#benjamin avery

Lara gave up on the garden at the first yellow leaf. Now, she took her hours to waste inside of the house and spent it imitating the house elf: snapping her fingers until the furniture was dusted off, though letting go of magic and using her hands when she got to Allard's piano, out of respect for the sacred object that was one of the few things in the world he seemed to truly value (so she did, too, by default), stirring the soup and, from time to time, taking long breaks in the vacant room in the attic, trying to decide its use besides music room, for it was too big even for the whole collection of instruments her husband brought along.

Just as she was looking out the window with bitterness that reached all the way down to the aurors, but also had a dash of gratitude hidden somewhere in it, the alarms went off and her fingers were clenched on the wand helplessly, but at least as result of decent reflexes, before she could tell. She ran to the electric blue sphere levitating by the wall that showed images of all around the house and recognized the emerald green satin cloak that fell all the way to the ground like the last time she had seen it was last week. With a detached wave of hand through the window, she let the aurors know that their services weren't needed, dismissing them. She felt sorry for not letting them step in and do their job, but she couldn't let a couple of aurors intervene between her and her father.

She didn't come down immediately, needing justified time to think it through. Her heart was suffocating her with beats so sudden and firm that she felt like shaking from inside. She knew he would wait for her to come to him and was so curious about every aspect of his visit and what could have been more important than her wedding, but to conceal that, she needed a minute. Though her heart wanted to levitate all the way to the ground floor where he must have been waiting, just like she waited for her mother in that October after running away with Oliver, but her feet were hesitant, postponing the moment of reconnection and refusing to respond to her excitement. Soon, it hit her: Lara was significantly more nervous than excited to see her father. It was like just before the N.E.W.T.s, not anticipating one of the happiest moments of her life. It didn't matter. She took a deep breath of air she needed and pressed her soles against the stairs, making no noise and going straight to the kitchen.

She didn't need to make her presence known. Though he was facing a painting in the opposite direction and the elf was hidden behind the table as form of respect, he suddenly knew Lara was there. Her clearing her throat clashed with the moment he opened his mouth to welcome her in her own house. He had always had more control of the situation than any other person the girl knew. It was only natural he was dominating even there. "Lara," he tilted his head softly, still turned with his back on her and she had no second word to add to the conversation. Therefore, he had to speak again, uninterrupted, in a lower voice but with enough strength to make it echo in her ears, trembling. He wasn't waiting for replies and surely he wasn't asking questions anyway. "I am aware of the situation in the Great Britain," he let her know gently, as if she asked - and she has in every letter between the seventh year and her wedding day. "I believe you aren't, on the other side. I believe you are playing around blindly and trying to achieve - what, you must tell me because I can't understand if it's not a bad reputation. I have seen a little girl, using somebody even less...," - a pause; she filled it with a disgraceful term, he continued unbothered. "... aware to poke something of such a breadth that it did not even feel it - and very well it did - and I understood. I understood that you were playing. But what do I say, Lara, about playing?" No answer. She was stunned, captivated and attacked from every side: half shocked that he showed up with the skin of an elder, looking more fragile than ever and reminding her that she couldn't even pinpoint their last meeting prior to that morning, and half stuck on his words, embarrassed that they had to be said but wanting to understand. She may have turned red, but it was with pride that she held her chin up, as if for the first time immune to the lecture. She knew the answer to his rhetorical question, but there was no way she would be melting back into a child. "You're silent," he noted without being too concerned or affected. "I thought you learned to enjoy the sound of you talking. I thought nothing shut you up. I imagined I would come here and merely say one word between the mighty speeches of Lara Avery." He was amused and she wanted to cry. His case scenario, built strategically to make her think he too cared about their meeting after years, made her nostalgic for that part of her and she wanted to prove him how wrong he was, except Lara suddenly accepted his opinion as the right one, despite her offence.

"Dupond," was all she could mutter, looking anywhere but in his eyes because perhaps he was right and she was a disgrace. Lara had worn her chin up all these months, but hearing the feedback from the only person in the world who could turn her upside down and make her question the unquestionable in her actions and even forget Evelyn had the possibility to change everything. She had imagined that moment of seeing him again million of times, but her plans to call him out and respond with words of sarcasm and cutting remarks all vanished into thin air. She could never open her mouth and blame him for anything. 

