the almighty

She’d found him in Madrid, of all places. The city was brimming with chaos after the death of their long serving ruler - Charlotte had the ear of both the highest ranking general and the future king’s chief advisor, it was merely a game to see which way the power would shift. Still, amid all that chaos she’d found him in the Prado, the gallery she would slip into at night to find solitude and peace. She knew him instantly, like calling to like - blood calling to blood. This was who Jameson had created to destroy her, but it was too late for that. Instead, Charlotte found her equal in Ronan.

The years had slipped by like weeks, but also like centuries - she supposed that was what happened when you found the one you were created for. He followed her across the globe, encouraged her chaos but grounded her when she got too wrapped up in things. He’d promised her a surprise on that spring evening in particular and while Charlotte usually hated surprises, she trusted him. His gallery would be closing shortly so the vampire set out through the London twilight.

The blonde drifted through the doors following the sound of his voice and that of a stranger - likely the last customer of the day - before she found them in one of the side rooms, coincidentally the one full of the series of nudes she’d posed for him. Charlotte beamed, slipping next to him with an easy grace.

“Are you going to sell this gentleman all of my favorites, mon coeur?”

when: early evening of february 23rd, 1983 where: charlotte clare’s home who: @chaoticclare​

Eugene paused to flip the sign from open to closed just before he shut the shop door with a click. A dark blue hue draped itself across London now that the sun had slipped behind the skyline and the last vestiges of light were fading. Being that it was a Wednesday evening, Eugene had little reason to keep the shop open late. Tomorrow? Sure. Friday through Sunday? Absolutely. Plenty of his sales were made in the dark. But frankly, few were searching for cursed antiques on a Wednesday – or anything else he sold, which wasn’t all cursed antiques, only mostly.

Eugene didn’t linger long once the shop was closed. He passed a few shops in Knockturn Alley, but apparated away from the area before he reached Diagon Alley. He landed in a corner covered in a shadows, holding himself still as the headlights of a muggle car flashed past him, not quite touching him. A chilly wind greeted him as he stepped away from the wall and surveyed his surrounded. Tall townhouses stood on either side of the street. Though there was an underlaying similarity to each of them, Eugene knew where he was going. Reaching the right one, he quickly took the stairs and knocked on the door – waiting with a grin for Charlotte to answer, a small weight resting in an inner pocket of his cloak.

This house wasn’t hers and it certainly wasn’t Ronan’s. The muggle who’d lived here was the last of some old wealthy line, likely titled at one point but fallen to seed. Still, he or rather his family, had excellent taste - an exquisite art collection of some of the lesser old masters and that dark and luxurious furniture Charlotte liked to drape herself over melodramatically while Ro sketched. The man had no living relatives and was far too old and sickly to be of any use other than fertilizer for the truly tragic back garden. But that was only between the two of them.

Jameson had owned a house in London, Charlotte kept the deed in a lockbox in a small New York bank. It was sealed magically. She hadn’t told Ronan, and some days the vampire day dreamed about burning it to the ground.

At the sound of the knock she looked up from her book and smiled - Eugene always had the most interesting items, those that were particularly dark or old he saved just to show her. The vampire had the distinct privilege of being the shops oldest customer, a title she’d likely always claim. She hurried through the house, lighting the halls with a wave of her hand. Ronan was at his gallery and Charlotte had gotten so absorbed in her reading she hadn’t noticed how dark it’d gotten. She opened the door with a smile, not even trying to conceal her fangs.

“Eugene, welcome” She said his name properly, the French way, then stepped back to invite him into the house. “Have you brought me anything fun? How are your grandfathers, still doing well?”

“Charlotte,” Brenton repeated as he took her hand and lifted it to his lips. It was the sort of gesture he would usually forgo — social etiquette not his thing and the ones that screamed of formality and upper class society even less so — but he knew what to do simply because of what had been expected of him at certain points of life; always just on the outskirts of that high society, lacking the money but not the connections that came with a Sacred 28 name and parents working in International affairs. Seven different schools had taught him how to quickly adapt to different situations and cultures and he sensed that Charlotte was someone he should show respect towards in a more traditional way.

“I would much prefer to find somewhere more interesting. Did you have somewhere in mind?” Somehow, he couldn’t see her dodging around his over-enthusiastic dogs to get to a bedroom that was smaller than most expensive pureblood manor bathrooms.

~

He was quite pretty, had that spark of danger she liked in her men - it usually meant he wouldn’t bore her too quickly. And what she knew from his sister, well, Brenton wasn’t particularly shy with his affairs. Perfect. Charlotte smiled indulgently when he kissed her hand, and instead of taking it back she stepped closer, tucking her hand under his arm like the proper well-bred lady she’d never been.

