#blaise cromwell

[carewyncromwell]

"There's a bond that exists between mother and child --

Ah, but then again...how would you know?"

~"After All" from Ever After (musical)

x~x~x~x

Tristan Cromwell never knew his mother. She’d died bringing him into the world. Even so, he’d heard all about her from his father, Blaise, from the time he was very small. An objective witness of the young woman’s life, however, could’ve noted a few discrepancies.

“That’s Marianne. That’s your mother.” “That’s your mother there, on the right. She was the youngest in her family, same as you and me.”

Marianne Fudge-Cromwell was actually the second youngest. Her youngest brother Frederick is a Squib, living alone happily in Suffolk with a Saint Bernard named George.

“…I was sure to mention to your great-uncle Cornelius how much you've grown -- how much you resemble your mother…”

If one were to simply describe Tristan and Marianne, then they would think they looked very alike. They both had dark hair, slender builds, delicate features, and long-fingered hands. If Marianne’s uncle Cornelius Fudge had ever actually met Tristan, however, he wouldn’t have thought they resembled each other much at all — his youngest niece had never been as gaunt and pale as her son. However thin she may have been, Marianne had always had youthful chubbiness in her face, and however porcelain her skin may have been, her cheeks were always pink and sweet. She was also quite small at 5'6", while Tristan was tall and gangling. As an adult the boy even ended up an inch taller than his own father. On top of all this, the stiff, proud way Tristan held himself mirrored his father Blaise completely. Marianne had always been the sort to keep her shoulders and head down and generally make herself seem even smaller than she was.

“You’ll be staying inside where it’s safe. Now take your workbook and go sit in your mother’s armchair. She loved reading by that window; I daresay you will as well.”

Marianne placed her reading chair in that spot because the window neighbored her real favorite place at Cromwell Manor: the garden. Blaise had encouraged her to read indoors more while she was pregnant out of concern for her health, so this was the best way she could keep an eye on her white rose bushes while staying indoors.

“Of course your mother loved music. She had a beautiful singing voice…like a songbird in May. And she was proud of it — she would only ever share it with the most deserving. And she only ever sang duets with me.”

Marianne was so deathly shy that she only sang for people she felt comfortable with. The first time Blaise heard her sing, it was because he’d overheard her when she thought she was alone, tending to some flowers. On the flip side, Marianne was incredibly fond of Blaise’s voice, when they were first courting — she even in some letters rambled romantically about his heavenly Tenor serenades.

“You have no other ‘grandfather,’ son. Your mother’s parents passed when she was quite little — even younger than you.”

This is one of the few things Blaise told Tristan that is entirely true. Marianne and her sisters were largely passed around to various family members, including their uncle Cornelius and his wife, when they were not away at Hogwarts. Poor Frederick was shunted to the side, left mainly in the custody of their grandparents when outside of Muggle grade school and then kind of cut loose after graduating. Perhaps this is why Marianne was so desperate for some sort of stability and comfort…

“Your mother’s sisters grew…distant, after your mother’s death. They stopped coming to see you, not long after you were born. Quite frankly, I’d say you’re better off without them in your life.”

Emma and Elizabeth Fudge had never liked Blaise, even when their sister Marianne was most charmed by him. This was in part due to the age and therefore maturity difference between them and Marianne -- Elizabeth had been seven when Marianne was born, and Emma had already started at Hogwarts by the time their brother Frederick was born a year later. They stopped coming to see Tristan because it required them to make arrangements with Blaise ahead of time to come to the Cromwell Manor. And considering Blaise thought the two women would be a bad influence on his son, since they would inevitably try to “challenge his parenting,” he gave them almost no openings to come and visit. Eventually the two witches sadly gave up trying.

“There would be no point in me marrying again. Marianne was my other half and soulmate, and her final gift to me was you, my son and heir. I would not disgrace her memory by marrying a second time.”

Marianne married Blaise after just turning 18, while he was 37. Blaise had not married sooner because he’d been too picky about potential matches, so he'd only started actively searching after his father Charles finally put his foot down and demanded that Blaise marry and produce an heir. Blaise selected Marianne in large part because of her innocence, which made him want to “protect” her from the evils of the world and treat her like his own precious treasure to cherish and keep under lock and key. At first Marianne was enthralled by this, loving the idea of a wealthy man who would provide for her, care for her, and be completely loyal and devoted to her. Plus his dashing good looks was a plus. These favorable points of Blaise's soured in Marianne’s mind, though, after she became pregnant with Tristan right after her and Blaise's honeymoon.

"Your mother was in very poor health long before she gave birth to you. She stayed alive just long enough to make sure she saw your face, even if it was just the once."

Disregarding the usual childhood illnesses of Black Cat Flu and the like, Marianne's health had been fine prior to moving to the Cromwell estate. The decline really seemed to come about after her move and the suffocating isolation that ensued from it. She began to eat less, even while having to eat for two, and she often ate superficially, leaning more on salty, sugary things that could offer her some small bit of cheer, far more than anything that would give her any real strength. Over time the stress of dealing with Blaise's obsessive control and flashes of rage took its toll as well. Marianne's high blood pressure, when combined with her young age, was ultimately what helped contribute to the excessive bleeding that accompanied Tristan's birth and led to Marianne's death. However much Blaise may have seen how unhappy and unwell his wife was and however much he may have truly wanted to help, the only way he'd ever learned how to love someone else was through micromanagement and possessiveness. And so the more he tried to love Marianne, the more he only served to hurt her.

"Your mother was an angel long before she left us." "I will not hear you complain a moment longer. I never complained, when my father told me to stay at home, and your mother likewise minded me. She knew her duty to me and to this family, and so do you." “Your mother was a saint, Tristan. Don’t you dare let anyone ever insinuate otherwise.”