The man raised his eyebrows, all the sarcasm all transferred to him. He wasn’t taken aback and didn’t own the hesitance his daughter seemed to have inherited from her mother. "Correct. I forgot you married,” was all that he said on the matter, with a singular raise of eyebrows, and it was enough to kill her. She didn’t need bigger words of critique for she was going to rethink her every decision based on ambiguous skeptical sentences alone. “Back to matters that interest us today, howsoever,” he cleared his throat and she saw him for the old man that he was, suddenly less tense though still valuing his opinion even over hers. Yet, there was something deeply unsettling in seeing your idols wrinkled and weak even in nothing but appearance. She nodded briefly, a gesture she spent all her childhood doing because Lara wasn’t speaking much when he was in the room, but she listened, not missing a word. “You must be at least intelligent enough to see this for what it is: a mistake. An incoherence, an act of desperation, as if that is how you earn your relevancy." A compliment wrapped into everything a compliment wasn’t. Lara felt just like at home, though she hasn’t left the place in weeks and he was the only thing that changed. 

There, she could no longer agree, because she deeply didn’t want to, although she could feel the words he had said burning something inside her mind - and something in her mind struggling with guilt that admitted that she was perhaps chasing after relevance after all. Maybe she truly was, but even so, she didn’t want to feel bad about it. What was so wrong in wanting to change the world? “Father,” she took a deep breath and nodded again, out of politeness her mother, not him, taught her. “I’m not going to say anything to you on the matter,” she sighed the words out, not knowing what to say, but refusing to contribute to the conversation anyway. “I’m sorry to disappoint. The house elf can offer you tea, but I have somewhere to be soon.” That was a lie, but for that reason, she would leave the house in a heartbeat, even without taking caution first or a concrete destination. She thought she’d want to hear every thought that man had crossing through his mind, but she was being proven wrong. She didn’t want to hear. She didn’t want to see him. She was upset, at both herself and him, and his stand on what she was trying to do was obvious. No further arguments were necessary and she didn’t need more doubts to keep her awake at night. “You can make yourself comfortable. The guest room is empty,” she offered, but she knew he would pass up the offer. 

On the opposite side, Benjamin knew that she was deflecting. He saw through the act as if it were thin glass and let her know through an all-knowing smile, but no more words. He had made his point and never wanted to use more words than it was necessary to send his message. “I can’t.” Of course he couldn’t. Lara didn’t even flinch hearing the words. It was all too familiar. “I came here to just let you know that you should let go of this impulsiveness and remember who you are.”

Benjamin Avery is a sixty-seven year old water elemental who has attended Hogwarts during his school days, having married Margret Yaxley, aged eighteen at the time, at the age of forty-six, just because he needed a heir to pass the family name and the Avery legacy to. He never loved his wife - nor did he have to, according to the definition of arranged marriages - but she reminded him of youth and, at first, it wasn’t as bad. Though an emotionally closed off, pragmatic person who put too much heart into reading, finding out as much about the world as possible and none at all in human interactions, at first, he didn’t feel pure repulsion: she was of a good family and wasn’t lazy or disagreeable, too simple to bother with anything but exactly that and pure at heart. Yet, as soon as the child she gave birth to turned out to be a girl, the already fragile acceptance vanished into thin air. In that household, Benjamin felt like suffocating. He no longer cared about the legacies he would have left on the earth after his death, now knowing he had to make the best out of his time alive instead of planning what comes after. After all, he had a spectacular brain, which couldn’t be said about his wife and possibly their children. Thus, he didn’t try again, in hopes for a boy, but simply left them for the love of his life: knowledge. It was like he just needed to know everything, else it wouldn’t feel right. If his mediocre wife and child didn’t understand that eagerness to know, it was strictly their problem.