“Hmm?” Charlotte raised her eyebrows slightly, “Did you not have anything planned for whomever won your company?” The blonde smirked, shrugging her shoulders just a bit. “I have been away from magical London for too long, those places I once frequented may no longer exist. Besides,” here Charlotte fluttered lashes in something like bashfulness, “apparition was never a skill I felt the need to master, so you’ll need to transport us, if you don’t mind?” 

@chaoticclare​

He hadn’t expected the plan to work this well. Not only had he beaten both Walden and Rabastan, but he had ended up the second most highly bid on person in the bachelor(ette) auction. He wasn’t sure what had happened. Especially when it came to the winner. Charlotte wasn’t somebody Brenton had approached about bidding on him. Perhaps a part of him had quietly hoped that Walden would win but he couldn’t say he was disappointed as he approached Charlotte. The contrary, in fact. He didn’t need an auction to spend time with Walden whereas this was an unexpected turn of events and Brenton loved surprises. “Well, Ms Clare,” he said, eyes skimming down her body like it was habit. “It seems I’m all yours for the rest of the night.” He wasn’t going to ask why. It didn’t really matter to him, just as it didn’t much matter to him that she was a vampire. She wouldn’t be his first, either, although for 250 Galleons he doubted a quick hook-up in a rented inn room would be the sort of experience she was looking for. “Do with me what you will.”

~

It’d started as a favor, her darling Freya hurrying over to whisper in the blonde’s ear. Charlotte was proud of her for hiding her annoyance in front of the gathered crowd, although the vampire was able to sense it. And, having already decided to be exceptionally generous in not only allowing but also funding Alyosha’s little human lover his grand romantic gesture; Charlotte decided she could let herself play a little - all under the effort of helping a friend, of course.

“Please,” she smiled, girlish voice sweet and unassuming, “Call me Charlotte.”  It was almost a velvet coated command, one he might think was his own idea, Charlotte was an expert at this kind of game. What had started as a favor to his sister might turn out an excellent use of her time. The blonde felt his eyes trail up and down her body, an all too familiar sensation she’d almost become numb to. She held out a hand towards him.

“Have you any desire to linger here longer, or should we find somewhere more exciting?”

Adonis wanted to give in. Godric did he want to just forget what had happened and let her take him to his bedroom. Still, he couldn’t. He couldn’t forget what had happened, and the stubbornness in him was making his head hurt. Yet, here she was, in his lap, acting as if nothing happened and while he could feel himself tensing, Adonis couldn’t help but add, “Yes, but normally when someone leaves for months at a time, they send a letter. Or even, multiple letters. Or on that front, they come back a few times in between.”

He hadn’t meant to sound so harsh, but he was hurt. It couldn’t be fixed with a few kisses and a promise of her making it up to him ( although, Godric he wanted to ). There hadn’t a day gone by where he wasn’t worried something had happened to her; wasn’t a day that he was devastated that she had left just after he’d said those dreaded three words. What if he hadn’t? Would she had stuck around? America, for the most part, had always been a powder keg. Charlotte loved that about it, he was certain, and it broke his heart to know he had driven her away.

Still, he met her eyes, hoping that she would see what was really there, the hurt that he couldn’t say, before blinking once, setting his jaw and looking back at his paper. “You can start… making it up to me by putting in a reservation at the Italian restaurant I like.” If you can remember what it is, he wanted to add, but didn’t. Although, he was certain that it was written on his face. “We can start with dinner.”

~

He did not push her away, not that she’d expected him to, but she’d was satisfied with the way he almost subconsciously shifted to accept her presence back at the center of his life. Charlotte, ever a creature of chaos and excitement, found herself almost empty without someone to adore her. Perhaps she should have thought of that before leaving, he might say. But she would win him over.

“I am sorry,” she fluttered her lashes softly, gently twisting slim fingers through his dark curls, “I suppose I lost track of time, its different for me - someday you’ll understand,” Charlotte was almost nonchalant with this comment, as if he’d already agreed to what she would inevitably ask him. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

The blonde smiled, trying to hide the triumph she felt at his apparent capitulation. “Of course, should we go tonight? I could get us in - the one here or should we venture into Boston proper?”

What did they look like to people who didn’t know them? Did this look like a reunion – of close friends or long lost lovers? The gentle hand on his cheek, the shock in his eyes? If they saw the tension, how would they explain it? A one-sided falling out? Perhaps, in a way, it had been. Their initial separation, so many years ago, hadn’t be voluntary; imperial military officers took him, overwhelming him, thrusting him to his knees before an empress many miles from where he’d last seen Charlotte. But he knew self-preservation and politics, and he preferred them to his brief taste of her chaos.

