shining like a fiery beacon

Evan clicked his tongue when Sera responded in Spanish without missing beat. Truth be told, he was amused. There was a reason he picked Seraphina. It was nice to have that reason validated, even if Spanish was a the lesser of the romance languages. Oh well. He supposed her other charms made up for her lack of taste when it came to her preferred second language (even though he understood her perfectly. He was being a tad hypocritical but now was not the time for self reflection).

He carefully eyed Sera via the plethora of reflective surfaces in the room as she made her way through the various knobs and spouts in the room. She looked beautiful in the shimmering light reflecting off the water. Deft fingers finished distributing the swirling concoction he had before him, uncorking the vial he had stashed before.

“Doubt thou the stars are fire, doubt that the sun doth move, doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt my intentions to do dastardly things with you tonight.” He said, offering her the vial.

Seraphina smiled at him over her shoulder as he clicked his tongue at her ease of language, her best nice girl smile. She was sure he was amused, she was entertaining, charming and engaging with the perfect amount of snark to keep everyone on their toes. She covered up her scars with sharp eyes, sharp words, and glowing smiles, and with steady attention and substances, no one knew any better. 

by Warsan Shire

Where did you get those big eyes?

My mother.

And where did you get those lips?

My mother.

And the loneliness?

My mother.

And that broken heart?

My mother.

And the absence, where did you get that?

Abraxas watched his niece fall apart and hated everything he could have done, hadn’t done, should have done, all over again. He was bitter over the scars he had earned, even if they had been justified. But he hated that, most of all, he could not quiet the cruel voice in his head that laughed at his niece for her tears, for her empathy.

Before, when he did not know the presence of his wife at his side, he would have laughed, would have never quieted the voice in his head. His demons were louder, volatile. They had quieted with his experiences, with his age, but they reared their heads at the worst of times.

Abraxas curled his fingers into his palms until the fingernails bit into his skin, until he could feel blood pooling beneath. He hadn’t realized he was breathing heavily, not until he finally, finally, looked up and he startled at the sight of her clutching the corner of the desk, not so far away from him that he could not see the fury brimming beneath her skin, those three words making his eyes wash over with anger of his own.

In an instant his composure was lost.

“Not enough?! We tried! What does that say about your mother, that she kept you there all those years and said nothing, stopped nothing?!” Abraxas drew himself up, away, and his hands curled into themselves at his side, shaking, but he said no more. He had erred enough for one night.

The door to the study opened and Abraxas suddenly felt tired, so very tired. Though his eyes watched his wife, out of the corner of his eye he saw Seraphina collapse, heard the words she choked out, and squeezed his eyes shut because he knew that Katharina had undoubtedly heard them, too. She was in the room now, he could hear the bareness of her feet on the hardwood, would know the sound of her anyway. He breathed in, out, released the white-knuckled grip he had on his skin, and opened his eyes to drink in the famous Selwyn fury as was his due.

Katharina’s glare felt like a stab to the chest as she moved to comfort their niece, her family by blood, his by sole devotion. She deserved an explanation for Sera’s tears but he certainly could not give her the truth…he rubbed at the bridge of his nose, tired, ashamed at his conduct.  He would be of no help, not now that she was here, as she murmured soothing words to his niece, promising that her husband was not angry, no never at her, that he was not in the right mind. His wife never mentioned the other, damning words. But she deserved…

“Seraphina came to discuss the matters of her inheritance. Your brother has barred it from her on the grounds that she is not a male. I suggested that we would…assist her any way we could, discouraging her from telling the lie that she was with child, had lost that child to grief over her father’s demise. Our niece has your temper, mon amour, and she did not like what I had to say. Her tears are based in anger, anger and the grief that comes with losing a parent.”

Abraxas knew that Katharina had heard him only by the way her shoulders loosened, slightly. He felt her pain and disapproval over the distance, something he knew far too well. In all their years together it had been something they would never need to speak aloud. It simply was.

The life they lived was full of grief, of secrets. What was another?

Katharina turned to him after a moment longer of soothing words and gentle hands ghosting over Seraphina’s hair. Her brow was drawn taut, lips a thin line, and Abraxas could see the old wound returning, after all these years. She watched him for a moment longer, eyes brimming over with her own, silent hurts before murmuring, “Did you tell her, about our own pain, mon ours? Did you tell her the reason behind your words, the way you were out of your mind, once, when we lost our child? You were in the right, to tell her this thing, but you were not in the right to make this poor grieving girl cry. I expect that you feel enough for that that I will not have to ask for your apology. I know you will not give it. But, please, do not make her cry again.”

