when she had not been entertaining the thought of opening up to Wolfgang in that way, she was indulging herself with every other handsome pureblood her age, at least until she met Nicholas with whom she engaged in a lengthy affair with though the two had absolutely no chemistry. He romanced her, bought her expensive things, took her on vacation, all in hopes of one day gaining her favor and she’d return home every night seeking the company of her one true love. It was absolutely exhausting she decided, no matter the outcome.

Though Rowen sounded absolutely concerned, Genevieve could not help the laughter that proceeded forth from her lips at the thought of Rowen and Horus Heyward together, what a complete disaster indeed. “Horus? He’s lovely?” she teased, “he’s not much of a looker but he’s incredibly rich and deliciously shy, it’d be terribly simple to walk all over him and do whatever you want,” she considered before she made a face, “how dull,” she sympathized. “it is true, he’s come up in conversation,” she nodded. It had come up once or twice over family lunch when Rowen was away in school, but she hadn’t thought they were serious. “But imagine all of those trips to Egypt, all the magical artefacts, surely, you’d have to learn Arabic,” she explained, “I heard Horus can speak four languages, and his parents can read all variations of the ancient Egyptian script, they’re incredibly articulate,” she continued onward.

“What more could our Raveclaw princess want in a husband more than knowledge?” Genevieve said jokingly, though somewhat curious to hear what sort of thing the girl would want in a husband.

Rowen snickered when Evie commented on Hyacinth's name, covering her mouth to keep from snorting, and nodded. Purebloods had a way with naming, that was true, but Rowen loved it. Her own name was rather ornate, but she wasn't complaining. Rowen, spelled differently so she couldn't be confused with a commoner, Tempest, which meant turbulent and stormy (accurate), and Reinhardt, a German last name and the second half of the alliteration. Rowen loved her name. And Hyacinth's too. "Her older sister Ivy is a Reinhardt now," Rowen added when Genevieve didn't produce the information first, rushing to prove that she was up to date on the latest familial connections.

When Effie returned with steaming hot tea Rowen did not thank her; instead, she stuck up her nose and tested it. She paused, sipping silently, and then gave a sharp nod to communicate that it was acceptable. Turning back to Genevieve, Rowen's eyes grew a little wider. "Really?" How was it that Genevieve never had a proper boyfriend? Rowen had never considered Evie as the puritanical sort, so this did not compute. Until she thought about it for a moment, putting the pieces together as her lips formed a small "o," and she understood. Evie didn't have boyfriends, but it didn't mean she was a shut-in. Rowen's eyebrows raised at the thought, and she sipped her tea to hide her smirk.

Setting the cup down on the saucer to adequately (dramatically) tell Genevieve about Horus and the situation she was in, Rowen frowned. Her hands found her hips as Evie began to laugh at the story, and she narrowed her eyes. "Lovely? He's ghastly," Rowen sighed again like it was the end of the world that her parents were talking about possibly arranging a marriage to a rich Pureblood academic who's conversation skills left something to be desired. Rowen knew she would get whatever she wanted from him, but somehow that made her want it less? If it was too easy, she knew she would be bored, and when she got bored, Rowen got cranky. Of course, she wanted her future husband to indulge her every whim but was it too much to ask that he had a little bit of a backbone too? "Marrying him would be absolutely cataclysmic, Genevieve,"

"I want so much more than that," She countered with another hefty sigh, falling back against the chaise once more and letting her little heels clink against the floor as she stretched her legs. She threw one arm up, the back of her hand resting against her forehead as she looked up at the enchanted ceiling of Evie's dressing room. "What's the use in speaking four languages when you can't articulate a decent argument in a single one of them? Honestly, he is such a bore," Rowen wanted someone who challenged her. Someone who told her no so that she could manipulate them into changing their minds. She didn't just want someone who would roll over at the slightest altercation. Horus might have been an intellectual, but all of the adventures he enjoyed were of the literary nature, and Rowen craved more.

She didn't mind being called the Ravenclaw Princess, though, not one bit, and she managed to peek out from behind her dramatic gesture to shoot Evie a small grin at the mention before returning to theatrics.

"Is it possible to die of boredom?"

Genevieve had met many ghastly men in her lifetime, but ghastlyboys were an entirely different category altogether, male creatures that came in strange shapes and said strange things, boys that had yet to grow into their personalities or their positions. At least ghastly men acted as such because they could care less what others thought of them, ghastly boys, on the other hand, were oblivious to the world’s criticisms. “If you take him on a project, he will become whatever you’d like for him to be, they’re much better when they aren’t as headstrong,” she offered, taking on Nicholas had not been a project, but he did whatever she asked.