Yet, his daughter understood, and though her being sorted in Hufflepuff wasn’t a reason of joy any more than her birth was, she couldn’t not appreciate her thirst for the very things he craved, so he fed it to some extent, telling her about the wars, about the more interesting parts of history and even teaching her muggle Latin terms. Therefore, everything Lara Avery knows best is what he taught her - and she blindly listened to him, feeling so much admiration, so much respect for the absent father figure who only saw her for a couple of weeks a year if she was the one to visit him in Germany, where he’d isolated himself. Although not wanting to do her any harm though, Benjamin remains a hermit, a deep introvert and even interaction with his own daughter is consuming - let alone time wasting to some extent, in his opinion - so he ended up ignoring most of her owls. He is a busy man, after all, and can’t focus on the teenage girl’s every insignificant thought when his thoughts were shining like stars and burning to be put on paper and written about. 

the 13th of January

Dear father, 

I know that we agreed not to waste ink on insignificant subjects such as birthdays, but apart from a heartfelt, honest happy birthday, I have more to discuss with you. What do you know of the Yaxley heirs? I have recently ago taken Felix Yaxley to meet our common relatives and because I know it is not polite to ask them, I am asking you if he is the oldest heir? The Yaxleys are an extended dynasty and I, for one, can’t name one more cousin of mine. Mother can’t either, but that comes as no surprise. Howsoever, your knowledge and memory have always been wider than hers, even though it is her bloodline I am writing you about. Perhaps you can enlighten me. I’m eagerly awaiting your reply. 

Until next time, take care.

Lara Katerina Avery.

the 19th of February

Dear father,

I did not receive your last letter. However, I, your daughter, am writing you this time because I have had this thought haunting me that you would maybe find interesting. I frankly can’t even tell where it came from, but it is certainly worth reflecting on. How does one make a change? You always used to talk about how making a change is the only form of immortality, the one that Faust didn’t even consider and paradoxically still eventually achieved, and your words have been in my mind a lot lately. Now that we are getting closer to the end of the year, I am starting to worry about going out in the world and not leaving a true mark on it. I have always wanted to work in the Ministry, but I want to be immortal too, and I might just have a solid idea this time. Maybe I don’t really want to work in the Ministry the way it is today.

Anyway, back to the idea that has been echoing through my mind, I think you would love to hear it. I cannot say if it is truly worth putting into practice and if it’s realistic to begin with, but you could. Your opinion may be of help. I want to change the world, but I could really use your advice right now. I trust nobody’s judgement more than I trust yours. Please write me back. I need you to listen to my idea of a change and tell me how to do it.

Please.

Love,

Lara Katerina Avery.

the 1st of March

Dear father, 

I am scared. I might have ruined everything and although nothing critical is going to happen soon, I am not sure the decision I took was the best. You would have known how to advise me if you were here. I wish that you were, but like you always say, we have to make the best of what we are given. Yet, I can’t help but think that I have failed you. Have you ever felt guilty forI hope I am overreacting and that this is just a side effect of the change I am about to  pull on the world. Perhaps breaking the rules and some promises is the only path to greatness. You can’t change the world if you are stuck in a pattern, can you? I hope I can, stuck or free. Maybe everything I am saying is foolish and that is why you won’t write me back. I hope to come into my senses, I’m sorry. 

Love, 

Lara.

the 9th of March

Father dearest,

I am beginning to worry that you are not receiving my letters, but the owl always comes back without them. I don’t think it would have left my envelopes elsewhere but with you, so I should be rational and stop overthinking. You are probably too busy to write me a letter. I understand that, but at this point, I could really use your wisdom. I, too, am busy with the exams, as well as with my Prefect duties I have told you about before. I just wish you were in Dover. It would have made my year so much better. I understand that nobody’s world but my own revolves around me and that I shouldn’t be so selfish and I know what you are doing is actually making a difference, but it is just not fair. I am not complaining about you, I hope you know that, but the circumstances are saddening. I wish you were here to hold my hand while I was bringing my change to the world too. 

I’m starting to find my peace and let everything flow normally, because there is no benefit in stressing over anything too much and because what is done is done and I can find strength in myself to fix anything if complications pop up. Howsoever, know that it isn’t easy, with my school duties, the upcoming exams and the natural stress that comes with leaving Hogwarts for good. 

