After Party | By : pittwitch Category: HP Canon Characters paired with Original Characters > General Views: 19051 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0 |
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. |
“Hello, Dad.” Natalie tonelessly greeted her father, nodding to her husband first, then Nicholas.
“Natalie Marie, where in the nine hells have you been?” Maurice bellowed at his daughter. She turned tired eyes to him as she sat down at the table.
“Nowhere.” Came her dejected reply.
“Why haven’t you answered any of us?” Maurice demanded, taking his seat at the head of the table as well.
“Why?” She countered tiredly. “And for that matter, why summon me now?” She peered into each of the three faces assembled. “Is something wrong?”
“WELL, since you asked …” Her father started out sarcastically. “Noah tells me he thinks something is seriously wrong with Nolan. You wouldn’t know anything about that now would you?”
“I haven’t seen Nolan or Noah.” She answered dully, dinging her crystal water glass with her finger just to hear the soft ping. “Nathan, Naunt Mairead, Nicholas, or my loving husband here, for that matter.” She summed up in a near monotone.
Nicholas watched his sister closely, almost certain she was only acting, and lying. Surely she knows what Nolan has been doing?
“You look like hell.” Her father continued to berate her. “Eat something already.” He went spear a potato off his plate only to have the plate snatched quickly from under his nose.
“I don’t think so, Daddy. Here, you take mine.” Natalie grimaced as she switched their plates. Her father raised one sardonic eyebrow at her antics. She then switched her glass with Nicholas, and her utensils with Dickson, not taking any chances whatsoever that they had tampered with anything.
Maurice smiled widely in approval. “Paranoia?” He questioned tauntingly.
“Self-preservation,” she muttered.
“You learned some things after all.” Maurice toasted her approvingly. Natalie still eyed her glass suspiciously, knowing full well her father wouldn’t hesitate to poison all four goblets on the table.
“Elyse,” Natalie called softly.
The blue-green elf popped into existence instantly at her side with a fresh goblet filled with water. Natalie used the new goblet to salute her father, brother, and husband, and then drank, her eyes daring the men to do the same. They all drank deeply, staring at the drawn looking woman in their midst. She had dark circles under her eyes, and an almost yellowish cast to her skin. Her hair was dull, lacking its normal dark red luster. And, she was thin; painfully rail thin and weak looking. Maurice made the assumption that she couldn’t have been hiding at Caledonia if she looked like she did. She could never resist being outside in or near the angry ocean waters when she was there. Just where in the name of Merlin are you hiding?
“It would make things simpler if you would just accept who and what you are, daughter.”
“It would, wouldn’t it?” Natalie countered mysteriously.
The tiny elf returned with a fresh place setting and dinner plate for Natalie, banishing the one that had been prepared before hand. Maurice glared at the tiny being. Should have cut off her head when I had the chance. He grumbled in his own thoughts. The tiny elf glowered straight back at the formidable wizard, completely unabashed, telling him in no uncertain terms once again that she served the daughter of Clein Urley, not the House of Monterichelieu. Maurice silently cursed the dreadfully strong magic that protected the elf from him. Elyse nearly taunted the wizard, knowing that the Urley protections would not fail; had never failed.
Natalie smiled at Elyse, tapping her head lightly with one hand. The elf grinned her disturbing smile, and disappeared with a soft pop. Nicholas meanwhile decided he was more hungry than interested in the discourse between his mistress and his master. He turned an impassive face towards his meal, feeding himself, silently hoping his father had not poisoned everything at the table, just in case. Dickson followed suit, blissfully unaware that Maurice would do just as Nicholas suspected.
He cut into his steak quickly and efficiently, then speared the chunk with the gleaming silver fork. Just after he began to chew, his eyes grew wide in alarm. He lifted his eyes to Natalie’s in mortal fear. He tasted the poison, now moving rapidly through his system.
“Heartless bastard,” Natalie muttered dismally as she trudged around the table to offer a tiny crystal vial to her now choking husband. His hands clutched at her thin wrist, trembling violently, fingers futilely trying to open the vial. Natalie popped the small cork with her thumb, then poured the contents into Dickson’s drooling mouth. She held his jaw shut with one hand, forcing him to swallow.
“Shouldn’t the antidote be poison-specific?” Nicholas asked while trying to sound only mildly curious. Under his façade, his heart was about to jump out of his chest. He could have easily been in Dickson’s place.
“Usually,” Natalie murmured, watching Dickson’s eyes closely. When she was satisfied that he at least wasn’t going to die, she whirled around on her father, glaring.
“You’ll not be able to summon me again.” She uttered her words with utmost contempt, then disappeared on the spot with a loud, angry crack of thunder.
*****
Natalie reappeared in a large, airy, bright, room. She bowed low to the man sitting cross-legged on the floor in the furniture-less room. He serenely asked in a soft, controlled voice,
“The glamour held?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Your fears?”
“Yes, sir.”
“The antidote?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Call your Aunt. Do what must be done.”
“Yes sir.”
Natalie stood quietly while her features regained her normal appearance. Once the glamour faded, she nodded respectfully to the man, then walked with soft footsteps to send her message Naunt Mairead.
With quick strokes, she penned the simple words on parchment.
“Time out.”
Tying the tiny message to the eagle waiting eagerly on its perch, Natalie stroked the regal bird’s head then carried it to the open window. She leaned against the frame to watch until the messenger faded from sight.
The war begins.
A solitary tear rolled down her face, dripped off her chin, to disappear in the carpet at her feet. The old man’s voice spoke quietly in her thoughts, “The world is always a balance of black and white; balance young one, not one or the other.”
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