Eventually, Genevieve had grown bored with him and completely infatuated with the man that eventually became her husband but during their short time together, the woman had found much enjoyment in pushing the boundaries, seeing just how far his proclamations of love would take him. And when he had taken every test and passed it with flying colors, she had simply laughed in his face and called him crazy for ever thinking she’d leave her arrangement to be with him. I’m quite fond of you, she’d said instead, but I’ve my duty to my family, she had explained. It had been much more than that but even Genevieve was not bold enough to show her weaknesses so carelessly.

“I’d like to think you won’t be forced to do anything of the sort but then again, your mum’s lost much favor with the family, I’d expect that if your grandfather insists, there will be nothing you can do,” she stated. It was no light matter that of marriage, but Genevieve did not want to sell the young girl nonsensical tales of sticking it to the system and rebelling against the family. The woman was a rebel but always within reason, there were invisible boundaries surrounding everything that she did.

The only difference between her and many of the women her age was that she indulged in her position rather than repel it. “You want what your family will give you,” she added, her tone had been a little curt, maybe much more than the girl deserved but she felt it necessary, “Anyway, marriage is for convenience and status not for romance, if you want a lover you can have plenty of those when you get older,” she explained. Even so, it pained her to think that a girl with so much potential would fall victim to those vicious cycles of unreasonable tradition.

The woman allowed a wider smile to grace her face, finding her argument absolutely entertaining. She was putting up a fight and that was commendable. “How can you be bored if you’re so incredibly rich?” she posited in turn, shifting in her seat to get more comfortable, feeling suddenly very thirsty herself, she gestured towards Effie for some tea of her own. “But we do not want you to die of boredom, I will speak to Wolfie about it, if anyone has an in with your grandfather its his golden grandchild” she teased, her husband was an easy favorite, but Genevieve as gaining favor with the family as well.

“But to be entirely honest, a girl like you has no need for a husband, you need someone to open doors for you, or better yet, to take you on an adventure. What is it that you want in life, Rowen? Within that answer will lie the answer to whether Horus or whatever other boy your age is worth the trouble.”

Rowen knew that if her grandfather decided she was to marry Horus, then that was that, but in the same breath, she still wanted to fight it. Not outright, she'd never publically rebel or walk away from the family (she wasn't an insane person), but nothing said she couldn't try to pull some strings of her own. If only the teenager could finger out what those strings were and how to manipulate them. This was why she came to Evie because even though the other witch would probably never outright encourage her against whatever arranged marriage her parents cooked up, she could impart some wisdom about how to navigate this world. Lovers? Rowen wrinkled her nose at the word; it sounded so... old, but she knew better than to say it out loud. The teenager wanted romance, of course, but she hadn't reached the sordid affair part of her repression just yet.

"So what your saying is...I need to give them a good reason to chose someone else?" Rowen felt like maybe she was catching on. If she had no say in who she married, then she'd have to work behind the scenes to make sure the only reasonable option for her parents to chose was the one she curated. It made sense; husbands were like buying a dress; it had to be a designer. She sipped her tea, mulling it over as the little puzzle pieces started to fit together in the back of her mind. Horus was not interesting enough for her, so Rowen would have to ensure that there was no possibility of him being enough for her parents or grandfather either. And she already knew the perfect way to do it; Rowen had plenty of little ravens of her own, but this particular brand of smear campaign was best suited for the Monger of Gossip himself: Chadwick Chaucer. Rowen made a note to owl him when she returned to Highwood House.

Feeling better about her situation but no less dramatic, Rowen sighed at Genevieve's questions. Rowen knew the answers she wanted to say and the things she was supposed to say, and she knew how close she was riding the line, so she swallowed her big ideas and played her part. Genevieve had nearly chastised her earlier, Rowen had enough sense to pick up on it, and she didn't want to be on the wrong side of Evie. The teenager wanted to open her own doors, and she didn't need some lame wizard to take her on adventures; she was the adventure, but none of those answers would do. "I want higher education than Hogwarts can offer," She said proudly, and that was absolutely true, but it was far more reasonable than telling Evie she didn't want to pop out kids until she had a career to be proud of. There were things that were expected of her that Rowen knew were simply unavoidable, but she hoped, if she played her cards right, she could figure out how to have more.

"I want everything, Genevieve," The budding dark witch finally professed. "I want to run a company, have my spells published, travel the world, but I also want to fulfill my duty to the family. I want a decent husband who isn't a fat loaf, and I want children when I'm ready, not when my mother says that I am." Was that too much to ask for? Coming from the teenager that had everything, she certainly didn't think so.