Oh, far from it. Marianne was a rather stupid and immature person, quite truthfully. She'd never had great marks at Hogwarts, not just because of her distinctly average magical talent, but because of her flightiness about studying and her tendency to tune out in class when her stuffy old professors didn't maintain her interest. She'd had little intellectual curiosity aside from superficial homely matters, such as maintaining a garden or embroidery. Her favorite aspect of Hogwarts weren't the spells or classes or group activities, but instead the way everything was cooked and cleaned for her, so she could focus on other (and, to her view, more important) things. She'd been rather lonely growing up, since her sisters had been so much older than her, so she never became versed in making friends or reading people overall. She was even a bit eccentric, giving all of her flowers names and talking to them the way many people would their pets. She'd named the Fanged Geranium in the Hufflepuff commonroom Audrey.

Most of all, though, Marianne was naive. She never could've predicted just how many strings would be attached to Blaise's love, nor how quickly they would tangle around her and leave her feeling helpless, isolated, and depressed in this place that should've been a home, but now felt more like a prison. She'd made excuses for Blaise to her family while they were courting with the thought that any of his rougher edges would smooth themselves out once they were married, but soon it became clear they never would. If she'd lived longer, it's not improbable that Marianne might've turned to the bottle or some other method of escaping her worries. Had she not been so trapped inside the Cromwell estate, perhaps she might've tried having an affair while her husband was out, just as something to cheer her up. Maybe that affair could've led her to another man who would've "rescued" her from this marriage she'd so hastily agreed to. Maybe she could've taken her son with her. Maybe she wouldn't have -- after all, Blaise and the rest of the Cromwells wouldn't have rested until they'd gotten him back. She didn't know how good of a mother she'd even be anyway -- maybe her son would be better off at least being provided for. Or maybe he'd be better off with some other family, living a normal, happy life somewhere else -- with one of her sisters, hell, maybe even her brother! Frederick had always been a natural with younger children. Honestly, it's doubtful Marianne had ever thought that far ahead, considering she'd given up any real hope of finding anything better.

Perhaps this is why Marianne didn't stay behind as a ghost, even after dying so young and tragically. If she hadn't gone on when she did, she would've been stuck haunting the prison that was Cromwell Manor for the remainder of her days. At least if she had to go...when she finally saw her son again, it would be in freedom.

"Fafa...did Mama love me too?" "Yes, my son. With all her heart, son."

The other rare thing Blaise told Tristan that was completely true.

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #my writing #fanfiction #tristan cromwell #marianne cromwell #blaise cromwell #marianne's character theme is 100% heart of stone from six the musical and that song did jumpstart me wanting to write this #but I ultimately picked this song to accompany this drabble because it felt more bittersweet #definitely want to try to draw something with these two at some point though #but yeah sadly marianne didn't live long enough for tristan to really 'take after her' that much #and he's kind of messed-up in his own ways -- I mean this is the kid that had a dog skeleton in his room named Funny Bone growing up #but at the same time blaise treated him like a bird in a cage much like how he treated marianne while she was alive #and so as much as he resembles blaise he at least silently knows that blaise's way of loving someone involves imprisonment #rather than trust and respect #that self-awareness really could help tristan break the cycle of abuse started by charles someday

[hogibebeleri]

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ay daraltçam bu ne aq

- A -

Aaron Johnson - Leo Constantine

Aaron Tveit - Ezekiel Wymond

Abbey Lee Kershaw - S

Adam Brody - Cedric P. Powell

Adelaide Kane - Alana Windsor

Aidan Turner - Blaise Lynch

Alicia Vikander - Lily Marzia Lewis

Alona Tal - Claire Jenkins

Alycia Debnam Carey - Faith Franchot

Amber Heard - Edith Mori de Oliveira & Aureola Diana

Amy Poehler - Apple Corin

Ana de Armas - Riley Polanco

AnnaSophia Robb - Olivia Maeve

Andrew Garfield - Christen Austen

Andrew Lincoln - Desmond

Andy Samberg - Milo Dexter

Anna Christine Speckhart - Maria Sparrow

Anna Kendrick - June Lynwood

Ansel Elgort - Landon Scotty

Armie Hammer - Nikolai Fedosov

Ash Stymest - Wilford Grayson

Ashley Benson - Lexie Mallaith

Astrid Berges-Frisbey - Anthea Harrison

Aubrey Plaza - Zoya Everdene

- B -

Barbara Palvin - Annie Lancaster

Bella Heathcote - Fern Weinberg

Bill Skarsgård - Hermes Wolfhart

Boyd Holbrook - Hugo Montague

Bradley Cooper - Adonis Dard

Brett Dalton - Aldous Riordan

Brian J. Smith - Ä°.