She turned to the girl again and Abraxas knew that he was sufficiently dismissed, for the time being. He moved behind his desk, merely perching himself at his chair, and caught on the next words she asked, eyes widening as he studied his niece.

Has your mother not being feeding you, Sera? You’re terribly thin.

She did look thin. Perhaps it was the grief? But…she had never looked this sickly, not this pale. A sudden apprehension entered his body, then, and he waited for the answer that would come in-between Seraphina’s sniffling sobs.

She’d finally cracked his icy façade, and it only made her feel worse. Wasn’t this what she wanted, for him to show that he felt something, that he cared? But no it only seemed to happen, genuine violent emotion (because that was the only type of emotion she knew, hard and fast, gentleness was just empty) when she blamed him for not doing enough, not out of outrage at what happened to her. Even then he made excuses. But Sera was tired, already having collapsed into tears to even react to his words. And what could her mother have done? Any spark had long since been snuffed out by the time Seraphina was noticed.

Her words cut through her sobs but she wasn’t paying attention to anything other than her own ragged breathing, erratic heartbeat and bloodstained confession to notice that her aunt had entered the room. It wasn’t until the soft hands brushed her hair that she froze, flinching at the unexpected touch. Seraphina looked up with wide eyes and she knew Katharina heard her, knew that Sera was the reason for her brother’s early end. But yet her glare was for her husband, not her niece, and the hands kept their soothing strokes through Sera’s dark curls. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, please forgive me, I’m sorry.” She choked out through continued sobs, repeating the apology over and over again as if it would make it true. She wasn’t sorry, maybe only sorry that she’d caused her aunt pain. Instead of fury, because they both had that same temper, she got soothing words. Shhh, he’s not angry with you, not at you, never you, he’s not in the right frame of mind. Seraphina could only cry harder.

She found the strength to glare up at her uncle, though, when he gave a false account for her tears. Abraxas’s words made her sound so cold and calculating, which was the exact opposite of how she’d handed anything related to this. Suggesting that her anger was over him telling her not to be cruel, and pretending as if she could mourn that monster, that wasn’t her at all. Taking deep breaths, or trying to, Seraphina attempted to calm herself enough to correct him, but her aunt spoke to soon.

A stab of guilt unlike anything she’d felt before pierced between her ribs at Katha’s revelation. How could she have known? It must have been before she or Lucius were born, or else maybe she would have heard about it. She reached a small cold hand up to grab her aunt’s in pleading for forgiveness. “I did not know; I am so sorry. I wouldn’t have suggested it had I know.” She tripped over the apology, almost begging her aunt not to hate her through renewed sobs. “Please forgive me, it was a thoughtless thing for me to say, I never would have actually done it.” Because if there was one person who Seraphina cared what they thought of her, it was her aunt. How she could have possibly been related to Sera’s father, she had no idea. She’d often wished as a child that Katharina was her mother instead. And she certainly did not blame her aunt for abandoning her in the same way she did her uncle.

But the soothing words continued and her breathing and heart rate slowed a bit. Seraphina knew her uncle wouldn’t dare argue with her, or shout at her again in front of Katha, and for that she was grateful. She didn’t think she could handle it, not tonight. She was sinking rapidly into the depths of her own mind, and knew that her nightmares would be terrible that night. Sera suddenly longed to be home, where she could pretend a nightmare was the cause of her tears and Vin would hold her until she fell asleep.

“A gift is not a debt, my darling.” His voice softened at this, for he knew – he’d always known – that killing her father had created a bond between them that she was not completely happy about. She’d never liked feeling indebted to anyone – perhaps it was the Selwyn blood inside of both of them, less so in Elis than in his wife. “And I am sorry that you see it as anything other than proof of my unending devotion to you.”

Perhaps it was cruel of him to insist that she say it again, but after being married and loving her for so long, Elis thought he was entitled to at least hear that she loved him without listing off why she was angry at him in the same breath. She was intoxicated, yes, but not so much that she was unaware of what she was saying and who she was saying it to.  And then she said it, a whispered confession that showed the honesty behind her words. His lips twitched, for while they were still arguing, Elis could not deny the fact that hearing his wife loved him filled him with a lightness that had previously eluded him.

“And I love you. As you well know.” His eyes met hers, honest and open, with a hardness that came back with her comment about her father.

