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sweeethinny · 3 years

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The Duke - Chapter 9

well, it took a long time to happen, i know, but things have been happening and i stayed away from the document for weeks, because nothing felt good

I hope you like it, I loved writing this chapter, and was looking forward to posting <3

btw, thank you so much for the reviews, the theories, and even the comments saying that i was making it all too boring ahahahahahahah i love to see what you guys think about <3

AO3 | FF.NET | SIYE

| G.W |

'Daddy...' Ginny cried, running after her dad through the room he shared with Molly, watching him take the comb to fix his hair back, as he always did. ‘I’m great at duels.’

'I know dear, and I'm sure you would win against all those men easily,' he said, but Ginny already knew that a 'but' was coming next. 'But you are a woman, and as much as it pains me to say that, it is not respectable that a lady like you, duels men twenty years older.' Arthur kept the comb together with his other items, in the first drawer of the dresser. ‘Furthermore, this night will be the first party and I know that all women will spend the day getting dressed, taking care of their hair and choosing their dress, and I don’t want you to stay with the men in the quarry while you could be with your mum.’

'They hate me,' Ginny replied, exasperated, going after him when Arthur walked to the bedroom bathroom to get his cologne. 'They would be more than happy without me there. Please, let me just watch the duels, please, Henry will be with me, nothing can happen.’ She put her hands together, trying to make the best face to convince her dad, who seemed to believe nothing.

'Ginny, my dear, is not an appropriate place for women, not even with Henry by your side… And he will stay with me there.' That was the last straw for the despair that Ginny felt, and as if foreseeing this, her dad turned, placing his hands on her shoulders. 'You need to socialize with women, make friends, and Henry shouldn't be watching you when you're curling your hair... Be understanding, Ginny.’

'Comprehensive? Dad, none of them can look me in the eye, I- ’

'Enough,' said Arthur, as firm as ever, making her feel like a child. 'Now go, I want to see you beautiful tonight, I heard that there are some men wanting to take you out to dance.' Oh, of course, Ginny thought hurt, turning around and leaving the room her parents were in, furiously going to the living room, where she could hear other voices, looking for one of her brothers, wanting them to find a way to take her to the quarry, so that Ginny could see the duel.

She had never seen any, and Henry had trained her so well, she knew she was better than those men, but still, even if she couldn't duel, it would be fun to see them fight. Fascinating to say the least.

They were also not very kind to her, of course, they saw her as inferior and all those other things, and Ginny doubted that there were men, in the plural, wanting to dance with her. She had spoken to everyone, at least to introduce herself, and none of them took her hand as they did with the other girls, some of them seemed more frightened than the women, when they saw her approach.

Mr. Rosier greeted her, looking her in the eye at least, but something inside Ginny made her feel strange.

'Bill.' She intercepted her brother, if there was anyone who could take her to see the duels, it was Bill. ‘I’ve been thinking and-’

‘No.’ He denied it, looking sad to have to do this. 'I know what you're going to ask me, but I'm sorry, Gin, Dad was clear to all of us not to allow you to go to the quarry. And he is right. It is not a place for you.’

'Isn't it a place for me? I have been training for duels for two years. With a real auror. If anyone is supposed to duel it is me, don't you see that?' Ginny felt close to pleading, thinking that if Bill wouldn't do this then no one else would, he was the one who always pretended not to see her when Ginny ran to outside the protection of their house, just to pick the strawberries that were behind the lake. 'At least let me see the duel.'

'Stay with Fleur, she will entertain you, yes she will, Mom will be here too... Maybe some mum will see you and think that you are perfect for her son, who knows. Give them a chance.' Ginny denied, going after Bill when he started walking when being called by another Viscount's son.

'Bill, please,' she asked, just one more time, hoping he would realize that she was desperate. ‘Daddy will even take Henry, and I’ll be alone-’

'Which is even better.' He turned, sighing and running his hand through her hair as if she were a child. 'You will soon get married and Mr Figg will have to leave, it is about time you started to get used to it.' And with that, Bill was gone.

Ginny felt desperate, for the first time since she heard that they had been invited to The Duel Party. She looked around the room that was starting to get crowded, everyone talking and looking excited about the day's schedule, and Ginny felt suffocated. All those men and women seemed to have someone to have by their side, and she was there, standing in the center of the room, alone.

'Gin, honey, is everything okay?' Mrs. Potter's voice woke her up, preventing Ginny from panicking.

It was not just the fact that Ginny was not allowed to go to see the duel - women could watch, but only on the last day of the duel, when the finalists face off - but because the idea of having to remain stuck in a place where no one liked of her, with no means of escape, suffocated her. Henry wouldn't be around if her magic got out of hand and she ended up destroying a mirror when all she wanted to do was make sure the flower in her hair didn't wilt.

'Oh, good morning, my Lady,' Ginny gave a brief salute, fingers trembling as she held the skirt. 'Everything is great, just ... just looking for my mum.' The woman didn't seem to have swallowed the lie, her hard green eyes analyzing Ginny like an eagle, and she wondered where else she had seen that expression.

‘I haven’t seen her yet, I think maybe she’s in the gardens.’ She still didn’t look convinced, watching Ginny closely, as if she knew something was wrong. 'Are you looking forward to the ball tonight?' Lily smiled kindly, as if she suddenly realized that it seemed that everyone in the room was evaluating the two of them, having to think about what the two were talking about, and how one day, Lily imagined it would be the mother-in-law of the girl in front of her.

'Yes, I'm sure it will be an amazing night,' Ginny lied, with a skill she didn't even know she had, smiling and hiding the nervousness she felt every time she noticed someone turning their head towards her.

'That’s great,' she smiled. 'I know you wanted to go and watch the duel, but I'm sure our women's day will be a lot of fun too,' But Lily didn't seem to believe that, Ginny would realize later, when she remembered the shadow that persisted in her green eyes, as seem to understand the anguish that Ginny felt.

'I do too, my Lady.' Ginny was never more grateful for someone calling her name, even if it was Fleur, and she said goodbye to Lily to go after her sister-in-law, who seemed more excited than ever.