Brit Marling - Euria Madlyn

- C -

Candice Accola - Evanora Eckhart

Carey Mulligan - Ophelia Delfino

Charlie Cox - Darcy Hemingway

Charlie Weber - Wardell Jon

Chloe Bennett - Miroslawa Waljewski

Chris Pine - Azure Welkin

Chris Pratt - Dux Stanton

Chris Wood - Atlas

Christian Bale - Mars Brant

Christian Cooke - Conor Lynton

Chyler Leigh - Cassandra Evans

Claire Holt - Karyna Gwen

Clark Gregg - Christopher Hart

Courtney Eaton - Night Haven

- D -

Daisy Ridley - Monica Myles

Dakota Johnson - Barbie Riley

Dan Stevens - Damien Delacroix

Daniel Radcliffe - Michael Genim

Daniel Sharman - Clementine Quinton

Danielle Campbell - Calista Apostolou

David Tennant - Hunter Chandra

Dianna Agron - Isis Chamberlain

Domhnall Gleeson - Jules E. Lincoln

Dominic Cooper - Quentin J. Lloyd

Dominic Sherwood - Dimitri Wolf

Douglas Booth - Vasco Delacour

Dylan O''brien - Nathaniel Hawkins

Dylan Sprayberry -Ove Stanford

- E -

Eddie Redmayne - S

Ebba Zingmark - Eloine Heaven

Eiza Gonzalez - Veronika Boleslava

Eleanor Tomlinson - Calleigh Gardenar

Elizabeth Debicki - Pippa Voughan

Elizabeth Henstridge - Gwendoline Cler

Elizabeth Olsen - Corinne Constantine

Eleanor Tomlinson - Calleigh Gardenar

Ella Purnell - Dolu

Elle Fanning - Rosie Van Laren

Ellen Page - Lydia Carrington

Elodie Yung - S

Emeraude Toubia - Elena Dimitriou

Emma Stone - Alexandra Zaleski

Emilia Clarke - Maya Davenport

Emilie De Ravin - Astrid Blanche

Emily Bett Rickards - Ocean Highmore

Emily Blunt - Lilla Arverne

Emily Browning - Ava Marlowe

Emily Deschanel - Hannah Montiel

Emily Didonato - Vera Isabel

Emmy Rossum - Vivian Gardner

Emily Rudd - Antje Griet

Erin Richards - Glory Constance

Eva Green - Verena Gray

Evan Peters - Viktor Chekov

Evangeline Lilly - Blue Marchand

Ewan McGregor - Acse Lemoine

Ezra Miller - Eugene Irwin

- F -

Felicity Jones - Macey Raphaelle

Felix Kjellberg - Silvestre César

Finn Jones - Buster

Freya Mavor - Olivia Fitzgerald

- G -

Gabriel Luna - José Espina

Gaia Weiss - Freya Kjellfrid

Gal Gadot - Cerys Ryan

Garrett Hedlund - Vitto Carlevaro

Gemma Arterton - Sabetha Belrossa

Georgina Haig - Calypso

Gigi Hadid - Mitchie Finnegan

Gina Rodriguez - Ida Castillo

Grace Phipps - Mia Kayleigh

Gustaf Skarsgård - Vincent Valente

- H -

Haley Bennett - Graciela de la Fuente

Hannah Simone - S

Harry Lloyd - Valentin Veaceslav

Hayden Christensen - Kristoff E. Petrov

Hayden Panettiere - Skyla Chavira

Hayley Atwell - Carmela di Chimici

Henry Cavill -Â Chester Norton

Hunter Parrish - Francis Rousseau

Hwang Jung Eum - Hana Godfrey

Ian De Caestecker - J.C. Murphy

Isabel Lucas - Helen Ambrosia

- J -

Jack O''Connell - Roy Whesker

Jai Courtney - Téo Teixeira

Jake Johson - Tony Thompson

James Franco - N/ash Carrington

James McAvoy - Sebastian Van Laren

Jamie Chung - Irene Weitz

Jane Levy -Â Elsie Rodgers

Jasmine Sanders -Â Liesje Lijsbeth

Jason Statham - Rafael Romero

Jay Baruchel - Cal J.W. Fox

Jeffrey Dean Morgan - Zed O''Callaghan

Jenna-Louise Coleman - Cecilia D. Chandler

Jennifer Morrison - Penny Black

Jensen Ackles - Florian W. Hoffman

Jeon Jeongguk - Jeon Jeongguk

Jeremy Renner - Dorian Dixon

Jesse Soffer - Grover Alen

Jessica De Gouw - Vera Guthrie

Ji Sung - Yong Jae Sun

JoAnna Garcia Swisher - Pacifica

Joe Gilgun - Desmond Gallagher

Johanna Braddy - Reva Keegan

John Krasinski - Jesse Wescott

Jon Kortajarena - Aaron Anderson

Josefine Frida Pettersen - Dolu

Jude Law - Andrei Pavlov

Julian Morris - Wesley Franklin

Julianne Hough - Madelyn Weaver

- K -

Karen Fukuhara - Yuki Nakashima

Karen Gillan - Emma Fray (<33)

Kate Mara - Tuesday Beckett

Kate Mckinnon - Myrna Morgenstern

Katherine McNamara - Norene Harland

Kaya Scodelario - Quinn Jenae

Keira Knightley - Mystral Roux

Kevin Zegers - Damon Wallner

Kit Harington - Joel Paxton

Kristen Bell - Vivien Rouge

Krysten Ritter - Iris Thorne

- L-

Lauren Cohan - Wonder B.