A dry snort escaped. “Of course. I shall keep that in mind.” A joke between friends would be the conclusion drawn by someone listening; with the way her laughter drew attention, it was very possible someone was. Charlotte was undeniably clever and calculating, picking the perfect time to confront him. Being a politician meant caring for the image he projected and the rumors spread about him. Getting angry at a party he’d thrown in earshot and eyesight of guests? Not a great idea. So he kept his tone measured as he replied. “And if they aren’t excuses? Ask anyone. I’m a busy person. I even have a secretary to keep track of my schedule.”

A bit bored. The though of what Charlotte might do nearly sent shivers down his spine. He didn’t trust her, of course. Her certainly didn’t trust her boredom. “I’m sure you’ve managed to find entertainment. You always do.” He raised a brow at her. “Oh? What was I saying? It seems you have. I’m sure you and you’re ‘new favorite’”—he felt for the poor bastard, whoever they were, even if they didn’t know what they’d gotten into yet (it had taken him awhile)—“can find things to do. London’s a large city.”

The thought was there – to pull his arm from hers, to make an actual excuse. Wouldn’t it be poor form for the host to walk off? It rested on the tip of his tongue, just as a sigh built in the back of his throat. But if they were alone, at least he could stop with the close-lipped civility. He leaned closer to her, a strand of hair near her ear wavering as he breathed before speaking. “How do you think that will go, Charlotte?”

~

“A secretary?” Perfectly sculpted brows rose in surprise but her mouth betrayed her disappointment. “Oh my poor Alyosha,” her voice dropped low so those around might not hear, and she slipped into Imperial Russian, a language she’d always felt belonged to him. “Have you become so neglectful of your abilities you can no longer keep track of your own time? Those mundane little mortals you favor will do that to you, I believe I’ve told you this often.”

It was a scolding designed as concern, and maybe a part of her genuinely was concerned. With the seemingly unending amount of time she’d been gifted Charlotte had sought all the magic and knowledge that that been denied and suppressed in her mortal life. She’d learned things in the centuries since that Alyosha’s professors at school couldn’t consider in their wildest day dreams. What a pity it was, that he’d wasted his years as a lapdog for a slowly crumbling dynasty.

“We certainly have,” Charlotte smiled serenely, “he has the most darling son who absolutely adores us both, I’d almost forgotten how much I love children.” There it was, the tiny hint of sincerity she deployed like a weapon to see how much of their time together he’d blocked out. Would he remember how she spoke of her own daughter, her own flesh and not just blood, taken from her far too soon? Or simply see the sinister monster he wished to believe she was?

“You have nothing to fear from me, nor I you.” The Russian was back, harsh against the smile on her face. “It’s time to clear the air, don’t you think?”

Closed for @chaoticclare​

It wasn’t unlike him to be wandering the streets late at night. Sometimes, after working late, he didn’t apparate home straightaway. Sometimes he needed to walk for a moment to give his mind and his body a break. There was no rush to get home anyway. It’s not like anyone was waiting for him there. Even sleep was rarely waiting for him at home.

Usually the streets were quiet, but sometimes others had similar ideas. He closed his hand around his wand as someone emerged from the shadows. He released his grip when he realized it was someone he recognized. “Evening, Ms. Clare,” he said. “If you can still call it evening I suppose.”

She wasn’t hunting, exactly, that was such a crude term. What Charlotte did was much more elegant than that, it was seduction almost. Even after centuries of being adored, the blonde loved nothing more than the worshipful eyes of someone on her. Tonight she didn’t actually have a target or really need to be in search of one. A soul as old as hers could get restless sometimes, Adonis would learn this eventually and until then, he’s simply have to put up with it.

“Please, Alastor, how often have I told you to call me Charlotte?” She smiled winningly upon the man’s recognition. The vampire had of course noticed him before he saw her, but she knew him well enough not to startle him - although she’d likely be able to block whatever spell he’d throw her way, that was quite a bit of effort. “Evening, night, time is all subjective to me.” She waved and errant hand as if to dismiss the entire notion. “What has you out lurking at this hour?

Adonis was thankful, at the very least, that he held his ground. He didn’t like being put in this position; didn’t like the fact that he had to make choices for the both of them. He also hated the fact that he felt as though he were back at Harvard again; a young boy with his vulnerable heart on his sleeve. Charlotte had broken it then, and he was so bloody scared of her breaking it now that he felt as though there might be a cage around his heart. 