'Come on, let's go, your mum wants to talk to you, and I already tell you it's about men.' Fleur smiled from ear to ear, taking Ginny's hand and pulling her out into the garden, not even seeming to notice the male heads turning to face accompanying her. 'Bill told me about the duel, I'm sorry, and if it helps you a little, I would also love to see the duel. Don't tell your mom, but some of those women seem to hate us. ’

'It's because they do hate us,' she said, noticing when a woman who was supposed to be Molly's age, made a face at Ginny, turning her face and pinching her nose. ‘Actually, it’s more me than you guys.’

'Don't say ‘zat, it's too cruel,' Fleur's French accent was more apparent whenever she was happy, and this time was no different. 'They don't like us because... well, because they are all idiots, don't be moved by that, your mum and I will be with you and it will be better than being among those men. Do you really prefer to stay with muddy feet, close to those ogres who never seem to have seen a woman?' Fleur grimaced, tossing her long blond hair behind her shoulders, and Ginny really laughed at how affected she looked at it, Ginny didn't even if she bothered with it and thought that well, they didn't look at Ginny the way they looked at Fleur. 'Besides, if you want to get a good husband, my dear, let them think that you are a damsel in distress and that you need them to survive,' Her sister-in-law stopped, Molly seemed focused on the conversation with another woman to notice the two there.

'But I'm not a damsel in distress,' Ginny sayed, thinking of how many asses she could kick in that duel, without even pushing.

'Of course not, none of us are. But have you ever seen me having to do anything that might make me sweat? No, because men seem desperate to do it for me, and I just let it.' Ginny laughed, not even caring about the people looking. 'Let them, the guys and the women, say whatever they want about you, paint you like crazy or like a damsel in distress. Only you know that you are not that, and you are the only person who needs to know. ’

'Don't women look you in the eye, too?' Ginny asked, watching Fleur arrange the light pink scarf around her neck.

'Of course, they think that I am the reason why their marriage does not work, and that I am to blame for their husbands cheating on them. Do I need to go there and say that this is not true and that I am very well and happy with my man? No, I just ignore it, and let them speak. Do not give more reasons for these people to have your name on their lips, Gin, who really deserves you, is close to you without you having to deny what they invent out there.' Fleur started walking again, with the confident steps of someone who knew she could crush anyone in a few seconds, and Ginny smiled as she followed, trying to imitate her.

She couldn't help thinking about Henry while she heard Fleur speak, he never doubted her strength, and he didn't even seem to believe the lies that came out in the newspapers. Without thinking, she put her hand on her injured forearm, it didn't hurt anymore, but her skin was still a little red, and Ginny had to bite her cheeks to keep from smiling when the memory of him taking off her clothes came back to mind.

His calloused but soft hands on her skin, the touch like a feather, igniting each part touched, and making her need a lot of strength to not turn and kiss him.

In her dreams that night, they did much more than kiss, at least.

'Oh, Ginny dear, how good of you to come, I was even starting to worry about your delay.' Molly greeted her, and the woman beside her tried to get up, looking offended, and Fleur, who didn't even seem to mind, sat in the empty seat. 'Did your dad put a little bit of judgment on your head?'

'He tried.' Ginny shrugged. 'But I would still prefer to go to the Quarry.' Molly denied, seeming to find it almost blasphemous, and Ginny laughed with a disapproving grimace. 'Well, but that's what I have left. May I know who is the mysterious man who seems to want to go out with me today? It seems like everyone knows but me, and just maybe, I don't know, I should be the first to know. '

‘I didn’t want you to be anxious,’ Molly said, and Ginny thought there was no way she was going to be nervous about news like that, but she didn’t want to spoil her mother’s mood with her usual pessimism. 'It's Mr. Rosier, he and your dad had talked before and your dad and I think he will be a great company for you, and if the other men see you dancing with such an exquisite man, they will take you to dance too. '

'When you talk like that it makes me feel like a goat on display,' she said, and her mum's eyes widened, while Fleur laughed and seemed to agree.

'Don't say that, of course you are not a goat on display, it's just a way to get attention dear, you know how balls like this work.' Yes, she had watched enough parties to know how things worked, and how a girl's first dance was important to tell what the rest of the dance would be like for her.

Unfortunately for Ginny, there was rarely the first dance.

‘Mr. Rosier?' She had spoken to the man only a few times, only when they were introduced, and he seemed a little socially out of place, as if he had never attended a party like that, and had never dealt with mums desperate to get their daughters married with the first rich man to appear.

He was handsome, tall, muscular, with gray eyes and well-combed brown hair, Ginny had seen one or another girl sighing as he passed, and he seemed to be well mannered, since even her mother had liked him. Molly was also a reason for men to stay away from Ginny, she could be quite scary and demanding at times.

'Yes, yes, a great man,' Molly continued to speak, listing all the man's qualities and a few more things that Ginny didn't pay attention to, watching from afar one of Mr. Potter's friends, talking to another man she didn't recognize from afar, the shadow of the trees making the person stay hidden. She did not know why that interaction attracted her attention, since she did not remember the name of that man, she only knew that he was a great friend of the Duke.

As if warned, the man looked at her over his shoulder, and even from a distance, Ginny knew that whatever was going on there was not something she should be looking at, and it made her turn her face quickly, not wanting to get in trouble.

‘Where’s Henry?’ They haven’t seen each other yet, which was weird, because usually he was always by her side since the time Ginny got up. And Henry might be good at hiding among the others, but she always knew where he was.

'He said that he would need to resolve some issues before he came, something involving his mum. And it's Mr. Figg, Ginny, please.' Molly corrected her, but she didn't care much, thinking that she would never be able to call him Mr. Figg. They had already passed the formality phase, at least while she was with the family.

Henry saw her naked last night, by Merlin's beard, they had already crossed that line!

When they came in for breakfast, Ginny didn't see Henry anywhere, just like after breakfast, when Mr Potter announced what the day would be like today. At least Ron had the decency to look upset when the man said that the duel would be seen only by men, looking at his sister as if he were very sorry that she had been born with something different between her legs.

Ginny did not express any reaction, not even when she heard a young woman look scared to know that she would be together with everyone else.

'We'll have to keep the mirrors away from this one,' she said, laughing with her friend, who seemed to be amused by the memory of when Ginny lost control of her magic in the bathroom of a party, one of the first she had gone to, and one of the first times she felt ridiculously alone.