“Your father liked the sheer, exorbitant amount money I offered him and he liked the idea of having connections to the French government,” Elis said bluntly, perhaps a little cruelly. His eyes softened, though his voice had steel behind it. “He didn’t give you to me. He may have allowed me to have you, but he would not have done so had I not allowed him to exhort me for the privilege.” Elis sighed as he thought of the money he’d forked over for the privilege of marrying Seraphina – it had come back to them upon his death, but he still remembered.

“You matter to me far more than money ever has or ever will. I did not choose a wife based on who the best choice was. I chose you because I love you. I’ve always loved you. I’ve been doomed to love you since I was eleven and you pushed me into the mud at my grandfather’s birthday. I will not apologize for using your father’s love of money to my advantage. I swore when we married that I would never strike you, would never hurt you physically, and that is not a vow I will ever break. But don’t ever compare me to him again. You will not like the consequences.”

He pressed another kiss to her skin. “I want a child because I love you. I want a physical representation of us, a girl who’s as beautiful as you and chases after what she shouldn’t. A boy who’s as sharp-witted as his mother.” Elis bit his lip. “We will talk about it again in two, but if you feel the same way then I will not push the issue.”

“You can’t possibly understand.” Seraphina was close to tears now, she hated talking about this, even though she supposed she was the one who started it. But she wouldn't say that, instead wiping angry tears from the corners of her dark eyes. “Nothing I could do, nothing I could give you could ever equal what you did for me and, and-” She choked out, not finishing her sentence and regretting the entire fight, or what it had become. 

She should have said it long before now, it was cruel and selfish of her to withhold that from him. Because she so needed to hear that he loved her, wanted her; so why couldn’t she give him the same thing. Seraphina hadn’t loved him as long as he had loved her, not until he saved her had she even considered that she might love him. And in all the ways he showed he loved her, why couldn’t she do the same. “I’m sorry I’ve never said it.” She whispered, still not meeting his eyes. 

He said it so often, but still she doubted. Sera never thought she deserved love, but that was her own issues and she did not want to force it on him. Even though he surely knew. 

“Surely I was not worth all that,” She spat back, hearing the steel like a knife in his voice and trying to put enough venom in hers to match his. “You paid far too much for used and damaged goods, it’s a good thing you got it all back.” Seraphina knew he hated to be reminded of how terribly she thought of herself, but she couldn’t help it. Her eyes narrowed quickly. “He allowed you to have me, as if I am some possession. Why didn’t you ever ask me if I wanted to marry you?” It was too late, she said that even though she knew it would hurt him. But she was so tired of him assuming he knew exactly what she wanted without even asking her, and it went all the way back to then.

He said he loved her again, and again, and she sighed. Sera smirked slightly, thinking back to that day when she’d pushed him in the mud. He’d made fun of her terrible french and she decided to ruin his new dress robes in retaliation. Her dark eyes narrowed again as he continued to speak, Elis may have thought he was being kind, but all she heard was threats. “What are you going to do? If you won't hurt me, won’t turn your wand on me, than what? Leave me? You won’t now that you know I love you too. Don’t make empty threats, Elis.” She pushed, knowing she shouldn’t, but still to drunk and annoyed to give in. “I can take it, you know I was used to it.” Seraphina looked down quickly, hating herself for being so damaged and reminding them both of what she suffered. 

There was enough red on his hands that he could nearly call the mess festive.

Above him, a soft luminescence twinkled onto the reflective white snow on the street and sidewalks, strands of Christmas lights tucked within frosted green garland decorating the lamps and walkways of this silent little Muggle town that could now know him as predator, monster, the yuletide demon blessing them with a beautiful Christmas Eve. On his hands, his gloves warmed the skin underneath though a sanguine liquid soaked the black leather of his palms, the fingertps. He pulled his cloak tighter about his shoulders with a satisfied twitch on his lips. Some gifts could not be wrapped in paper and bows, like the wonderful fear echoing in the eyes of bound playthings kneeling beside the glistening tree, father and mother and child, like their screams gratifyingly loud and slicing through the tranquil winter night, like their useless pleading to save their pathetic existences that sounded as magical as sleigh bells to his ears.

Behind him, the tiny house now bathed in dirty blood started to crackle, orange flickering from the windows, threatening to shatter glass, the tinseled tree inside now aflame and eager to sink its surroundings to ash. He drew the hood of his cloak over his head as doors of other houses began to open, rushing to the commotion. With his smirk crawling wider, he turned a corner to hide within the shadows of an alley. A loud crack pierced through the noise, and he disappeared.