Still, as he huffed down to the living room, finding his book and settling in his favorite chair, Adonis felt the cage loosen. There was something about Charlotte that made him want to hold on tightly to what he had, as well as give it all to her. That had always been the case, and yet Adonis had given her up once. He’d let her go, afraid of what might be, of what he might be. She tip-toed into his space, and he kept reading, unable to stop himself from being slightly petty ( the cage was still there, after all, even if it was looser than before ). Still, at her questions, he couldn’t help but break.

“Oh my God,” Adonis laughed, almost in disbelief, at her words, unable to stop his own from tumbling from his mouth. “Is that what you’re upset about? My talking to my brother? With whom I’m maybe, I don’t know, finally reconciling?” Even as he asked the question, Adonis couldn’t believe her selfishness. He knew that she could be, but with him… with them he’d always thought it was different; always thought that she would be happy for him the way that he would be happy for her, if one of her siblings were to turn up ( although it were unlikely ).

Obviously, he knew what she was trying to do, so he ran his hand over his face to calm him down. “And to answer your question, no,” he said simply. “But I do have questions. Questions you won’t answer, and that your dearest Alyosha won’t answer. Why is that, Charlotte? Why does he hate you so much?”

~

His laughter hit like a slap to the face, Charlotte let the pain show across her delicate features. But no, he misunderstood, he had to. Sometimes she forgot how young he was, even though he very likely did not think of himself that way. He knew her intimately, every line and curve, but not yet every frantic connection her mind would make, not yet knowing how to anticipate her wants and needs before she even asked. But Charlotte was sure Adonis wanted to, and they would get there.

“You didn’t tell him about me,” the vampire knew she sounded petulant and gave into the accompanying pout. “Are you ashamed of me? Of what you have become? Did you think he’d think less of you?” As she often did, Charlotte had shifted quickly from petulant to soothing, breaking the invisible barrier between them to crawl into his lap, gently tugging the book from his hands and stroking his cheek. “Never forget, you are divine now, my perfect immortal Adonis. Don’t shrink yourself for smaller minds.”

Her hand dropped from his face as if burned but did not move from where she was seated on his lap. Charlotte craved touch, in such a prolonged existence it was quite easy to get lost inside one’s own head, she’d seen others do it, the physical pretense of someone who adored her worked like an anchor to keep the vampire in the ephemeral present instead of the tempting beauty of eternity. But she should have known Alyosha would find some way to poison her creation against her. Perhaps it was jealousy, or perhaps he’d developed some horrid self-righteousness, centuries on the leash of humans might do that to a vampire. Really, she mourned for his loss, for his fall from power. He’d had such potential. Or perhaps she was simply nostalgic for her very first.

But this was about Adonis, about preventing him from leaving her too, pulling away from the life and power and magic she could give him. Charlotte sighed, somewhat forlorn, and dropped her hands to her lap between them, twisting a ring around her finger.

“You’ll understand eventually, but for me time has such a different meaning now, and when I first created Alyosha, than it does in the first few years of immortality. It’s both sped up and slowed down, memories exist in the present but also decades, centuries ago. He was the first, my first, and I’d been alone for so long before finding him. But he began to doubt, doubt himself and his power and his worth, doubt me.“ She offered a small, sad smile.

“And, I’ll admit, I myself was still young then, relatively speaking. It’d taken me so long to recover from the death of my own creator,” unmentioned, but not unknown, was how he’d died at her hand. “Immortality is somewhat like being frozen in time, or rather, plucked from time entirely, in the same body for eternity. Our minds are quick to learn and grow, but attachment and emotions – those fickle human things, have a harder time adjusting quickly. Alyosha doubted me, and it seemed easier at that time to abandon him to his fate rather than allow myself to feel the pain of losing him. Perhaps he hates me for leaving him, perhaps he hates me for pitying how he made himself the lapdog of mortals, mundane mortals at that.” Charlotte looked up at him softly, almost pleading.

“I will always be a part of him, and perhaps he resents that. It hurts me to see him throwing away his gifts and power at the whims of those with such ephemeral existences.” Charlotte shrugged, “he’d grown to hate my intervening, I think. But if we were not divine beings meant to alter the ways of mere mortals, we would not have the power to do so, right?”

The party might’ve been nice if Adonis hadn’t trapped himself. Really, it was his fault for talking to both Damos and Alyosha in one night. Then again, if he hadn’t talked to Alyosha, he wouldn’t have learned how deep the other vampire’s hatred of Charlotte ran. What exactly had she done to him? Did it bode poorly for their future together? Don wasn’t blind. Charlotte was chaos in a bottle; a storm blowing a ship to bits and pieces. She was never Penelope, but that was why Adonis had fallen in love with her. She’d allowed him to see the world through different eyes; to take risks, and even sometimes break the rules. Still, that part of him, the twenty-three-year old who had watched her walk away when he’d told her no once, felt his heart clenching, tightening, building its walls, at the knowledge that she was hiding something from him again.