She was nervous, trying to fix her hair, her dress, her lipstick, trying to find whatever was wrong with her, thinking that maybe the idea of having her hair tied up with real flowers hadn't been smart, since the stuffy place made them wilted and embarrassed. There were other women in the bathroom, which made her even more anxious, and when she tried to cast a spell on one of the sunflowers, her wand exploded in magic, hitting the mirror and bouncing off one of the pictures, which kept screaming for help and calling more attention from whoever was out there.

'Yes, or we will cut their throat,' Fleur whispered in her ear, tossing her hair back, and looking at Bill as if she expected him to defend Ginny.

It was a losing fight, Ginny would admit to her later, it was better that they all pretended not to listen than to risk being excluded from even more events. Her brothers did not need to lose their friends, and no longer be called to the pubs, because they defended her.

She can defend herself, and sometimes Ginny would rather be silent than fight.

'It will be a great day.' Molly clapped her hands, smiling at Ginny and Fleur, as the men dissipated across the room, chatting animatedly about what they expected from this first phase of the duel and anything else men said. Ginny noticed that Mrs. Potter took her husband by the arm, whispering something to him that he nodded and gave her a kiss on the forehead, then whispered something back.

Ginny felt a little embarrassed to have seen that display of affection that seemed so intimate.

‘I promise I’ll tell you everything later,’ Ron startled her, appearing in front of her and preventing her from seeing if it was Henry who had entered the room. 'These men are all weak, you would humiliate everyone, which is why dad forbade you to go.'

‘You know that it’s not true, but thanks for lying.’ She smiled. ‘I’ll tell you everything too, and don’t worry, I’ll be sure to do a good advertisement about you, for Miss. Granger.' Ron flushed like a tomato, his ears looking like they were on fire, while he laughed awkwardly and denied it.

'Don't be an idiot,' he said, before ruffling her hair and following the trail of men who headed out of the house through the doors leading to the garden, leaving her behind.

Looking around the room one last time, she saw him, standing in the corner, watching like an eagle, someone Ginny had not identified, since all the men were together and could be literally anyone. He grimaced and took a deep breath, looking at other people until he found her.

Henry nodded, slightly and almost imperceptibly.

He was beautiful, as always, Auror's clothes were well ironed and aligned as always, his hair continued to be the usual mess, and his green eyes looked even more vibrant now that the sunlight was coming in through the windows, the beam of light making her perceive some copper-colored wires in the middle of the black ones.

Something inside her stirred, that restlessness of now seemed to multiply in a thousand, remembering how his hand felt on her skin, how careful he was and how that whole care made her feel loved in such a new way and almost suffocating.

Not that she was complaining, she would give anything to feel that way again, but she wanted Henry to touch her beyond her back and arm, and she wanted to be able to touch him back.

Before she could do anything, walk up to him, call him, try to concentrate enough for them to exchange a few words for legilimency, Henry turned and followed the flow of men, reminding her that today, she would be alone.

He was the last man to leave the room, and Ginny hoped that sometime he would look back just for her to wave, and maybe he realized that she didn't want to stay there, that her hand was shaking with the panic she felt at just thinking about everything that could go wrong, anything.

But Henry didn't look back, the glass door closing behind him magically.

| H. F |

Henry stayed behind everyone, as he used to be, watching men talk about things they would probably never say near their wives and daughters, and he wanted to roll his eyes at that, imagining that many there would kill the first man who did or said those things about their own daughter.

He watched from afar as Mr Potter talked privately to one of his friends, Mr Black, if he was not mistaken, who shared the same worried countenance as the other, always looking sideways and backwards, but never seeming to find the person he wanted. Henry realized that unlike yesterday, the other two men who were always around were missing.

'How do you feel knowing that I'm going to kick your ass?' He heard a son of a Viscount say, his nose up, the scarf tied tightly around his neck, and that snobbish way of being. The other seemed to enjoy the threat, taller and stronger than his friend.

'You won't even know what hit you.' The other said, the wand in his hand, but Henry doubted that it was going to happen.

He had seen many men duel, for several reasons; women, money, training and being rivals, and he could tell very well when someone was just showing off, and those two, were that kind of guy.

When he joined the Aurors, Robards did not take it easy on him, much less when he knew that he had never attended a wizard school or something, and the man made Henry learn, one way or another, to identify several small details that could make you stay alive during a duel.

All the men he dueled with, other than his gym mates, ended up dead. And almost everyone looked very much like that man in front of him. Too pompous to know what it's really like to fight for something other than male pride.

When he turned his attention away from the two brats, Henry realized that Mr. Rosier was looking at him, as if he recognized him from somewhere, his gray eyes fixed on him, his wand in hand.

Henry nodded, ignoring the restlessness in his chest, trying not to think too much of where he recognized this man. Mr. Weasley had told him about Rosier, a good man, from a wealthy family - but who was starting to face some problems after the war - and who could provide Ginny with a safe place to stay.

Of course, he didn't think those were good requirements for you to find a husband for your only daughter, but Henry couldn't wait for Arthur to find a man for Ginny to love.

This is not how weddings work for people like them.

Love is for those like Henry, who have nothing more to offer.

When they finally reached the quarries, he thought Ginny would love to go there, and maybe he could try to sneak her out here, there would probably be some spare time when they could sneak out and Henry would bring her here.

There was a large, well-kept lawn, a few trees ahead, but what really drew attention was what was aside. A clear and calm river, with huge cliffs around it, where they would duel was where the vegetation of the land ended, as now all around was water. He felt tiny amidst all the fallen rocks nearby, the cliff, and the blue-green immensity that stretched to the infinity of his vision.

‘Who's going to want to start?’ Mr Potter asked, looking at all the men standing there, all looking a little shocked at the sight. Yes, it was a shame that women couldn't see that too.

‘I will,’ One of the men said. He was too chatty, looking too proud that everyone was looking at him.

‘One more.’ Mr. Potter continued to stare into each of their faces, until he stopped at Henry, a slightly mischievous smile playing on his lips. ‘Mr Figg? Do you want to show us if duel training is good in the academy?’

‘Hm…’ Henry mused, a little embarrassed at having to speak in the midst of all those men. Of course the academy training is good, he wouldn't survive a day as an Auror if it didn't. 'Sure..'