Vin did not want to spend Christmas Eve with bloody knuckles, performing favors for the Cause instead of at home, his wife in his arms with the fireplace warm and glowing, a buffet of delicious food upon the table, glasses of wine in their hands and helping them become drunk enough to ignore his mother and father whom so graciously honored them with a surprise visit for the holiday. But when the Dark Lord called upon him, dark mark burning on his forearm and hot under the sleeve of his dress shirt, he hastily excused himself from desert and his mother’s long line of questioning. The Dark Lord tasked him with a brutal command on a holy night, but he’d no choice but to obey, reiterating this fact to an angry and bitter, stomping and snarling Seraphina meeting him in the hallway. He wanted to stay. He said that over again to her, kissing her forehead as he opened the front door and shivered with the sudden chill welcomed inside. He wanted to stay, but these darker duties meant sacrifices for a greater good, regardless of the holy night.

The Crabbe estate lit up in candles and adorned with pine festoons, a massive wreath placed upon the front doors, the tall Christmas tree brightly glowing through the snow dusted windows, the place looked like a scene of a holiday card as he walked up the stone path from where he landed when he apparated back. Soon, morning would break over the sky. He’d been gone all night tending to the extend family of some higher Ministry official that dared disagree with their intentions, and now the stars had begun to fade, a tinge of light blue and pink and orange on the east horizon as the moon tucked itself away in the west. A fluff of snowflakes started to fall, the world still and silent and a twisted halcyon of the monstrosity he’d just made of it hours ago.

Quietly, he opened the front door and shed his cloak to the waiting house elf squeaking at his feet. “Shut up,” he warned the thing with a snapping scowl, tugging at his gloved fingers in order to peel the soaked mitt off his hands. One off, disregarded and thrown at the elf’s head, Vin narrowed his eyes into the darkness of the entry way, into the corridor. “Seraphina – in bed?” He mumbled at the elf as he tossed the other glove its way.

“Miss Crabbe did not retire!” It chirped back, collecting the glove from the floor, tiny and scared whisper over the sound of its shuffling.  

A gutting, sudden sensation trudged to the pit of his stomach – he did not come home that night. He’d been gone for hours, did not come home to fill the space beside her in bed, to run his hand through her hair until she dozed off, unafraid and knowing he lay beside her, always beside her. But he’d spent the night away, bloodied and bruising, and he knew her well enough to know that she spent the night awake pacing, waiting, watching the clock, scared to sleep without him, listening for the front door to open and hating the sound of it staying closed.

“Where is she?” Vin bit back sharply, causing the elf to startle and point toward the parlor in answer, finger quaking.

Seraphina wanted to go to Spain, she always wanted to go to Spain. She could only tolerate her mother in her home country, the woman seemed to relax and gained back a bit of the spark that she’d passed on to her daughter. And Sera’s grandfather spoiled her endlessly. But Vin wanted to stay, something quiet and intimate with just the two of them, and she agreed, looking forward to spending a Christmas wrapped up in each other and their still new love.

Until his parents showed up. They didn’t give any warning, correctly assuming their son would have found some excuse for them to not be home and able to spend the holiday with his parents. Their arrival sent Seraphina in a slight panic, yelling at the elves to make more food and getting twice three times as many bottles of wine; all while Vin knocked back glasses of whiskey entertaining his parents in the parlor. She ate even less than usual, and noticed the sharp eyes of her mother-in-law skate over her slim figure and the barely raised eyebrow when the elf poured Seraphina’s fourth glass of wine. No baby here, she smiled back sweetly while deftly avoiding the topic of heirs and legacy.

Halfway through dessert the hand that had remained on her thigh throughout the entire meal tensed, and Seraphina looked over at her husband with concern. She recognized the flash of pain in his eyes, and knew him and his ticks well enough to know that it was from that burning brand on his arm, tying him to the one thing that could possibly take him away from her on this night. She knew this, she knew he had no choice but to obey and leave at once, but she wasn’t going to be happy about it. He stood up and excused himself and Sera followed him quickly into the entrance. She was angry, angry that he was leaving, angry that he was leaving while his parents were there. But she sighed softly when he kissed her forehead, and believed that he wanted to stay as she stood shivering alone in the entry.