If this was going to work, this time, they couldn’t keep secrets from each other. If this was going to work, he needed to know everything about her.

And in return, she would get his world too, if she wanted it.

Still, the night dragged on, and soon the clock was about to strike twelve and he couldn’t find her. He should’ve guessed that she’d show up first, nose in the air, somehow angry at him for something he was grappling to understand. Who did she talk to tonight that opened up old wounds? As she walked off with Slughorn, Adonis couldn’t even begin to think of jealousy because all he could think about was what he bloody did to deserve the wrath of Charlotte Clare tonight.

Then again, she was probably just bored. The party hadn’t turned up anything interesting, at least not the kind of interesting that Don knew the blonde would’ve wanted. Adonis watched her go, and quickly confusion was replaced by iron hot anger. What gave her the right to be angry at him when she wouldn’t even talk to him? Adonis, in all truth, was growing tired of her games. They were fun, sometimes, but not when they included him. Maybe that was the price he’d have to pay for being with her. Maybe he’d known that all along and still he chose her. Still, he wanted her to be the person he woke up to for the rest of… eternity.

Drowning a drink, he apparated home to a house elf carrying Charlotte’s clothes from the washroom. Adonis sighed, knowing that she was waiting for him, but a part of him didn’t want to give in. A part of him wanted to sit in his study and read a book and let the storm settle.

He could never say no to her, could he?

Instead, he pushed the door open and saw her floating, eyes closed in the tub and his heart broke. How could someone so beautiful be so cold? Godric knows he’d learned his lesson years ago, and still, here he was, voice soft as he called, “I’ll be in the living room, if you wouldn’t mind joining me after your bath.” Halfway. If she couldn’t meet him halfway, then there was nothing that they could do.

He held his ground longer than she’d thought he would and in a corner of her mind she was quite proud of him. But mostly – Charlotte was irritated and hurt. She normally held the power in the relationship, in whatever relationships she’d formed since dispatching of her own maker. Hold the power and be the one who cares less – that was the only way to avoid pain. But of course, one could have as many axioms as one liked, reality would always be far messier than intended.

Charlotte opened her eyes as he spoke from the doorway, seemingly trying to resist the allure of her body in the steaming water. She studied him for a moment, almost impassively in an attempt to hide how almost pleased she was that Adonis wasn’t asking – but insisting. Good for him, growing a spine. Still, she’d rather it not be directed towards her. The blonde nodded curtly and then sank below the water until she was sure he’d retreated. She took her time in the bath, luxuriating in the water until it lost all it’s heat. Charlotte took almost longer getting ready after her bath, choosing his favorite lingerie set to go under her thin silk robe and spending far too long brushing out her golden curls.

She darted lightly down the stairs and to the living room, lingering in the door for just a moment until she was sure he noticed her. Her Adonis, her darling Adonis sitting in his favorite chair reading, or pretending to read, and looking quite cross. Charlotte knew she could out last him, but instead of anger she felt more hurt than anything. She was used to being the most important person in her lover’s life, she was used to knowing more and sharing more, not having things hidden from her. For perhaps the first time in centuries, Charlotte felt at the disadvantage. She crossed the room almost too quickly and sank on to the loveseat next to him, as close as one could get without touching.

“Do you regret asking me to turn you, Adonis?” Her eyes were wide with hurt although her voice remained measured. “Talking to your brother make you miss the banality of mortal life? Or was it my Alyosha whispering his half-truths and resentments in your ear?”

In his shock it took him a moment to even register her outstretched hand but he was hesitant to, simply because he feared what he would feel. He had avoided shaking hands with Alyosha the couple of times he had met the vampire and so he didn’t know what their skin felt like. If it was as cold and stone-like as some of the tales said. By the time he had thought perhaps he should greet her in some way, he moved onto trying to work out if she was the sort of person who would want to shake hands of if it was more of an offer for a kiss to the back of her hand which felt very… old-fashioned to Dirk. Which made sense. Because she was a vampire. She had probably been around for a very long time. It was around this point that Charlotte gave up on him ever taking her extended hand and Dirk hastily pushed his questions to the back of his mind.