Leighton Meester - Anastacia Bouvier

Leonardo diCaprio - Jerry Arlexa

Lily Collins - Frankie Chandra

Lily James - Anaïs V. Grimaldi

Lindy Booth - Camilla Weitz

Lindsey Morgan - Zenobia

Lizzy Caplan - Ramona Fade

Logan Lerman -Â Harley Langley

Luana Perez - Elizabeth Burton

Lucy Hale -Â Sheri Payne

Lyndsy Fonseca - Daisy de la Vina

- M -

Mads Mikkelsen - Ä°

Maeve Dermody - Athena Zoega

Maia Mitchell -Â Lynda Stine

Margot Robbie - Josie Lesniewski

Maria Valverde - Valerija Roque

Marie Avgeropoulos - Ljubica Solvej

Marion Cotillard - Marika Lamora

Martin Wallström - Fabio Chepe

Mary Elizabeth Winstead - Amelie Steiner

Matt Hitt - Douglas Roswell

Matt McGorry - Corbin Renwick

Matthew Daddario - Diego Mendoza

Matthew Gray Gubler - Patrick Descoteaux

Max Irons - Marc Janko

Max Riemelt - Ziggy Hildebrand

Melanie Martinez - D

Melissa Benoist - Charlotte Evans

Melissa Fumero - Catherine Winters

Michael Fassbender - Franco Locatelli

Miguel Ángel Silvestre - Rico A. Moreno

Min Yoongi - Min Yoongi

Morena Baccarin - Tulip Talitha

- N -

Natalie Dormer - Gem Julep

Nick Blood - Isaac Wyatt

Nick Offerman - Alfred Castillo

Nico Mirallegro - Jack Daniels

Nikolaj Coster-Waldau - Theos Volantis

Nina Dobrev - Emmaline Winslow

Norman Reedus - Harley Harford

Noomi Rapace - Yulia Utkin

- O/Ö -

Olesya Rulin - Ceku Balım

Olga Kurylenko - Zelda Croft

Olivia Holt -Â Rylee Cantrell

Oscar Isaac - Aldo C. Ferreiro

- Q -

- P -

Paul Rudd - Marco Polo

Paula Patton - Winter Willford

Penelope Mitchell -Â Caitlyn Weatherly

- R -

Rachel McAdams - NavoÅŸ Lancaster

Rashida Jones - Jean Cardellini

Rebel Wilson -Â Lauren Dwyer

Reeve Carney - Dylan Breckendridge

Richard Madden - Tristan Windsor

Rinko Kikuchi - S

Rosario Dawson - Eve Blanchett

Rosamund Pike - Daniela Carlevaro

Rose McIver - Skyler Freestone

Rosie Huntington-Whiteley - Leona Lane

Ruth Negga - Lara Tailler

- S -

Sabrina Carpenter - Louise Linn

Sam Claflin - Mathias Clayton

Sarah Gadon - Nina Buchvarov

Sarah Hyland - Marceline Apostolou

Sebastian Stan - Maximillian di Chimici

Seychelle Gabriel - Leila Beaumont

Scarlett Johansson - Diamontina Dixon

Shailene Woodley - Joy Cappella

Shantel Vansanten - D

Shelley Hennig - Nora Simmons

Sophia Bush - D

Sophie Cookson - Rain Gisbourne

Summer Glau - Rhea Crisanta

- T -

Taron Egerton - Caleb Lysander

Tatiana Maslany - Margo Wiggins & Felicia Makovecz

Taylor Marie Hill - Milla Alexander

Taylor Swift - Melanie Phoenix

Teresa Palmer - Dora Desjardins

Theo James - Keiro Padmore

Tom Ellis - Hector A. Whittemore

Tom Felton - Alpha Rigorous

Tom Hardy - Dito Delfino

Tom Hiddleston - Newton F. Windsor

Tom Holland - Flynn Holdsworth

Tom Mison - Armitage Cromwell

Toni Garrn - Audrey Tyler

Torrey Devitto - D

Travis Fimmel - Forrest Dickson

Tuppence Middleton - Mia Santiago

- U/Ü -

- V -

Victoria Justice - Lotus van Boven & Selo

- X -

Xavier Samuel -Â August FridtjofÂ

- W -

Will Smith - Dante di Mercurio

Willa Holland - Ethea Middlesworth

- Y -

- Z -

Zendaya - Izzy McGowan

Zoe Kazan - D

Zoë Kravitz - Thalia Hardy

Zoe Saldana - Kiara Kingsley

Zooey Deschanel - Hailey Montiel

Zoey Deutch - Myra Blackbourne

[ao3feed-dramione]

On the Wing

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2xtFvGT

by saltpehg

Modern, Royal Navy AU. Hermione Granger, self-proclaimed started-from-the-bottom-now-I'm-here self-starter, moves from the enlisted ranks into the British Military Officer world as a promising young flight student. But as she navigates the rigorous demands of learning how to fly top military aircraft for the Royal Navy, juggling her social demands, finding a decent place to study in peace, and confronting her secret fear of heights, she must come to terms with her strange hot-cold relationship with one seriously obnoxious, infuriating, line-blurring, pretentious, pointy-ferret top-Naval aviator, Draco Malfoy.

Who just so happens to be her On-Wing instructor at RFC Cromwell.

"Fook me."

Words: 4087, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Harry Potter - Fandom

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Characters: Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Ginny Weasley, Ron Weasley, Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini

Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2xtFvGT

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #dramione #draco x hermione #dramione fanfic

[beanie-beebo-writes]

It follows

Series Summary: Reader is running from financial problems and his/her studies, will they catch up with him/her? Charlie's close friends (none other than Sam and Dean) go to check up on the reader due to Charlie becoming worried for him/her. Trouble pursues, as the reader wants to keep silent about his/her struggles.

Warnings: Brief description of vomit

Masterlist

Chapter 10

"You were talking to him on the phone while I was in the shower, weren't you?" Sam asked.

"Maybe.." You replied with a slight grimace.

Sam's well known puppy-dog look almost drew you in.

"You didn't have to lie to me (Y/n), it's alright."

You shrugged, not really wanting to get into detail about your doubts.

Thankfully, no one seemed to press on, so you all ate in silence. It wasn't awkward, yet there was still some tension felt in the air. Maybe they were too worn out from the drive to insist anything too greatly. You didn't really know, but you accepted it with open arms.

It was only a few moments later that you completely licked your entire foam plate clean. You hadn't had a decent meal like this in what seemed like forever, and you couldn't have been more grateful. You looked up to the boys' mirroring surprise.

"You gonna eat the plate too?" Dean chuckled.

You quickly pulled your tongue back in and turned a deep shade of red. "No.."

"We can get you something else if you're really that hungry, do you want anything?" Sam asked.

You were about to say no when your stomach grumbled in protest; as if you didn't feel like a burden enough.

"That just means I'm digesting, I'm good." You lied, again.

Sam looked at you in disbelief. "Are you sure, (Y/N)?"

You nodded before you had a chance to change your mind. "Yeah. Hey, are we doing more research on the case? Or are we going to check out the vics first?"