Henry was seldom in the center of a circle, he thought he was not born to receive all the attention for himself, an embarrassed boy who learned early on that being silent was always the best option when it came to large crowds.

Now, unlike when Robards pushed him to the center of the dueling wheel, Henry was anxious and felt his hands trembling. Of course, as someone who had trained for years, he knew very well how to disguise it, but still, his magic trembled inside his chest, in that anxiety he had felt sometimes during his life. The eyes of all those men on him didn't help at all.

It wouldn't be the first time he'd dueled in front of an audience, but there was a difference between dueling other Aurors at the Academy, and dueling with a rich man who hoped Henry would lose so his ego wouldn't be hurt.

‘Greet each other.’ James seemed to love that bread and circus, all the while looking curious about Henry's movements.

He bowed to the man as usual, trying to ignore the comments some made. It wasn't hard to see that he wasn't part of any wealthy family, and that wearing the Aurors badge was the highest rank Henry would ever achieve.

Unlike probably 70% of those men, going to the academy was his only chance, not just a formality.

‘We won't have godparents, as our goal is not to kill the other,’ Henry noticed that the man in front of him didn't seem satisfied with the rule. Perhaps he felt affronted for dueling him instead of a Marquis. ‘If one of the two falls and doesn't get up within three seconds, or loses his wand, he loses. Do we agree?' The two nodded, and Henry pressed his wand against his hand, feeling more and more challenged every time he heard a man laugh and/or make a joke about him.

He and the man, Henry no longer even remembered his name, faced each other, raised their wands, and Henry thought his chest would explode when his opponent smiled and looked at his friend, who was also laughing. They seemed to disbelieve that Henry would be able to win, or at least know what he was doing, and it seemed to disturb him far more than the other times he had been through it.

When the signal was given, before he even thought, Henry flung the man away like a sack of potatoes, his wand flying into his hand while his own trembled slightly. All chatting and giggles ceased immediately.

‘Your grace didn't say anything about nonverbal spells,’ Henry muttered to James, realizing he hadn't even said the Expelliarmus.

‘It's within the rules,’ he replied, also in a low tone, before looking at the man lying near one of the rocks, who looked stunned, his white skin now red. ‘My dear Finneas, you lost the first duel.’ Henry walked over to him, handing back his wand.

‘It was a good duel,’ Henry said, as he always said at the end of duels, even though his pride was screaming inside him.

‘Sure.’ Finneas took the wand from Henry's hands, marching back to his friend, his chest puffed out as if to give him back some self-love.

'Congratulations, Mr Figg.' Mr Potter smiled, that same curious look from before, as if Henry had suddenly become an interesting figure for a Duke to pay attention to.

Something inside him warmed and again, his wand trembled in his hand, as it used to do when he was a teenager who had no idea how to handle the magic in his chest that always seemed close to exploding. It had been a while since he'd felt this way the last time.

‘The rules are simple, as you've all seen, we'll have no godparents, nonverbal spells are allowed, and the first one who loses his wand loses.’ He was now looking at other faces, which still diverted their attention to Henry. 'Everyone will duel against everyone, as we are in twenty men, obviously the ten winners of today, will move on to the next round which will be two days from now, as we know we have some who are too old and need to recover,' Mr Weasley, who was beside Henry now, laughed and nodded, seeming to be amused by the idea of dueling as a joke.

‘Hope you go easy on me when we face off,’ he said, watching Henry, who chuckled sheepishly and nodded.

'Of course sir, I will let you hit me first.' Arthur winked at him, looking back at Mr Potter, who continued to speak the basic rules.

Henry wondered if Arthur would rather trade places with Ginny, and spend a few hours sitting around doing nothing and talking about trivialities. He had already seen the man duel, and no, he didn't need Henry to take it easy, he probably needed to be on the alert even more than the others, since the two had already witnessed how the other fought in a real duel.

Arthur didn't seem to need help when he killed that Death Eater with just one spell, anger burning in his eyes.

‘Miss. Weasley would enjoy watching all of these duels. 'Henry whispered, watching the Duke split the pairs.

‘Yes,’ Arthur looked at him, before he looked away and his smile died, and Henry watched as the man looked at Mr. Rosier, who kept looking at them, trying futilely to disguise it. 'But this is not a place for her.'

Henry wondered if Mr. Rosier was aware of Ginny's entire trajectory, and of her strength, or if Arthur had preferred to keep these details from him so that he could find a husband. He knew some men didn't like it when a woman looked stronger than they were.

Perhaps that was why he forbade her to come to the duel, because then a man could see her as that damsel in distress who needed to be saved they were so fond of. He didn't think she would like this if she knew.

Henry didn't understand why men didn't look at her, he'd been attracted to her since the first time he'd seen her, and since then that silly attraction had grown into a much bigger and dangerous monster that he felt he had no control over. Knowing that she wouldn't come to the duel, almost made him break some social rules, and if he had stayed in the room a few more minutes, or looked back, he would have picked her up and bewitched her so that no one would see her.

He felt he could do anything for her, and even then, it wouldn't be enough.

How did other men not feel like him? How they weren't lining up to kiss her hand, when she was wearing that cream dress, her braided hair, and that hat that made her look like one of those porcelain dolls that rich girls had.

Ginny was everything he could have ever dreamed of, and more, how could those men not see what he saw?

‘Mr. Figg, you will duel Mr. Rosier.’ He was awakened from his reverie, looking at the man who now had reason to watch him, gray eyes measuring him up and down, a pompous smile on his face. ‘And so, it will be the first round, I think we all understand?’ James said.

‘It will be an interesting duel, Mr. Figg.’ Rosier stepped closer, hands in his pockets. 'We were never introduced properly.' He held out his hand, and Henry noticed a large scar that came out of his palm and went up into his arm, hidden by clothes. 'Louis.'

‘Henry.’ He squeezed the man's hand, even though his gray eyes didn't look so trustworthy and something inside him looked uncomfortable.

The other men had already started to disperse, so that the duels could really start, Henry walked up to a tree with Rosier, thinking that a silly jealousy would not hinder his performance in that fight.