From the myriad of things that Genevieve appreciated about the young witch was her astuteness, the ability to put the pieces together from the complicated way in which the older woman spoke, never directly giving her any answers but rather, encouraging her to think of them on her own. There was much more satisfaction in thinking that you had reached your own conclusions even though they had been planted there but Genevieve was a careful gardener, who had only taken interest because she had seen qualities in her that her own family had failed to acknowledge too busy fixated on what a failure Brennan had turned out to be. 

“A woman might not always have the ability to voice her destiny but she certainly has the ability to choose it should she wish it,” she said cryptically. Genevieve was not going to encourage the girl to go against protocol but as a young woman, she, too, had been faced with the crossroad of duty and personal desire. Over time, she had learned of speaking things into existence.

Some women sought honor or glory, others sought the security that came with motherhood and yet, there were people like Rowen and Genevieve who sought the power of knowledge and the reward that came with intellectual prowess. “Everyone ought to start there, at least,” she chided softly, her eyebrows raising only slightly as if to imply that her idea was unoriginal, for someone of their background, there was so much more to life that the limited things that a place like Hogwarts had to offer.

“It’s a complete waste of time, seven years of learning how to tolerate people that do not matter rather than learning valuable skills, what a complete disappointment my education was,” she added, taking a sip from the freshly brewed mint tea that Effie had placed on the table beside her, the cooling sensation of the liquid making her long for something a little stronger than that. After she had this child she’d have to celebrate with champagne and little cakes like she often did when the occasion called for it. Genevieve’s entire life was a reason for celebration, so the occasions were never few. But there would be more on that later, for now, she needed to ensure that Rowen found purpose in life.

“You may want everything, darling, but if you lack purpose, you won’t have anything at all,” she offered, much more pleased with the way this dress was turning out, she was a vision in indigo and Genevieve was quite pleased that the girl knew that about herself. Most girls her age were still trying to figure themselves out, and yet, Rowen was ready to take on the world at a moment’s notice, certainly worthy of attention. “If you want something published, it will be done, if you want money to start a company, you certainly do not lack it but what is that you want,” she insisted, intent on getting to the substance that told her what this girl’s spirit was made of.

“Many think it isn’t incredibly difficult to live in our world, and perhaps when all you can think about is the meager living you make on a day to day basis its difficult to see us for who we really are, I honestly wouldn’t know what that feels like money means very little to me,” she explained, earning a look from the three other women in the room, but Genevieve ignored it, she didn’t expect them to understand when they were so concerned with making a living. “But when everything comes to you with little effort on your part, you lose your drive and I’d hate to see you lose this thirst for knowledge when things come easy to you, Rowen,” she explained. “So what is it that you want.”

The evil little sponge was soaking up every bit of wisdom that Genevieve saw fit to share, and while she didn't say anything explicitly, Rowen felt like she understood the other witch's meaning. If she were unsatisfied with the future her parents cultivated for her, she would just have to influence it back in a direction she preferred. And most importantly, the teenager understood that to be successful; she would have to make them think it was their idea in the first place. In a way, Rowen had always done exactly as Genevieve was not quite instructing her to. If she wanted something, she almost always got it, but on the rare occasion when it was out of reach, she manipulated the situation skillfully; and for a girl who was barely five foot, Rowen had become impressively tall.

“Everyone ought to start there, at least,” Genevieve's tone was far from lost on Rowen, and in response, she stuck up her nose. At least, that was only the start of her grand plans, not the end. Rowen was the last person in the world who needed motivation, but she still took Evie's words to heart. The teenager held her breath and set her jaw as the other witch began to tell her what would happen if she lacked purpose. Rowen was terrified of underachieving; the idea of letting her family down gave her a pit in her stomach, but the thought of failing her own potential kept her up at night. She wouldn't be like her brother; she would be so much more. And she would not be underestimated.

Letting out the breath silently, Rowen sat forward in her seat, meeting Genevieve's eyes, and nodded. "I do not want things that come easy," Rowen needed to be challenged; she needed to be pushed to the edge of what she knew only to come back stronger for it. "I will be published, and my company will succeed," She corrected herself, Genevieve kept asking what she wanted, but Rowen answered with what she was going to have. Like there wasn't a question. Those things were a given. And that was when the intellectual little witch understood what Evie was really getting at. It wasn't just wealth and possessions that Rowen craved; it was titles and prowess, it was influence, and most importantly, it was...

"I want power."