The brothers luckily took the bait. "We'll check them out first, just to give us some more concrete evidence on what we're dealing with. Gotta be thorough." Dean replied with a wink; his mouth stuffed with the last of a burger.

That was odd, Dean always seemed to jump to conclusions... At least from what you read. Maybe the books were different after all.

"I'll call the coroner to see if they'll take us earlier." Sam said, whipping out his phone.

"And if we can't get ahold of them," Dean made his way over to his duffle bag. "we'll head to the victims' loved ones, since we're headed there eventually."

Out of the large aged duffle came a suit neatly folded in plastic, which Dean seemed to be a little too cautious with (at least compared to his own clothes). He also pulled out a long navy tie for himself, along with a snazzy pair of shoes; which were still in a cardboard box. It then clicked that he and Sam rented their suits, and did not possess enough money to own one. Then it dawned you, that neither did you.

How had you not thought of attire for the case? Oh yeah, flashbacks. You shook your head to clear the memories that threatened to take control once again, and pondered deeply for a solution. There had to be something in your suitcase, right?

You instantly bolted to your luggage and dug for anything remotely businessesque. You were disappointed to remember that you left a lot of your clothes back at the dorm, figuring that traveling light would be best. But you didn't think you were going hunting with the Winchesters, so you didn't think to pack hunting essentials almost a year ago. After digging for a few minutes, you came across one of your dress shirts and a decent pair of slacks.

"Dean?" You asked a little timidly.

"Yeah?"

"Would this pass for an FBI agent?" You asked, holding up your outfit.

He paused from laying his suit out on the bed and gave your outfit a quick once-over.

"I think we could pass you as an agent-in-training at least." He remarked.

Sam walked over between you and Dean, explaining that the coroner would take you all within the next hour. Surprisingly, you weren't as far as you thought, as the three of you were situated on the outskirts of the city where the incidents all occurred; Kokomo, Indiana. With an acceptable amount of traffic on the road, it would take around forty minutes to an hour to get to the coroner's office.

"We better head out in a few then, if we want to get there in time." Dean replied.

Sam nodded. "You have something to wear (Y/N)?"

You held up the outfit Dean approved of, causing Sam to bite the inside of his cheek.

"We can always say she is an agent in training." Dean reassured.

"True.." Sam looked at the outfit once more and nodded. "Yeah, we can make it work. Alright, let's get going."

It wasn't until you got in the car that you knew it would be a long day. Your stomach began to rumble noisily again, but it was luckily unheard by everyone but yourself. You just hoped you could hold off at least until supper that evening.

You used water to tide off your hunger curb on the fifty minute drive to the Howard County Coroner Office, figuring that the sight of corpses would only decrease your appetite anyway.

"You ready?" Sam asked as you stepped out of the back seat.

You nodded with a gulp, knowing there certainly would be no turning back after seeing those haunted mangled bodies. Dean gave you a wary look, but you pushed him off mentally with an assuring nod. Although, you couldn't help but look back from the office steps at the world as you knew it.

"Agents, glad you could come earlier!" A stocky balding man beamed, in front of a small receptionist's desk.

"I'm glad you allowed us to, Mr. Seele." Sam replied.

"Is (he/she) a friend of yours?" Mr. Seele inquired.

"Oh, yeah. This is (Mr/Ms) Blaise, (he/she)'s our newest agent in training." Dean said.

Mr. Seele smiled warmly. "Well welcome to you too (Mr/Ms) Blaise!"

"Thank you." You replied as professionally as you possibly could.

He nodded in response. "Well boys, let's get right to it; I have a couple other clients to attend to this afternoon."

"No problem sir, it shouldn't take long." Sam commented.

The three of you were led down a slightly musty corridor. The room you were about to enter was a couple doors down on the right hand side, considering that this was the sole room to have extremely bright fluorescent lights. The boys looked at you one last time before they stepped into the room first. As another reassurance to yourself and to them, you curtly nodded.

The strong smell of chemicals watered your eyes as soon as you stepped foot into the room; the faint smell of multiple different bodily fluids and decomposition only made your stomach turn worse. How could someone even work in a place like this on a daily basis? You tried to focus on some more pleasant situations as the Head Coroner and the brothers discussed the bodies.

"I would definitely call this an animal attack, a weird one if that." Mr. Seele inferred, "You'll see what I mean once I show you the bodies."

Here we go. You tried to prepare yourself for the worst as he slid out seven bodies from their storage compartments; you weren't nearly as prepared. Bile burned the back of your throat as you slowly inched closer to the boys and the stiff shells of life that lay before you. They would have looked as if they were asleep if it were not for the large gaping holes in their chests.

"Do you have their reports on file, doctor?" Sam asked.

"We certainly do." He replied, pulling the coordinating files from multiple clipboards on a long table.

The names of the victims were Brayden Cole, Theodore Cromwell, Zachary Gort, James Page, Wanton Meers, Thomas Gartner, and Kelly Marx; as if that mattered anymore. They were lives of the past, that were currently who knows where. The only thing they all seemed to have in common thus far was the garish chest wound on each of their bodies. They weren't all the same gender nor same race, but of course, that wouldn't matter to a werewolf.

"I would have to agree with you doc, on the animal attack, but we'll still dig deeper anyway. We'll take it from here." Dean said.

"Alright. Just be sure close the door behind you!" The coroner responded.

"I would definitely say a wolf is what we're dealing with, the victims seem to have no relation to one another." Sam concluded as he flipped through the various reports.

You swallowed audibly. "It does look messy enough." You added.

"Now we just gotta find the culprit." Dean said, striding out the door to the morgue.

You were hasty to follow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You greeted the fresh air as if you would've never been outside from that moment on, at least for the rest of the day. It made you wonder if this lifestyle was really for you.