“Was he… still alive?” Dirk asked cautiously. He was almost afraid to know the answer but he had to know. After all, he had left the man, assuming he was drunk and unconscious and a predator and now he felt guilty that perhaps his inaction had proven fatal. “No,” he said, eyes dropping to the ground, if only to avoid her gaze. Were vampires natural Legilimens? Was that actually a thing or just Muggle folklore? “I’m not cross with you, more with myself for not noticing.” It occured to him that it was that easy for someone to wander unwittingly into the path of someone dangerous. To be taken in. Was he lucky to be alive, now? He wasn’t sure but he was certain she would be able to hear that his heart beating faster and smell the nervousness seeping from him. (At least, he was pretty sure she could sense things like that) And yet, he felt less fearful around her than he had other vampires even knowing that he had almost seen her drinking blood. Perhaps because he couldn’t help but still see that vulnerable, distressed woman. Even if she had been nothing but a lie.

~

The fear wasn’t unexpected but by now she found it rather dull. They all had the same assumptions about vampires, all of which had been exponentially bastardized by the recent popularity of vampires in muggle fiction and folklore. Really, did anyone expect a sophisticated and elegant creature such as herself to sleep in a coffin? As if. And the ridiculous notion of garlic being their downfall, when in reality it was simply a deeply unpleasant bulb human tastebuds were far too unsophisticated to realize. Charlotte sighed hiding her annoyance behind concern.

“Yes, of course he was,” Charlotte glanced down and then back up at him through her lashes as if pleading with him to believe her. “He was drunk and a muggle, so you can understand why I couldn’t resort to magic to protect me.” She didn’t particularly know why she was clinging to this lie with him or why she had such a fascination with him – but she did. He’d ignored her outstretched hand, so Charlotte grabbed his with affection. “You really were such a help to me, please forgive my dishonesty?”

Ambrose left Gilderoy with his skin still humming as if a current was running beneath it. He was quite pleased with himself. He used his charm to his advantage and laid it out thick. And the young man, albeit shy, seemed very receptive to his advances. Needless to say, Ambrose was excited to see the man again. With his persistence and inherent need to get what he wants, Ambrose has his eyes locked on Gilderoy and was ready to pursue him no matter what it takes.

He was looking for a glass of champagne both to reward himself and to celebrate. Being able to woo a man like that was a good enough reason to pat himself at the back, right? Ambrose’s eyes caught sight of a cocktail table with a couple of available flutes when someone moved in the way. He made his way closer only to realize that the only way to get his drink was through her. Ambrose was about to excuse himself when he got close enough to see who or rather what she was. Merlin, what is it with British wizarding society and their half-beasts? He wondered. He tried to mumble an excuse hoping that was enough, but she didn’t move out of the way. When she asked her to reiterate, Ambrose took a second to compose himself before repeated. “I was kindly asking if you could move. I just wanted to get myself some champagne.”

~

The voice was familiar. Not someone she knew, but rather the dialect and accent to his words marked the stranger as an American, specifically New England. Charlotte looked closer, tilting her head to the side with interest as he spoke. She wasn’t stupid. She’d been around far too long to not recognize the slight hesitation in his voice. Mortals were so mundane sometimes, so fearful of things greater than themselves, it was quite tiresome. In response to his obvious hesitation, Charlotte smiled her most dazzling and reached over to grab him a fresh glass.

“Of course,” she offered the glass to him. “Forgive me for presuming, but you are from the States, New England if I had to guess, are you not?” Charlotte fluttered her lashes sweetly. “I was born in Massachusetts, or rather – what would become Massachusetts. But I haven’t been back that way since ’68 or ’69. Tell me, how are things in our beloved homeland?”

Bellatrix was bored, dangerously so. The dancing, the champagne flutes, the empty conversations: all of it made her want to rip her hair out, in all truth. She moved through the ballroom, a fury in her own right, made out of well-contained frustration. Eyes fell on Charlotte –– perhaps one of the few Death Eaters that Bellatrix thought brought something to the cause that she couldn’t.

She could only imagine how bored the other must be. Bellatrix had grown tired of balls like these in three decades and Charlotte had decades on her. “Don’t you get bored of this?” 

Her question went ignored, and she rolled her eyes as she rephrased it: “I asked if you don’t get bored of this.” Bellatrix looked at the dancers, not seeing much to be distracted by, and returned her gaze to Charlotte. She was intrigued, in all truth, by her immortality. On the other hand, she thought it a form of cheating. “I do, sometimes. Dreadfully so.”

~

Charlotte heard the question the first time but chose to ignore it. It was a little thing she did, sort of a tiny power play. Bellatrix Lestrange was well respected within the Dark Lord’s circle and the so-called Sacred Twenty-Eight and the witch intrigued her. But still, it amused the vampire to toy with those who thought so highly of themselves. Bellatrix may be powerful and favored, but she was still mortal and Charlotte was a god.