‘Greetings,’ Mr. Potter said, in the center, and he and Mr. Black seemed willing to make sure everyone followed the imposed rules. Henry bent over, thinking of a million spells he could start. 'You all can start.'

| L. P |

Lily took a deep breath as the third woman looked at her pityingly, thinking that the idea of asking about Mrs. Brown's pregnancy had been stupid. She should have known better that no one would ever let her forget about losing her child, as if forever, talking about children was a sad subject.

It was, but Lily wasn't a broken vase that had been mended with tape, and every time they tried to fill it with water, it broke again. She knew how to hide her emotions and her joy towards that young mother, it wasn't even close to envy or jealousy, she really was happy for her.

She could still be happy, even if she had lost her child over twenty years ago.

"Isn't it tiring?" Ginny asked quietly, hands steady in her lap, not even daring to touch the cup of tea in front of her. Her red hair, much more vivid and orange than Lily's, was being magically curled, like that of most of the other women there, all sitting together in the tea room.

"What, dear?" Lily asked, glad the girl had opened her mouth at least once.

“All those looks whenever someone talks about babies.” Her cheeks flushed, as if she suddenly realized this wasn't something to ask a Duchess.

Lily smiled. ‘Yes, but I’ve gotten used to it.’

"Oh, I'm so glad it didn't rain today, it's a beautiful day, don't you think?" Lady Jillian spoke, her voice loud and excited as always, but looking curiously at the interaction between Lily and Ginny. 'You have an amazing garden, it's understandable why you spend so much time here, Duchess.'

"Yes, flowers are just one more reason, but the calm here is priceless, I'm too old for turbulent London." She continued to smile as it sent the etiquette, her cheeks starting to ache. If she expressed any emotion other than pure happiness, it would get out in the papers that she was in a terrible depression and that maybe James was cheating on her with a younger, happier girl.

"Oh, of course you're not old!" Molly shook her head, sipping her tea and shrugging as if that was bullshit, before turning to the woman beside her. “How was the trip to Scotland, Lady Finnegan?” The side conversations took place again, the younger ones talking to each other, laughing and whispering to each other, the mothers talking about travel, high society gossip, the dances, the husbands, and the widows liked to tease the youngest, seeming to enjoy watching the girls blush when they spoke the name of some man who was handsome.

Lily watched everything, sipping her tea and thanking no one talking to her, letting her have a moment where she didn't have to smile and answer the same old questions; Yes, it's a great time to buy herbs. No, unfortunately I didn't go to that ball. Oh yes I heard she got married. No, we weren't in town when this happened.

Ginny, who was standing next to her, also seemed to be watching everything, but unlike her, she didn't seem comfortable with her own silence.

She was a beautiful woman, and it was hard to think that she was no longer that little girl that Lily heard Molly talk about. No more climbing trees, climbing on roofs, running from her parents to hide, now she could attend dances, afternoon tea, and drink wine. Time had passed too quickly.

Lily couldn't help but wonder how the girls, a year or two younger than her, didn't include her in the conversation. Nor how men didn't seem to want to include her in the moments when they talked to ladies and courted them either. She was always alone. And Lily wished the two of them didn't share the same knowledge of what it was like to feel that way.

Unlike her, Ginny wasn't excluded or treated with pity for having lost a baby, but somehow, the loss of Lily had affected her too, which was unfair.

'Drink your tea dear, it will get cold and I don't think it will taste good' She said, not only because she didn't want the girl to feel lonely, but because Lily wanted Ginny to know she wasn't alone, and that she understood what she was going through.

'Oh, thank you, my Lady, but I'm not thirsty.' Ginny smiled, and Lily realized that she pressed her fingers against her palm, as if she wanted to avoid something.

'Do you want me to order something for you? A cookie?'

"No need to worry, thanks."

"I insist, I'm starving." Lily called to Fye, ordering, and the elf nodded before apparating to the kitchen. ‘We have delicious chocolate chip cookies, great for calming your nerves. I always eat them when I feel like I need something to bring me back to earth, you know? When I want to feel hugged.

'Do you want to feel that way now?' Ginny seemed to stretch her shoulders, a slight smile on her face. A real smile.

"Isn't that what we all want?" Lily arched an eyebrow, watching her nod. "A tight hug from those who look like they're going to break our ribs."

"I don't know when I last got one of these." She didn't look sad though. "But I think chocolate is a great way to feel that way."

'Course is. And I also think, none of these women are going to want to hug us right now, so chocolate is our best choice.”

"Oh no no, some of them would prefer death to that." Ginny laughed, and so did Lily, glad to have someone other than James to play the pranks without getting a pitying look.

"Thank you Fye, you can rest now." Lily thanked the elf, who nodded and left, unnoticed by the other women. ‘Take one, dear… Yes, you will see, chocolate is able to cure any sadness or anxiety, it is better than any potion I have ever invented.'

"So it's true, you invent potions?" Ginny was looking at her curiously now. "I've heard some people say, but you know, you can't trust everything that's said."

"No, definitely not." Lily took a sip of tea. ‘I don’t invent, I study the ones that already exist, and I do tests with some changes on top of those studies, trying to find a new result. Some work, and some just explode or boil over and melt everything around.” The two laughed, like they were old friends.

'Have you done this for a long time?'

'Since when I learned how to make a colic potion that didn't make me want to throw up all my lunch. It's been a few years... Then, over time, I've been taking more and more tests and studying more, and when you spend a lot of time alone, you start discovering skills you never thought you'd have.'

"Do you intend to come up with any specific potions?" She looked even more curious now, one hand tucked under her chin, supporting her face as she was slightly crooked in her chair to get a look at Lily, the other holding a cookie.

"I do." Lily thought of that old Slughorn note, that it promised a potion she could test if these people shared the same DNA. Until now, the tests had been flawed. "But I still haven't got the results I want."

The two continued to talk for a long time, discussing Lily's trip to India, then Ginny's trainings, and even boys - she said Mr. Rosier would dance with her, but Ginny didn't even look by far excited about it, and when Lily asked her what she thought of it, she said it was weird that she was the last to know and that the man had talked to her father first before her.

It was nice to have someone to talk to, especially a younger girl, it made Lily feel less old, as much as James continued to insist that Lily was not old, she knew she was. The forty-five years had arrived in her life and made her think about the years that passed.

When all the women had their hair done and ready for lunch, Remus walked into the room, not even bothering not to attract attention.

