The Future of the Bloodline
Finally scratching an itch and writing some proper Septdrella…ish. X'D
Fic: "The Future of the Bloodline" [FFN] [AO3]
Pairings/Characters: Septimus Weasley/Cedrella Black (tho Septimus-centric), Mr. & Mrs. Weasley (Septimus' parents)
Rating: K
Words: ~1,620
Additional info: romance, family, light angst, mild fluff, Maydayverse, pre-Marauder era, 3rd person POV
Summary: Septimus corrects his parents of a certain notion regarding his future.
     He doesn't expect anyone else to be up at this hour—he's only up himself because of the growing pains of being sixteen and the agonizing humidity that is the summer heat before sixth year make for crummy sleep—so Septimus is surprised to go downstairs and hear anything but the quiet of the night and the Weasley home creaking. He pauses outside the dining room on his way to the kitchen.
   There's noise coming from inside. Voices.
   Septimus tenses. Mum and Dad almost never keep things from him, especially now that he's older and nearly done with school. He knows that Dad's often struggled to buy gifts for his many siblings (although, truthfully, Septimus figured that out on his own ages ago) and that sometimes helping the previous, fruitful generation has led to a strain on their own family's finances. He knows Mum's accessory-making hobby has turned into a side business that's eased that strain sometimes (and he's seen her work in Malkin's window displays—Septimus would offer his compliments if only Mum weren't so proud so as not to be embarrassed by the circumstances).
   So…if it's one of the few things they feel they can't tell him yet…or if they're prepping how to tell him…
   His stomach stops its rumbling and his parched throat is no longer a priority as new concerns replace his priorities. Septimus can't help but fear as he pushes the dining room door open and blurts, "What are you two doing up? Is someone hurt? Is someone—gone?"
   Mum and Dad jump in their seats nearest the door. Mum pales, white as a ghost, while Dad slaps a hand over his heart and settles his son with a wide-eyed stare. "Merlin's beard—! Don't scare us like that, Septimus!"
   "I'm sorry, but—is someone." He stops there. He can't ask again. He doesn't want to think of his cousins, his aunts and uncles, his grandparents—
   But Mum shakes her head vigorously and turns in her chair, reaching for Septimus' hand. "No! No, dear, no one's dead. No funeral planning. Everyone's in good health, I assure you."
   He lets himself be tugged forward, though he swipes at his eyes with his free hand as relief surges through him. "O-Oh. That. That's good then… But why are you awake?"
   With their hands connected, Septimus isn't fooled by Mum's excellent poker face (that's how she wins at Exploding Snap and all other card games), because her fingers go rigid around his hand. In response, she looks to her husband to explain.
   And that's when Septimus notices the ocean of parchment on the dining table. Scattered around and some cheaper than others, there's letter after letter, more than a dozen opened envelopes. He doesn't read the words, but he recognizes the handwriting right away, because he receives birthday cards every year from these people…from his loved ones. "Are these new?"
   "Relatively recent, yes," Dad answers.
   "Why's everyone writing us all at once?" Sure, no one's dead or dying, but perhaps the family of one of his uncles is in far worse shape than they thought.
   "Because…Septimus, it's past time, actually." Dad sighs and pinches the freckled bridge of his nose. "And…they didn't write to all three of us. Just to your mum and me. About you."
   His nerves wind up again, taut, at the revelation. "Huh?"
   Dad sighs again and Mum's shoulders sag, but they give him twin smiles of sympathy as she pulls their son between them and rubs soothing circles in the small of his back. "You've got two years of school left, yes, but it's also a good time to think about your future."
   "You mean—work?" Septimus ignores the uncomfortable way his pajama shirt keeps bunching where Mum rubs; the motion is more comforting to her than to him, anyway. "Reckon I'd follow in your footsteps…"
   Dad's smile is tight, but he shakes his head. His hair, once as red as his son's, is considerably lighter this past year, flecked with threads of gray and even sparse white; it's more noticeable by candlelight tonight. "No, Septimus. Not work, son."
   If not work, then—? Septimus freezes and snatches up the topmost letter, from Uncle Fen, Dad's eldest brother, and the words "arranged marriage" jump off the parchment at him. He doesn't even have to grab the other correspondences for the phrase to highlight itself, drawing Septimus' eye with a quick skim.
   "Nothing's set in stone," Mum rushes. "It's just talk. Ultimately we want you to be happy, Septimus."
   "Then why is anyone discussing an arranged marriage for me? I'm freshly sixteen!"
   Dad and Mum share a soft chuckle as well as a glance, and something passes between them in that fond moment.
   …oh. Septimus knows his parents love each other, a lot, and he's walked past their photos in the hall countless times. But he's never truly asked them how they met or when or why they got married, has he?
   So…perhaps he's the odd one out, being unsure of this arranged marriage business.
   Either way, Septimus knows how he feels about the topic and clears his throat. He backs away from Mum's ministrations, too, because he's not a child anymore. "What else?" he asks.