"How are you, kiddo?" Dean asked once you all were outside of the building.

"Um... I mean, I'm hanging in there for now, if that's what you're asking." You falsified.

"Good, because we still have a couple more people to interview, if you're up to it."

You sighed in relief for the distraction. "As long as I don't see more bodies f-"

It was literal word vomit. Contents likely from this afternoon spewed from your mouth onto the concrete steps and you choked. Your head spun, causing you to cling to the railing desperately. Several hands were placed on your back, but your head swam too much to tell who they specifically belonged to.

"Easy, easy!" Dean exclaimed.

Shivers traveled through your body as you finally finished emptying your stomach. You were sure that you would have lost it in the morgue, not around ten minutes later. You suddenly felt better but worse at the same time. So much for playing it cool.

"What the hell." You mumbled.

"(Y/N), hey, you okay?" Sam asked with a frown.

You cleared your throat and spit the remaining bile out from your mouth. "I think so." You answered truthfully.

Sam and Dean sat you down away from the vomit and comforted you for a moment more.

"Do you have any reason that my body decided to wait to freak out over a dead body?" You asked.

"Shock maybe?" Dean replied.

You lightly nodded, considering that they had their fair share of dead bodies to observe and deal with over the years.

"You good to go back to the car? Or are you going to spill your guts all over my leather seats?" He asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I'm good." You knew the remaining nausea had to be from the lack of food in your system.

#spn fanfic #spn x reader #spn reader insert

[sadefenzablog]

LA LEZIONE (POLITICA, RELIGIOSA E MORALE) DEL CORONAVIRUS

LA LEZIONE (POLITICA, RELIGIOSA E MORALE) DEL CORONAVIRUS

LA LEZIONE (POLITICA, RELIGIOSA E MORALE) DEL CORONAVIRUS

Antonio Socci Sa Defenza

La vicenda del coronavirus ci dà diverse lezioni. La prima dovrebbe impararla il regime comunista cinese. Ad impartirla è stato – secoli fa – il grande Blaise Pascal in un suo pensiero sull’estrema fragilità del potere umano che pur si considera onnipotente.

Scriveva Pascal: “Cromwell stava per devastare…

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[chvazquez]

"Bless yourself with holy water, have Masses said, and so on; by a simple and natural process this will make you believe, and will dull” your doubts.

Blaise Pascal. Quoted in Will Durant and Ariel Durant, The Age of Louis XIV: A History of European Civilization in the Period of Pascal, Molière, Cromwell, Milton, Peter the Great, Newton, and Spinoza: 1648 – 1715 (MJF Books, 1991), p. 65.

[carewyncromwell]

"Well, well -- looks like we caught a little princess."

"'Extremely dangerous: keep out of reach of children.' ...Cool!"

x~x~x~x

Hey, I said I'd have more of my characters dressed up for Halloween! Well, here's Carewyn and Jacob's uncle, Blaise Cromwell, and his son, Tristan, dressed as Colonel Muska from Studio Ghibli's Castle in the Sky and Sid Phillips from Pixar's Toy Story, respectively! I'll be honest, I did waffle a little on who I was going to dress these two up as, but I'm overall really happy with how they turned out!

Blaise's second choice was Magnifico from the upcoming film Wish, since that character is voiced by Chris Pine, my face claim for Blaise...but honestly, we know so little about the character so far that I couldn't really guess how proper of a fit the casting would be, and honestly, most of what I've gathered so far led me to think it's not as good of a fit. However smug and arrogant Blaise can be, he really isn't a show-off, vain, or interested in positive attention from the masses, the way Magnifico seems to be...so ultimately Colonel Muska -- easily my favorite Ghibli villain of all time -- felt like a better fit to me. Just like Muska, Blaise is more than crafty enough to emotionally manipulate others to get his way, and his motivation honestly comes back to his family line. He's not the sort to want the world to love or praise him, but he is absolutely the sort to want the power he feels is owed him by his heritage, and he has been poisoned enough by Charles's toxic masculinity to bypass values like compassion and nurturing kindness in favor of violence and control. Not to mention I could totally see Blaise "coddling" Carewyn in a similar way that Muska "coddles" Sheeta, acting all understanding and decent until he's challenged and put in a position where he might not get what he wants. And honestly, Mark Hamill just knocks the SOCKS off Muska in the dub, which is the version of Muska I first encountered as a girl!!

My second choice for Tristan was Victor Van Dort from Tim Burton's Corpse Bride...but I'm sorry, as much as Tristan has the "isolated, piano-playing Goth boy" element down, especially in his fashion sense as an adult, I felt like Victor just didn't capture the slightly messed-up, darkness-loving, eccentric aspect of Carewyn's youngest cousin. Tristan loves studying both human and animal anatomy, to the extent that he has a dog skeleton in his room and dresses it up like a pet. He finds macabre amusement in telling Carewyn that Hogsmeade village got burned to the ground by the Death Eaters. He has no social skills and has a bad tendency to boss people around when he wants something rather than use even the barest amount of politeness. TELL ME that doesn't remind you of a certain crazy neighborhood bully with a love of ripping toys apart and putting them back together in freakish creations. Plus, I'll just be honest, working at the Oogie Boogie Bash at Disneyland, Sid's meet-and-greets are just ridiculously fun. Fortunately unlike a lot of other Disney and Pixar "villains," Sid isn't a truly evil person -- just an incredibly mean-spirited kid -- and considering he does seem to have chilled out by movie 3 enough to get a cameo working as a garbageman, I'd like to think that like Tristan does, Sid eventually matured a bit and maybe became a slightly better person.

Happy Halloween, all! Much love!! xoxo 🎃

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #my art #blaise cromwell #tristan cromwell #halloween #castle in the sky #toy story

[carewyncromwell]

"Playground school bell rings again... Rain clouds come to play again... Has no one told you she's not breathing? 'Hello -- I'm your mind giving you someone to talk to... 'Hello..."'