"I need you to join me, my Lady," he asked, bending over in front of her as if they hadn't been friends since she was ten, and that triggered a sixth sense in Lily.

“Excuse me, my dears.” She got up, smiling at the women who watched her looking curious enough to be able to follow her wherever Remus took her. "I'll be back in a minute, you can go to lunch without me, I won't be long."

Lily followed Remus without losing her poise, shoulders back, chin up, not wanting to show that she was distressed by the interruption. Where was James? Did something happen to him? Why wasn't Remus at the quarry with all the other men? What was wrong? Has Voldemort found them?

'What happened, Moony, you're scaring me.' Lily allowed herself to look nervous, far enough away from the house that no one could see her through the windows. Remus was leading her into the woods, a worried look on her face, looking anxious.

"I decided to call you after I show you what I found."

‘Why aren't you with James? Is he okay?” Lily looked at him.

'James is fine, Sirius is with him, I was… Well, we thought there was something wrong last night, and I stayed behind to investigate, and that's when I found it.' Remus and she stopped in the middle of the forest, and on the floor in front of her, protected by a spell, lay Harry's blanket that Lily kept with all the care in the world, one of the few things that still contained small traces of his DNA that she would use in the potion to try to find out. It had been a few years, but it still contained enough for one potion.

She floated the cover, her hands shaking.

No one had access to the dungeons where Harry's box of things was kept, protected from the weather, the dust and everything she and James could protect, trying to keep what was left of their son as immaculate as possible.

"Remus," Lily said, startled.

"Whoever took this knew how important it was to you," he whispered, and neither of them needed to say any more. Her heart broke.

‘Do you think… it's someone we know?' She asked, startled, carefully sending the cover back to the dungeons, making sure it was as discreet as possible.

'I've been thinking about it, and-' He was interrupted, a noise coming from the direction of the clearing that was nearby, the voice of someone cursing under his breath. Lily and Remus started walking, wands drawn, a bad feeling taking over her chest.

Each time they went deeper into the forest, it got darker, the tops of the trees covering the sky and preventing the light from entering, the ground a little damp due to this lack of sun soiled the hem of her dress and her sneakers, the wind icy very different from the heat she had been feeling before. She had never been so far into the Forest, James came here on full moon nights with Remus, but Lily kept her distance at all times, the feeling of claustrophobia that the place caused made her dizzy.

The noise kept coming from the highest part of the Forest, where James said it was the worst part, even darker, wetter and colder, in the opposite direction of the clearing she had told Ginny to visit last night.

Several crows flew over there, some stared at her from the branches of the trees, and Lily noticed that not far away there was some dead chick being devoured by vultures.

As they got closer to the noise, almost to the rock that bordered the end of where you could advance into the woods, they found a man, his back to them, his sleeves rolled up and looking annoyed at something. There were things in front of him on the floor, things that Lily didn't identify at first, but it didn't look good.

"Stopped." Remus clutched his wand in his hand, touching the back of his head with the tip, ready to react. Whatever that man was doing, it wasn't a good thing.

He froze in place, and when Remus was ready to cast some spell on him, something from his hand fell, and everything spun around her.

On his forearm was the Death Eater mark, Lily had seen several over the years, but that wasn't what shocked her, it wasn't what made her take a step back, it was the fact that that forearm belonged to Peter.

Peter, James' best friend, that boy Lily met at age 13 when they bumped into each other in the middle of a boring event. Peter, whom James treated as a brother, who took refuge with them the several times he saw death coming, during the Order's missions. Peter who was the first of the Marauders to arrive to see Harry, and who at his christening blessed him with several years to live.

This Peter had his arm marked by those who wanted her life, James, Remus, her son.

"Lily, it's not what you're thinking." He sobbed, dropping his wand to the ground and turning away. 'I can explain.'

‘What will you explain? What were you doing with my son's things?’ She wanted to scream when she realized what it was all about on the floor; Harry's things, things that Lily had ensured were kept without anyone touching a finger, were now strewn on that dirt floor and the remains of dead animals. "Peter, what the fuck is this?"

"He made me do, Lily, I swear." Peter looked increasingly desperate, keeping his face down as if he couldn't even look at her. "I did everything, Lily, I did everything for him to stay alive."

'He? He who, Peter?' Remus said, now assuming the position of Lily's defender and keeping his wand pointed at his friend- Peter. "What did you do, Peter?"

"Moony, you know me, Moony, you know I would never do this because I wanted to." He proceeded to plead with Remus, turning to him and clasping his hands together in prayer, leaving his scarred arm even more in evidence. Lily wanted to vomit. "He forced me, he told me that if I didn't, the boy would become a Lord of Death."

'The boy?' Lily seemed to have been awake, and in the next instant she was holding Peter by the collar of his suit, looking very, very close to killing him with her bare hands. ‘The boy, Peter? The boy was my son!” She pushed him with all her strength to the dirt floor, anger burning in her blood. "He was…Peter, he was a baby."

‘Lily you don't understand-’

"I don't understand?!" The crows nearby flew away at her scream, startled by her disturbance of her peace, as well as the noise of other running animals were heard as well. But Lily had blood pumping in her ears, blind with rage. 'What did you do with my son, Peter? I'll give you a chance to talk to me before I kill you.'

‘I needed to do this, he told me he would kill me if I didn't, so I… I did. Lily, forgive me, I tried to convince he not to, but-’

"I'm sure you tried," she said, the taste of blood in her mouth. 'What did you do? Tell me! Did you kill him as soon as you got him? Did you even bury him?” Lily didn't know if she really wanted to know that, but something inside her begged for answers, for an end. If she knew what had happened to Harry, she could finally say goodbye.

Lily didn't think she could take a few more years anyway, there was a very big hole inside her and having to face Peter, knowing that he who had made that hole in her made her relive that terrible pain and memories of days that seemed endless and tortuous, days when James needed to stay close to her at all hours so she just didn't end her own life.

That was a pain that no mother or father should ever experience, a pain that Lily wished she had never known about, because now, looking at the clothes, the teddy bears, Harry's pillow lying on the floor, she thought it was all useless. Useless and unfair.

All the memories she created to keep herself sane were now littered with dirt and the remains of dead animals. Lily figured Peter was probably about to set the whole thing on fire.