She made his excuses easily, her words echoing the pride she saw in his father’s eyes. Because wasn’t it just wonderful that he was so willing to do anything and everything for their noble cause? He would kill, bleed and even die for this perfect future they imagined, wasn’t it just incredible how she would wait up all night to see if he would return home to her in one piece? Seraphina nearly choked on her glass of wine (six or was it seven now?) when his mother asked outright if she was expecting. Surely you don’t think I’m stupid enough to drink this much while pregnant? Seraphina shot back. Thankfully, they did not linger at the table much longer, an elf leading them off to the guest suite strategically located as far away from the master bedroom as the house permitted.

The familiar cold and empty night stretched ahead of her. She could never sleep without him, didn’t get into their bed unless she knew he was home and would join her soon. It had always been like that, since the very first night they belonged to each other, after the loudest and most violent fights, they always went to bed together. She would forgive him anything, if it meant she did not have to try and sleep alone. By now he knew her well enough, and would do whatever he could to ensure he was home. She hoped.

The elf brought her another bottle of wine and she sipped on it slowly as she paced the parlor. It was the first room off the entrance, she would hear the door clearly when it opened, but for now the silence was deafening. None of the books she tried to read could hold her interest, could keep the nagging anxiety that something terrible might happen to him at bay. She rearranged the presents under the huge tree three different times, pretending she wasn’t happy with the way they looked but really she just needed something to do with her hands to keep them from shaking. At 4 in the morning, she switched from wine to coffee in order to stay awake for him. The clock on the mantle mocked her, steadily ticking away the time he was gone, but moving slower than she thought possible. She let the fire die down, turning away the elf who tried to tend it, instructing the creature to stand by the door and wait for the master to come home. The cold would keep her awake.

But it wasn’t long afterwards that the exhaustion and stress overwhelmed into a restless sleep, curled up in the corner of the couch. The nightmares came instantly, and subconsciously she must have curled her legs up to her chest in some frail attempt at protecting herself from the demons lurking in her own mind.

Seraphina woke violently, ripped from her nightmare with the touch of warm fingers to her forehead. Heart pounding, her eyes flashed open as she tried to make sense of her surroundings. The couch, the parlor, the hint of light peaking through the curtains alluding to an ever nearing dawn. He never came home. But there he was, kneeling before her with such tenderness in his eyes that she surely did not deserve after the cold way she’d treated him when he left. He was covered in blood. Why was he always covered in blood? Panic gripped her chest, was this just part of her nightmare? A new way for her subconscious to torment her with the very person she wanted above all. A cold hand shot out, touching the side of his face, stroking his beard and feeling his pulse on his neck to be sure that he was really there, he was real and here and loved her.

It was the start of his 6th year at Hogwarts and most of his regular acquaintances had graduated. It was a pity, really. Most of his year mates were dreadfully boring. Nevertheless, Evan needed to add to his social rolodex. Seeing as a little bit of fun never hurt anyone, he decided to make a game of it. The challenge he proposed for himself was to see how long it would take to ensnare a seventh year girl with whom he had no romantic history. As it turned out, the answer was rather quickly.

It had almost been too easy to lure Sera to the Prefect’s bathroom. A few quick glances in the Great Hall, an accidental touch or two in the corridors, and voila, she was here. Girls like Seraphina weren’t complicated. All one had to do was feed them a steady diet of good conversation and unpredictable attention. Evan would bring Sera into conversations only to ignore her once she had finished answering his question. He would place a hand on the small of Sera’s back as he excused himself from the group, but then make sure to spend dinner charming a pretty 4th year over dinner. The goal was to keep Sera guessing. If she was anything like him (and he knew she was), the ambiguity of it all would compel her to agree to a rendezvous.

She did not disappoint. Well, until she opened her mouth.

“Ça reste à voir,” he said. Remains to be seen. If Sera was going to call him ‘Rosie,’ a proper butchery of the French pronunciation of his last name, then Evan would refuse to speak to her in English.

She knew exactly what he was doing, Seraphina could play the game as well as anyone. She had a bit of a reputation, but Evan was new. Someone she’d never entertained before. He was quite pretty, all cheekbones, chiseled jaw and piercing eyes. Yes, she could enjoy this. And Evan was not likely to bore her easily by doing something silly like falling in love with her, or wanting to limit and own her, or being so predictably good, as was her problem with some of her friends. He must have known she wasn’t a nice girl, who wanted flowers and promises. Sera just wanted someone who could keep her attention long enough to chase away the demons, a substance and someone to lose herself in for a while before the real world caught up to her.

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