~"Hello" by Evanescence

x~x~x~x

Told you there'd be more Haunted Mansion AU content coming! This one, unfortunately, is more on the sad side. Also, sorry for the blood trigger -- the mental image just was too strong in my mind.

Okay, so in the Haunted Mansion AU, I have mentioned that Bill Weasley fills the role of the "Ghost Host" -- the spirit who greets Duncan when he first comes to the Cromwell Manor and, as it turns out, ends up mostly taking charge of the other ghosts and daily affairs inside the Manor while his BFF the Beating Heart Bride (Carewyn Cromwell) takes on the responsibility of keeping the actual Master of the House, the malevolent Phantom, contained to the attic so he won't terrorize everyone else. When Duncan investigates more about the Cromwell Manor's history and the Cromwell family by extension, though, he learns that Bill was Carewyn's childhood friend, and that the eldest Weasley not only tried and failed to help Jacob and Carewyn run away from their uncle Blaise before they died, but that he was the one who discovered Jacob's severed head and buried it on his family's property, which ended up resulting in Charles not being able to lay claim to Jacob's soul postmortem the way he'd planned. What only was briefly touched on in the AU, though, was Bill's reaction to what happened to Jacob and Carewyn.

Carewyn was Bill's first real friend in the world -- one he made when he and his family had only just immigrated to upstate New York and had never had a true equal who he could rely on for emotional support just as much as he supported them -- and for Carewyn, Bill was the same. Both Bill and Carewyn had had their respective brothers -- Charlie and Jacob -- as emotional support, of course, but Bill had still always taken on the "big brother" role with Charlie and Jacob obviously was that same "big brother" role for Carewyn. Even despite their two year age gap, Carewyn and Bill treated each other like peers and, due to their similar personalities, often ended up "taking care" of everyone else around them (sometimes together), as well as helping take care of each other. Carewyn would stand up for Bill while he was working multiple jobs as a child to support his family and even coaxed members of her own family to give him odd jobs, so as to support him. Bill would hide Carewyn (often with Charlie's help) in his family's barn when her uncle Blaise came looking for her and taught her how to climb a tree and read the stars. When Jacob was stuck with his tutors and Bill was forced to work unpleasant jobs to make ends meet, Carewyn would keep him company and even help him complete his tasks, just to show moral support, even though her grandfather and especially her uncle so disapproved.

It's frankly no wonder that Bill immediately agreed to help get Carewyn and Jacob out, when Jacob approached him for help. It's also little wonder -- considering how close Bill was to Carewyn and how much he knew she loved her brother -- that Bill reacted so hostilely toward Blaise, when he confronted him about finding Jacob's skull.

“The only piece we have of Carey’s brother is this skull, thanks to you,” barked Bill, “and the only piece of Carey even left in this world is trapped in there with you, rather than buried in the cemetery where we can visit – ” “I want my nephew,” Blaise interrupted him, very harshly. “I know you have him, so give him back.” Bill’s eyes flooded with angry, grief-stricken tears.  “If Jacob were with me,” he said very quietly, “I would sooner burn in Hell than let you lock him up in here again.”

There was no way that Bill was going to let Blaise have a single piece of the person his best friend loved more than her own life.

So Bill buried Jacob's head under a tree not far from the Weasley house. He also kept Carewyn's usual red hair ribbon -- something she'd left at the Weasley house, the night she and Jacob tried and failed to escape the Cromwell Manor -- wrapped around his hand as he worked, before tying it to a branch right over the tiny plot. This blood-red ribbon would serve as a marker many years later, when paranormal investigator Duncan Ashe eventually discovered the tree and the skull buried underneath it.

Fortunately Bill and Carewyn were reunited long before Duncan came along and discovered the truth of the Cromwell family murders, when Blaise Cromwell insisted the medium Madame Olivia bring back his lost family members.

Carewyn actually didn't fully materialize for a very long time after being forced back to the Manor, even with the ghostly medium summoning spirits non-stop. Instead she appeared as nothing but a cold, light blue, ghostly orb, floating aimlessly into and out of the attic with seemingly no awareness or direction.

It frustrated and grieved the Phantom to no end, especially since the orb that was Carewyn would never speak and would dissolve away out of his clawed hands if he tried to grab her.

It was only when Bill brought his hands around the orb, not to seize it, but to cradle it, that the orb finally stopped wandering. Bill immediately knew this fog-like orb was his friend's spirit, too melancholy and hopeless to fully materialize, and choking back tears, he spoke to her.

"...Carey...Carey, forgive me. ...I failed you, Carey -- you and Jacob. God, I wanted so much to get justice for you, but I failed, Carey. It's why I'm still here, why we're all still here -- we all knew we failed you, Carey. Charlie and Mum and Dad...all of us. We should've been able to protect you -- we should've been able to get you away from your uncle, and yet even now...even now, you've been brought back here, against your will. Brought back here to this terrible house without your brother, without your mother. ...But...I'm not leaving you this time. I'm not leaving you alone here with him -- not again. And I will never leave you again. I swear 't on my life -- nay, on my...on my death...I will never leave you again."

And as Bill bared his heart to this incorporeal ball in his arms, he suddenly felt the cold light expand, growing limbs that clung to him just as much in return, that shook in his arms with silent sobs as strong as his own as she tried to comfort him. For a moment, all Bill and Carewyn's spirits could do, upon both being fully materialized, was hug each other and cry.

If anyone were to want a reason why the Phantom never banished Bill or the Weasleys from the Cromwell Manor the way he did the Wanderer Orion Amari multiple times, even with how much Blaise Cromwell detested them in life...the fact that Bill was the reason Carewyn didn't choose to remain in that hellish, spiraling, maddening, timeless chaos that exists for ghosts without a proper home may be very enlightening.