“Ah—” she started, the delicate sound in tune with the way Rowen had suddenly rephrased her sentences, now that, the woman decided, was an exceptionally good start to speaking things into existence. How quickly her favorite pupil was learning, it was an incredible shame that Rowen had been so carelessly overlooked for the position of Prefect, otherwise she would have turned the entire house around and made it several times better. Then again, there was no point in wasting her talents at an institution that did not see reason.

The teenager was destined to greater things and though Genevieve was not the sort of teacher to shower her with praise, it had been an observation she had made as soon as she had decided to take her under her wing. “Now see how much better that sounds?” she extended her an offer to reflect upon her own words, how much better they sounded when she said them with conviction. Now, the older woman had no doubt that she would accomplish them and should she not, Rowen would surely rain fire upon whoever attempted to get in her way. Terrifically terrifying.

“And you see that is the thing that no one seems to understand, why want something when it’s so devastatingly easy? What an absolute bore to never be challenged in your life,” she continued, these were the sorts of topics that the woman could spend days discussing, the things that vexed her, those differences between classes that she was never able to understand. There was no emptiness in her life, not the sort that the general public thought of, in fact she was often filled to the brim with engagements, knowledge, other interests. And yet, the woman knew that there was so much more to be explored, knowledge that longed to be discovered and broken apart, the complexities of the universe fascinated her and there was no greater power found than in forging a path of your own design in your quest for it.

“Excellent, fifteen and already you know the thing that matters most, golden star for you,” she praised her, “then start by having power over your own household first and manage your affairs, a powerful woman has no business with a Heyward and I’m counting on you to ensure that match never happens,” she challenged her. “And don’t disappoint me.”

Rowen had always been good at understanding concepts; even as a child, her comprehension was off the charts, so it was reasonable that she was following along now. Genevieve seemed pleased with her ability to catch on and with the way she had reworded her answers, and that made Rowen beam. She crossed her legs again, smiling positively, and nodded. It did sound better when she put it that way; as always, Evie was right. "I could not agree more," A life without challenge sounded like a death sentence, and Rowen would not be signing herself up for the gallows. Another reason why she could not marry Horus Heyward.

Gold star for Rowen Reinhardt, the teenager, loved how it sounded, and she corrected her posture in tune. "I won't, Genevieve, I understand," And the Ravenclaw meant it. The wheels were already turning on that situation, and Rowen was confident she would have it resolved in less than a fortnight. With the information she'd been giving and the hot air inflating her ego, she was so far past motivated it was probably unhealthy.

Turning back to the matter at hand, Rowen made a clicking sound with her tongue. "What part of no tulle was difficult for you to understand?" The young witch barked at one of the women who had decided to bring the roll of dreadful material back into the dressing room. Maybe the witch tried to return it to the tailor's workbag, but Rowen didn't care. She had to start asserting dominance and 'managing her affairs' somewhere, right? Rowen looked to Genevieve for approval before she stood up and approached the mannequin her dress was being shaped to. "It needs to shimmer, but I do not want to look like a piece of tin foil," She commanded, running her fingers over the soft fabric and smiling.

"And I expect the length to be enchanted to suit whatever height of heel I decide to wear,"

“I trust that you do,” she added, making sure to hold her gaze to ensure that the girl understood the seriousness of the situation. They were a bright blue, reflective of her own light-colored eyes, and in a way felt incredibly symbolic considering the context of the conversation. Genevieve somehow just knew that the girl would react better to being expected to do something rather than asked, maybe because in a way it was a reflection of her own years as a younger person where negative reinforcement and challenges were seen as the only sort of praise that was worth receiving.

Then again, Rowen’s life had been significantly easier in the sense that it had not been so complicated by war and all of the connotations that came along with the fighting. Those darknesses, would also form a fundamental part of her education but the woman needed her to reach those conclusions on her own, the Reinhardt family was not dark enough to encourage those beliefs from birth like the Grosvenors and her mother had.

But the seriousness of their conversation was broken by Rowen’s sudden outburst, to which Genevieve could not help but laugh, a light little titter, at the way the girl snapped in the direction of the woman. “And this is why we mustn’t be so kind, it seems that these women have lost their purpose, you see what I mean?” she looked from Beatrice and her assistant back to Rowen, gesturing at the women as if they were objects in the corner of the room.

“Once your pay’s been guaranteed why try harder? Why be better?” she scoffed, her tone of sarcasm most obvious to the women at the receiving end of her insults. “And what shall you wear to Christmas brunch, surely you’ll be making preparations for that one as well?” she suggested, the look that Beatrice gave her, as if implying that should there be any more dresses she wanted no part in making them, amused her.

“Must we dress your friends as well or can we be certain that they’ll be able to look the part without embarrassing you?”