It would be too sad to have to tell James, and Lily was afraid her husband couldn't take it anymore.

A son killed by his own friend. What a tragedy. Newspapers would be supplied for more than a month with that story.

‘Lily I tried. I made sure he was fine, I made sure that the woman who found him was good, that she took care of him, Arabella believed in me as an idiot, so I knew she would be a good mom to him, I ... I swear.’ Peter stammered, eyes wide, looking like a scared rat. “Harry is alive, Lily, I didn't kill him. And he is here.’

#the duke #hinny #hinny au #harry x ginny #jily lives au #regency era #my fic

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annabelaplit · 7 years

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Young Briony

February vacation is over and I’m back. Today I am going to explore the character of Briony in Part #1 of Atonement. It seemed today in class like the vast majority of people seemed to really dislike her. But when I read the novel I didn’t hate her at all, in fact I think I actively sympathized with her for a lot of it. This is probably I feel like I was a whole lot like Briony when I was 13 and it was easy for me to see why she might have acted the way she did. So in this blog post I am going to explore some key passages relating to Briony and see what they tell me.

“But hidden drawers, lockable diaries and cryptographic systems could not conceal from Briony the simple truth:she had no secrets. Her wish for a harmonious, organized world denied her the reckless possibilities of wrongdoing. Mayhem and destruction were too chaotic for her tastes, and she did not have it in her to be cruel. Her effective status as an only child, as well as the relative isolation of the Tallis house, kept her, at least during the long summer holidays, from girlish intrigues with friends. Nothing in her life was sufficiently interesting or shameful to merit hiding; no one knew about the squirrel’s skull beneath her bed, but no one wanted to know. None of this was particularly an affliction; or rather, it appeared so only in retrospect, once a solution had been found.

At the age of eleven she wrote her first story—a foolish affair, imitative of half a dozen folktales and lacking, she realized later, that vital knowingness about the ways of the world which compels a reader’s respect. But this first clumsy attempt showed her that the imagination itself was a source of secrets: once she had begun a story, no one could be told. Pretending in words was too tentative, too vulnerable, too embarrassing to let anyone know. Even writing out the she saids, the and thens, made her wince, and she felt foolish, appearing to know about the emotions of an imaginary being. Self-exposure was inevitable the moment she described a character’s weakness; the reader was bound to speculate that she was describing herself. What other authority could she have? Only when a story was finished, all fates resolved and the whole matter sealed off at both ends so it resembled, at least in this one respect, every other finished story in the world, could she feel immune”(7).

I think this passage is the first place where we get a sense of who Briony is. She is a relatively privileged thirteen year old girl, yet she kind of longs for something more in her life. She is fascinated by the mysterious and unknown but she has the distinct impression that no one cares about what she has to hide. The way she finds excitement in life and is able to garner attention from others is through writing. Writing allows her to shape her own mysteries, and to turn her perceptions and values into cohesive narratives. She also sees writing as an intensely personal act, a reflection of self-hood. To write is a story is in some way to put a part of yourself on the page. Briony is unwilling to share this type of vulnerability with others, at least until the piece becomes finished and seemingly disassociates itself from the author.

“Briony stared at her, unable to keep the horror from her expression, and unable to speak. It was slipping away from her, she knew, but there was nothing that she could think of to say that would bring it back....How could she tell them that Arabella was not a freckled person? Her skin was pale and her hair was black and her thoughts were Briony’s thoughts... She wanted to leave, she wanted to lie alone, facedown on her bed and savor the vile piquancy of the moment, and go back down the lines of branching consequences to the point before the destruction began. She needed to contemplate with eyes closed the fullrichness of what she had lost, what she had given away, and to anticipate the new regime. Not only Leon to consider, but what of the antique peach and cream satin dress that her mother was looking out for her, for Arabella’s wedding? That would now be given to Lola. How could her mother reject the daughter who had loved her all these years? As she saw the dress make its perfect, clinging fit around her cousin and witnessed her mother’s heartless smile, Briony knew her only reasonable choice then would be to run away, to live under hedges, eat berries and speak to no one, and be found by a bearded woodsman one winter’s dawn, curled up at the base of a giant oak, beautiful and dead, and barefoot, or perhaps wearing the ballet pumps with the pink ribbon straps ...” (18)

In this passage Briony seems to have the first major upset of her young life. She has envisioned a starring role for herself in the play she has written and her cooler older cousin has just managed to manipulate it out of her. Now this in the scope everything that happens in the novel and life in general this inconvenience is really quite minor. Yet it seems to deeply affect Briony. She is watching her perfectly ordered plans fall to pieces. Arabella a character in which she has implanted personal vulnerability is being given a different form. Briony is watching her art (and her chances for adoration) slip out of her control and her immediate desire is to go escape the world. She wants to hide somewhere far away and then die to show everyone just how beautiful and perfect she is and how much she should have been valued. This is clearly a tremendous overreaction and very much dramatized. Yet the reaction is quite realistic, something I know from personal experience. I am guilty of writing more than a few sibling-centered plays and then having the fall through due to lack of interest. And often my thoughts didn’t stray far from Briony’s, “This is a disaster! I need to go hide in the woods! Everybody should love me more than this!” I don’t think readers are supposed to feel any sort of positive emotion for Briony in this moment, but I feel as if I can understand her emotions and actually empathize a bit.

“These thoughts were as familiar to her, and as comforting, as the precise configuration of her knees, their matching but competing, symmetrical and reversible, look. A second thought always followed the first, one mystery bred another: Was everyone else really as alive as she was? For example, did her sister really matter to herself, was she as valuable to herself as Briony was? Was being Cecilia just as vivid an affair as being Briony? Did her sister also have a real self concealed behind a breaking wave, and did she spend time thinking about it, with a finger held up to her face? Did everybody, including her father, Betty, Hardman? If the answer was yes, then the world, the social world, was unbearably complicated, with two billion voices, and everyone’s thoughts striving in equal importance and everyone’s claim on life as intense, and everyone thinking they were unique, when no one was. One could drown in irrelevance. But if the answer was no, then Briony was surrounded by machines, intelligent and pleasant enough on the outside, but lacking the bright and private inside feeling she had. This was sinister and lonely, as well as unlikely. For, though it offended her sense of order, she knew it was overwhelmingly probable that everyone else had thoughts like hers. She knew this, but only in a rather arid way; she didn’t really feel it” (44).