Write me as soon as you have some free time, but don’t worry. I am currently handling everything well enough. I miss you.

Love, 

Lara.

the 15th of March

Dear father, 

As you may know, today is my birthday. It is okay that you didn’t find the time to write me a letter. You said it yourself that people like us shouldn’t waste time on pleasantries when it comes to each other and that I can guess all the birthday wishes you could have written me. Just know that I am not upset and that I understand. Anyway, there is more I wanted to write to you about. There has been an attack here in Hogsmeade, but I wasn’t involved. I actually went to bed early that night and only found out about it in the morning. Therefore, I am in no way injured, thank Merlin. However, I cannot say the same about the Dubois heir, who had been killed during the club attack. It’s upsetting to think how young he was and how much potential was lying inside him, and yet, he died before his time. It makes you realize you don’t have forever - the death of people of your age. I will ask mother to send the grieving family a letter of sympathy and give them our condolences, so you won’t have to.  

the 6th of May

Father, 

This is Lara writing you. I hope that everything is well in Baden-Württemberg and that you are too. I miss you and cannot wait until your return. On another note, I am about to take a big step. You might already be familiar with it if you have read my other letters. I’m not nervous - I know better than to be so, but I don’t think I’ll be able to get through it without your approval. I’m going to do something you would be proud of, but first of all, I want to make sure that you would truly be proud of it. Now that I am writing you this letter, I wonder whether to keep it a surprise and risk getting a reaction I am not seeking from you. All in all, that sounds better than no reaction at all, correct?

Do you want to hear about how I am going to change the world, father? If not from me, I hope that you’re following the British Wizarding news, because I may make you as proud as you deserve to be and I promise you that you don’t want to be missing that. I doubt it is the sort of matter you can miss, howsoever. Hence my reluctance. Your advice always make it all so clear to me, and now more than ever, I might need it in order not to take a step I won’t be able to turn around from. I can’t imagine where you would be standing here, but I hope to find out before doing anything wrong. All you have to do is answer my letter and ask for details. I will then explain the full situation to you. 

Howsoever, I can’t write you more today. I have some Prefect duties to fulfill and I’ll have to conclude this letter here. I hope to hear from you soon. 

Love, 

Lara Katerina Avery.

the 2nd of July

Dear father, 

How do you write an effective speech? I am asking because one of my friends is being valedictorian this year and I am helping him with the words. I know what to write but I want to put the ideas into words as eloquently as possible and at the time being, I’m having trouble with that. Anyway, my N.E.W.T.s start in a day, but I am no longer nervous. In fact, my academic situation is not, at all, the reason why I am writing you. I am actually going to invite you to Hogwarts, seeing as there is a program in the last weekend of school that allows parents to visit the school grounds and then attend their children’s graduation. It does sound nice, doesn’t it? I would like to have you here, though it is not that big of a deal. I would have asked mother, but I am not sure she would like it as much as I would like you to come. 

All of my love, 

Lara K. Avery

the 8th of July

Father, 

I have finally finished my exams. As far as the results go, I am not sure, but you would be happy to know I have given a good impression to all my professors and supervisors. I would write you more, but I have this thing I am working on that requires all of my free time. 

Lara Katerina Avery

"Do you think to stop us from bothering you by pretending to read Benj?" 

"Of course not Alecto, I merely wish to make you feel guilty that you're interrupting a genius at work." 

"Why do I tolerate your pretentious arse again?" 

Taken by Evan Rosier who just grinned widely, entertained by the banter between his two friends. It wouldn't be long before Benjamin Avery would give into his friend's demands and go along with whatever ridiculous plan they had concocted. circa. 1976

Benjamin Avery waiting for his assigned contact in what was a secret mission given to him by the Dark Lord. As he checked his watch for the fifth time, Benjamin knew that after he received the information, the contact would learn that he was never to be left waiting again. He didn't care if the contact was the Minister of Magic himself. 

Taken by Rabastan Lestrange who just eyed the impatient man in front of him and knew that he wouldn't want to be on the wrong side of his wand. circa. 1978.