“Sometimes,” she shrugged, then took another sip of her drink. “Although when you have as much time as I do – very little appears to be truly boring. There is always something, or rather someone of interest to be found at every event.” Charlotte smiled almost suggestively at the witch, before continuing. “And, if it grows too dull, I can usually find some way to liven things up.”

“Are you bored, Mrs. Lestrange?” The vampire asked almost demurely. “Sit and tell me more about yourself and perhaps we can make things more interesting?”

Elias kept his lips tightly closed as she asked him the question. He might not be the most knowledgeable vampire since he spent all his years as an undead cooped up in Diagon Alley with his niche interests. But if it’s one thing that he’s well versed in other than tinkering with inanimate objects was dealing with people and potential threats. Even though Charlotte is presenting herself as harmless, Elias knew that she was an A-level threat. Her amused tone that she never managed to drop told Elias one and one thing only. This was as all a game to her.

He was absolutely going to tell on her. But given that she didn’t even flinch at the notion, he assumed that she hardly cared. So threatening to do so wouldn’t give him the upper hand. “Charlotte Clare,” he repeated, trying to figure out if he’s heard that name before. Sadly, as someone who doesn’t mingle with fellow vampires, Elias wouldn’t know. “I don’t have to tell you my name.”

At the moment that Charlotte pulled out her wand, Elias immediately pointed his at her. He was about to throw a stunning jinx when he realized what her spell was doing. Slowly, it sounded like the man was coming to so Charlotte added the extra measure and erased their memories.

Elias, however, was still not pleased. “What you did was still illegal,” he answered quite firmly. He did not let her out of his focus for even a millisecond. Technically, Elias could be paid to keep his mouth, but no, not like this, he thought. “Who says I’m self-loathing?”

It was quite rare for Charlotte to meet another of her kind who’d managed to stay so far under the radar as to be mostly unknown to her. This was the single thing that kept her from attacking or simply leaving the younger vampire behind. A part of her needed to know who he was, and particularly how he’d managed to kill her Bertie. Although, from his own admission he had not succeeded in doing so alone nor escaped unscathed. That made her feel better, no pet of hers should be killed by one mortal alone.

“Tragic,” she nearly tutted, “At your age, I’d have hoped to outgrow this childish petulance when your elder asks a polite question. But clearly seeing as how you disposed of your maker, you lacked any sort of guidance on how things actually work.”

Charlotte knew he’d react like this when she pulled out her wand and had a defensive spell ready to throw should he actually attack. Perhaps it was her own hubris but from what she knew of this vampire, he didn’t seem the type to have spent decades studying different styles of magic all over the world the way she had. Really, she could have healed the man without a wand but didn’t want to show all her cards too soon. The lovely wixen she’d met in her decade and a half in South Africa had been incredible teachers.

“Your every movement and word betray your self-loathing.” Charlotte tucked her own wand away then smiled softly at him, “You’re so willing to go against your own kind, to curry favor with those who’d just as quickly legislate and plan your destruction and then use your exceptional skill as a tool of their attempted subjugation of anyone different or more powerful.”

“But! My dear Mr. Tool,” she glanced back at the muggle now stirring, “we best continue this conversation elsewhere lest you ruin my excellent spellwork with your rudeness, yes?”

As always, Charlotte was there to keep him calm when he could feel himself spiraling. Today was not quite so bad, though, especially because they were outside.  It was much easier to manage in wide, open spaces; easier to clear his head and get a breath of fresh air, rather than another sniff of the person closest to him. The fair, too, had a cacophony of other smells, almost to the point where the smell of blood was completely muted. Still, he worried. While he wasn’t exactly clean, Adonis wasn’t about to want to hurt innocent witches and wizards. Especially not in front of his son. 

Unable to stop the small smile that formed on his lips at the sound of her voice speaking Arabic, Adonis eyed her carefully, still watching as Marcus stumbled ahead of them, delighted by the world around them. “I’m taking it all in,” he responded, trying not to show the strain when someone walked by a bit too close. “I’m not going to… cause a scene. If that’s what you’re asking.”

Of course, a part of him wondered if Charlotte might love the chaos. She’d kept him out of trouble thus far, of course, but mostly because of Marcus, he assumed. There wasn’t any other reason to keep him in check, although he was certain that, one day, he would be allowed to do as he pleased. Then again, if he were allowed to do what he pleased, it would be just this: walking down a square with Charlotte smiling beside him, Marcus running ahead in front as they go to find the hippogriffs. It was the life he’d imagined for himself and Penelope, although he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t imagined it for him and Charlotte a long time ago. They wouldn’t have had Marcus, though, and something would’ve been taken from him; something sturdy and right that he’d always wanted in his life. Being a father didn’t come particularly easy, but he did have good role models, at the very least. 