This passage reveals Briony’s thoughts and another sort of layer to her character. These are pretty complex and philosophical thoughts for a thirteen year old to have, and they show how deeply Briony thinks about the world. She is striving to understand herself and wonders if there are others as complex as she is. Both options are upsetting to her. If everybody has similar thoughts, have such a deep inner personality, then she lacks the uniqueness and the sense of being a cut above the rest that she craves. But if she is the only one like this than she is alone and fundamentally different than those around her. Ultimately she accepts that everybody is just as complex as she is, but only on a surface level, for she likes this idea of being special. Thoughts like this certainly have invaded my mind, and they were a definite fixture when I was Briony’s age. I have always felt a bit different than everyone else and wondered if the way they see the world mirrors mine. If their private thoughts skim the same surface matter. It’s an interesting parallel.

“None of these three was bad, nor were they particularly good. She need not judge. There did not have to be a moral. She need only show separate minds, as alive as her own, struggling with the idea that other minds were equally alive. It wasn’t only wickedness and scheming that made people unhappy, it was confusion and misunderstanding; above all, it was the failure to grasp the simple truth that other people are as real as you. And only in a story could you enter these different minds and show how they had an equal value. That was the only moral a story need have” (51).

Here is where Briony discovers the answers to her questions in the previous passage. Watching Cecilia and Robbie engage in an interaction that her mind cannot parse she is forced to recognize the complex realities of others. She becomes fascinated by this idea of complicated understandings and they become the new focus in her writing. Stories seem to her a chance to reveal the secrets of others, to explores the blended patches of what cannot be known.

“The cost of oblivious daydreaming was always this moment of return, the realignment with what had been before and now seemed a little worse. Her reverie, once rich in plausible details, had become a passing silliness before the hard mass of the actual. It was difficult to come back. Come back, her sister used to whisper when she woke her from a bad dream. Briony had lost her godly power of creation, but it was only at this moment of return that the loss became evident; part of a daydream’s enticement was the illusion that she was helpless before its logic:forced by international rivalry to compete at the highest level among the world’s finest and to accept the challenges that came with preeminence in her field—her field of nettle slashing—driven to push beyond her limits to assuage the roaring crowd, and to be the best, and, most importantly, unique. But of course, it had all been her—by her and about her—and now she was back in the world, not one she could make, but the one that had made her, and she felt herself shrinking under the early evening sky” (98).

This passage continues to underscore Briony’s desire to be seen as praiseworthy and unique and the role that her imagination plays in this yearning. Reeling from the disaster of her play she recedes into her own fantasies, a place where she has an integral role in important events, where she is a figure known and renowned to others. But as this daydream fades, Briony is forced to recognize the reality that her presence does not confer this much status in the real world. She is a tangential figure, someone who has not yet received a starring role in life. This desire of Briony’s, to be special and important outside the confines of her imagination, explains in part her stubborn desire to incriminate Robbie later in the novel. This might also be where I relate to Briony most. I have always used my imagination to recast myself in different roles, created scenarios where I was a figure of heightened importance. Imagination is a tool to escape the confines of reality, but it looks like Briony is searching for more than an escape.

“They were safe, Cecilia was with Leon, and she, Briony, was free to wander in the dark and contemplate her extraordinary day. Her childhood had ended, she decided now as she came away from the swimming pool, the moment she tore down her poster. The fairy stories were behind her, and in the space of a few hours she had witnessed mysteries, seen an unspeakable word, interrupted brutal behavior, and by incurring the hatred of an adult whom everyone had trusted, she had become a participant in the drama of life beyond the nursery. All she had to do now was discover the stories, not just the subjects, but a way of unfolding them, that would do justice to her new knowledge. Or did she mean, her wiser grasp of her own ignorance?”(204).

Here Briony is reveling in becoming an active participant in the drama of life. She no longer has to hide behind fantasies or live life completely in her books. Real things have now happened to her and she can now work on fitting them into her framework of life, broadening her perspective of the ways of the world. She has decided to herself that today is the day she leaves the realm of childhood and starts working towards being an adult. One can see how the previous events rather than frightening or even confusing her have instead excited her, given her the role she craved innately, and almost made real life into one of her stories.

“She would never be able to console herself that she was pressured or bullied. She never was. She trapped herself, she marched into the labyrinth of her own construction, and was too young, too awestruck, too keen to please, to insist on making her own way back. She was not endowed with, or old enough to possess, such independence of spirit. An imposing congregation had massed itself around her first certainties, and now it was waiting and she could not disappoint it at the altar. Her doubts could be neutralized only by plunging in deeper. By clinging tightly to what she believed she knew, narrowing her thoughts, reiterating her testimony, she was able to keep from mind the damage she only dimly sensed she was doing. When the matter was closed, when the sentence was passed and the congregation dispersed, a ruthless youthful forgetting, a willful erasing, protected her well into her teens” (218)

Here we can see how all of Briony’s childhood innocence and her desire to feel special and important led to her accusing an innocent man of rape. She wasn’t forced or especially compelled to confess anything, but neither was she entirely free from outside pressure in what she said. Her initial accusation sprang from the fact it matched her cyclical view of events, a version where she took center stage. Later on when she might be compelled to alter evidence, the love, support, and expectations of those around her kept her from changing her story. She got to be the center of attention and she didn’t want to disappoint those she loved. Her fantasies of uniqueness and importance got to be a reality and altering chronologies would bring that crashing down, in fact it would incur actively negative consequences. This and the true consequences of what she was doing weren’t apparent, her youth shielded her from contextual details and her imagination painted a narrative that was easy to believe. True honesty after the initial recounting would have required a significant amount of courage, to defy both the prevailing expectations of those around her and the story she had created in her own mind. And it seems Briony was not capable of being that brave, preferring to envelop herself in a cocoon of denial and ignorance. Knowing all of this what Briony did can be understood far better. It was by no means “right” and she certainly bears a heavy load of responsibility. But the paths that lead to her action reveal motives far more complex than jealousy or confusion. For all her flaws I really don’t consider her a bad person, more of a complex human being, carried down a tide of events where her flaws manifested themselves in the worst possible way.

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