   His parents return from La-La Land, and Dad's usually happy-go-lucky countenance is nowhere to be seen. In fact, his blue eyes (the same ones Septimus has) drop to the spread of letters. "…there's discussion about making you a pureblood match."
   Keeping the Weasley family pureblood in the process.
   Septimus mulls over the thought, but it bothers him, the notion that anyone in his family thinks that's a worthy priority. The fact sinks into the pit of his stomach, where it sours and makes the back of his throat burn.
   …realistically speaking, though, he muses if the adults have thought this through. His father's generation was an abundant one and still all made pureblood matches, five brothers in total. Uncle Fen and his wife never had children, so Septimus is the eldest cousin, but…
   Unless their family stops only appreciating Muggles and Muggle-borns and starts marrying them, too, then won't they be right quick out of options? Especially when particular families have hated them for generations…
   As if sensing his train of thought, his parents sigh, and Dad shuffles the letters before tidying them into a neat pile to set aside. "Look, it's just a thought. There's—There's a Blishwick daughter, I think… Your Aunt Pea mentioned her cousin has a daughter, too, so that's the Max line. Or, with the right gift, I'm sure we could talk to the Bulstrodes or to the Macmillans—"
   "No, don't."
   His parents stop and focus their attention on him. If they were half awake while wading through this mess, they're fully awake now.
   But now… Now Septimus has his chance. He can voice every last thought he has on this bloody idea and put it to bed and then they can all return to bed, which sounds quite lovely at two in the morning.
   He licks his lips and swallows a nervous lump. They wait.
   "I…don't know any of those witches."
   They're his parents. They know to wait for the rest.
   "…and…I have someone I like."
   Their eyes widen. Dad's "Why didn't you say so sooner?" overlaps with Mum's "Oh, Septimus, that's lovely, darling!"
   He lets them coo and pepper him with basic questions, and he answers as many as he can while being as vague as possible. It's partly a stroll down Memory Lane for him ("When did you two start talking?" "Politely? First time…third year…properly, fourth." "Same House?" "No, different." "Does she like Wizard's Chess?" "Afraid not much, Dad, but I suspect that's because I keep winning every time I try to teach her." "That's no good, son, let a lady win once in a while." "We're allowed to have our own talents, Mum; she's an ace flyer, and I imagine she'd be great at Quidditch if her family would let her play." "Oh, a Quidditch enthusiast? She sounds like fun, Septimus! Why haven't we heard about her before?"). It's partly an exercise in keeping his privacy as well as hers…not just because she's asked him before, but especially now, with all this arranged marriage nonsense and wondering what the status of the Weasley line will look like in a generation or two…
   That's when it hits him.
   Septimus…doesn't want to stick a pin in his parents' and uncles' and aunts' meddling merely out of principle. He—He's thinking about his future, himself.
   And with her—Cedrella—in it.
   He blinks and shakes himself free of his stupor, amazed by this newfound clarity. He has half a mind to owl Cedrella right now…but, no, that would be unwise at this late hour.
   "…imus? Septimus?"
   "Mm?"
   Mum chuckles and reaches up, combing her fingers through his bedhead. "Do we even get to know her name, dear?"
   He reddens, which makes them laugh since red cheeks forever spotlight a Weasley's freckles, but Septimus sighs. "I…will tell you her name and more about her come Christmas break. Deal?"
   "We don't even get a hint?"
   Septimus turns on his heel, exhausted by the turn of events, but he pauses before returning to his room and muses on the irony of things. If how fondly, how deeply he's come to care for the kindhearted Cedrella, of the Weasley-despising Black family, is any portend of what sixth year, seventh year, and after Hogwarts will be like, then things look promising. So he replies with wry smile, "She's someone who ticks my—and the family's—boxes. Goodnight, you two."
   And there he leaves his parents pondering who their prospective future daughter-in-law could be.
Done for the If You Dare Challenge (for prompt #985: irony) in the HPFC forum on FFN. I've got a few old Weasley fam hcs and more are cropping up, thx to inspo from my pal, controlled climb (and srsly go read her Septdrellas bc they're SO GOOD TT-TT), and thx to working on developing some hcs for the Prewett fam at the same time. I realize, in hindsight, this one was more Septimus-centric with just mentions of Cedrella at the end, but that means some ideas not crammed in here turned into another fic, *LOL*. But for reals: If the Weasleys have been large, poor, but pureblood for generations…that's like…gonna be rly hard to manage? *dubiously eyes canon* Anywho. I still have more thoughts on this, hence a separate fic, which will show Septdrella front and center. :3c Also, truly ironic that some in the family would want to continue being pureblood, and Septimus thinks it's a non-issue…but marries a pureblood witch anyway. XD So! Here's to more hcs~ (And hence my marking this a Maydayverse fic, since it's part of my overall hc. :3)
Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave an anon/unsigned review via the FFN link or comment via the AO3 link at the top of the post, especially if you enjoyed this!
~mew