“Besides, I think he’s going to want to go on the train,” he said, shaking his head. “And what kind of a father would I be to deny him that joy?”

~

There was something so domestic about this, a stability and normalcy Charlotte hadn’t felt in – if she was being honest – centuries. It wasn’t that this was something she craved, or even felt that she needed. But it was nice to just exist in this moment with a man who worshiped her and a child full of wonder and joy. She had far too much control over her own thoughts to let them drift to her daughter for long, couldn’t get lost on that particular spiral.

“No, I was making sure you’re doing alright. I know you wouldn’t.” Charlotte was being softer than she ever would have been with any of her other creations – save Alyosha. Perhaps it was Marcus, the child seemed to have unlocked a long dormant maternal instinct. Gods she adored that child, the way he looked like what Adonis must have but in miniature and his exuberance for practically everything. Mostly, the way he seemed to cling to her after she’d been the only one to see him during the weeks of his father’s transformation. For this child, Charlotte would commit unspeakable acts of bloodshed, and gladly.

“Terribly cruel,” she laughed, this time responding in English so the child could understand, if he was even paying attention. “Marcus, darling,” Charlotte bent over and scooped the child up on her hip, performing an easy bit of wandless magic to cleanse the chocolate from his face and hands, “Daddy is certainly spoiling you today isn’t he?” She laughed with the child, “as he should, all children deserve such on their birthdays. So shall we see the train?”

She was surprised to feel the other girls lips against hers, and things didn’t often catch Aila by surprise.  She liked to be the one at the center of the unexpected.  But she couldn’t say that she minded it, not really.  The girl’s lips were soft, and it was clear this was… it was something she had spent some time perfecting.  “Uh –”  She paused, feeling a bit dazed.

“Um… Aila,” she said slowly.  “My name’s Aila.”  Wow, she sounded like an idiot.  Before she answered the question she craned her neck, seeing the broad shoulders of the Muggle man, walking away from them.  “I wanted a taco,” she began slowly.  It wasn’t as exciting a story as it might be.  “They had some really great margaritas, and I mean – I saw this guy,” she held up the bird she stole.  “and I wanted him.  What I underestimated was that he’s apparently quite attached to him.  But now I’m committed, he’ll look brilliant attached to my bathroom mirror.”

~

Charlotte smiled, almost triumphant. There was something so satisfying about dazzling mere mortals, she’d forgotten how much she enjoyed the feeling. The girl was beautiful when she was flustered. The vampire kept quiet, a playful smirk across her lips which only seemed to distract her more. Aila, it was pretty, sweet and seemed to fit her face which was full of a youthful exuberance Charlotte had not noticed in many lately. Must be the war, those things tended to stress mortals.

“I’m sure he was just upset that a beauty like you managed to steal from him, you know how men get when their precious ego is crushed by a little girl.” Charlotte laughed, “does our fine feathered friend have a name?”

Working for St. Mungo’s got Félix working until the late hours. It wasn’t at all unusual for him to hit the streets of Muggle London too if he was looking for a change of scenery on the way home. Or perhaps on the way to Diagon Alley to get himself some badly needed coffee.

The sound of something hitting the floor drew Félix to the alley. The light coming from his wand was barely enough to illuminate the scene before him. But one thing was sure, there was a man unconscious on the ground and Félix wasn’t alone. Thinking that the person standing might be a muggle, he whispered “Nox,” under his breath, willing the light from his wand to go out. 

Félix knew he needed to check if the person is breathing, but hearing the woman’s sweet tone and the challenge in her words made him doubt his initial reading of the situation. He didn’t know if she was a muggle, a witch, or something else entirely, but the lack of care in her voice caused Félix to believe that she might have something to do with the man’s unconsciousness. “What happened?”

~

Charlotte turned at the sound of a wand being extinguished and smirked. She could see fine in the dark, a benefit of age and immortality. Clearly her intruder was magical, which could be an added hindrance or perhaps a benefit. She wasn’t all that concerned, but still the vampire was on guard and waved her hand in a simple healing spell. It wouldn’t replace the blood lost but closed the wound enough to not cause a fuss. Schooling her face into something like innocence or fear, she stepped closer to the newcomer.

“Oh, thank goodness,” she rushed closer to him, “He followed me down this alley, I think he is a muggle so I couldn’t truly defend myself but he must have had too much to drink. You can reignite your wand, he’s passed out now.”