"...Bill...it's not your fault. It's not your family's fault. I made a choice, and it was mine, and it was cowardly. ...Forgive me..." "No -- no, no, Carey, you weren't cowardly. You were grieving, you were in pain, and...I just wish I could've helped you..." "You have, Bill. You have."

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #tw: blood #tw: suicide #tw: depression #tw: grief #carewyn cromwell #bill weasley #my art #haunted mansion #blaise cromwell #jacob cromwell #charlie weasley #I honestly listened to the entirety of evanescence's first album drawing this XD; #hey it did come out in 2003 when the haunted mansion AU is set!! #I promise the next bit of haunted mansion content I post will be nicer :'( #but yeah I do see the phantom harboring some *twinge* of guilt about what happened to the weasleys #mostly because he knows carewyn would hate him all the more knowing he had a hand to play in their deaths as well as jacob's and lane's #the phantom may loathe the weasleys' spirits ESPECIALLY ghost host bill #but that doesn't mean he really wanted to murder their entire family including ron and ginny who were *really* young #and hey at least bill weasley never acted like a suitor to carewyn #just presumptuous enough to act like her family when he's nothing but a pauper :I

[carewyncromwell]

"The real beauty of this house awaits farther on, and she’s dying to meet you...but beware the Phantom."

x~x~x~x

As a companion to the aesthetics I did for Duncan, Jacob, Carewyn, and Orion in the Haunted Mansion AU last year, here are some more for four of the story's other central figures -- Bill Weasley "The Ghost Host"; "Madame Olivia" Green (colored appropriately XD); "the Phantom" (featuring his true face, if you look carefully); and Liberty Square's resident librarian and historian Rowan Khanna! Face claims used for each are Domhnall Gleeson, Mila Kunis, Chris Pine, and Rasika Navare...I personally loved the image of non-binary Rowan often tying their long hair into messy ponytails and buns while working in the library. X3 Even though Halloween season isn't formally upon us, I'm already well in the mood thanks to my work location already prepping for it, so I look forward to having more content for this AU and its cast in the near future.

Much love, all! Have a magical day! xoxo

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #haunted mansion #aesthetic #bill weasley #olivia green #blaise cromwell #rowan khanna #moodboard

[carewyncromwell]

"So you say it's not okay to be gay?

Well, I think you're just evil!

You're just some racist who can't tie my laces...

Your point of view is medieval!

Fuck you! (Fuck you!)

Fuck you very, very much

'Cause we hate what you do,

And we hate your whole crew,

So please don't stay in touch!"

~"Fuck You," by Lily Allen

x~x~x~x

Carewyn's dress robe inspiration // read more about Erik here!

x~x~x~x

Hahaha, oh GOD, Erik, you really are a little prat, aren't you? 😂

Okay, first of all, the person Erik's giving the bird to behind Carewyn's back is her overbearing, gaslighting, blood purist uncle, Blaise Cromwell.

As the head of the Cromwell Clan after Charles's arrest and death, Blaise is incredibly disapproving of most of the life choices his sister Lane, nephew Jacob, and niece Carewyn have made, least of all keeping a very healthy distance from Blaise's abusive arse and the rest of the supremely dysfunctional Clan. Blaise is particularly "overprotective" of Carewyn, thinking that a talented, intelligent young lady from a respectable family like her should be pursuing marriage with a proper man from a similarly respectable family and having children of their own to carry on the Cromwell legacy. Needless to say, therefore, that Blaise greatly detests not only Carewyn's future legal and romantic partner, Orion Amari, and his daughter Eos, but Carewyn's Muggle-born son "ward," Erik Apollo. And yeah, after first encountering Blaise at the Ministry while Carewyn was finishing up with the last of Erik's affairs in court, the newly-thirteen-year-old took an immediate dislike to the man who had the audacity to not shut his face after "Miss Cromwell" made it incredibly clear she wasn't asking for his opinion.

"Don't reckon it's any of your business what Miss Cromwell does or doesn't do, you old knob." "Stay out of this, brat." "Like hell! All this talk about 'proper families' and shit...what are you, from the Dark Ages or something?" "Carewyn's future is family business -- something that Mudblooded filth like you is not meant to understand...so I'll say it again: stay out of it -- " "And I'll say it again too: like fucking hell, you scumbag -- "

Carewyn interceded before the fight could get too heated -- but she did shut the conversation down with a pointed warning toward Blaise.

"Until Erik has finished his education at Hogwarts, he will be my ward and sole charge -- family in a legal sense, if not by blood." "Family?! Winnie, you can't be -- !" "I am deathly serious, Blaise. And believe me, should you make one breath toward a word insulting my ward's ancestry or relatives again, or make any other ill-meaning gesture toward him, I shall be just as serious in retaliating, as well."

As Carewyn brought an arm around Erik and led him away, the snarky teenager couldn't resist shooting one more vindictive indication of his feelings toward Blaise as they left -- something Carewyn was quick to reprove him for.

"Put that finger away, young man." "Oh come on, he deserved it." "Perhaps -- but crude gestures like that reflect badly on you too. There are more intelligent ways to get your feelings across." "Oh, I know. That way's just really satisfying." "Erik." "Sorry, Miss Cromwell."

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #my art #carewyn cromwell #erik apollo #blaise cromwell #my writing

[carewyncromwell]

[HPHM] Tristan Cromwell Playlist

Tristan Cromwell is the youngest member of the Cromwell Clan, and therefore the youngest of Carewyn Cromwell's cousins. Despite this, being the only son of Carewyn's uncle, Blaise Cromwell, who took over leadership of the Clan after Charles's imprisonment and death, Tristan is also intended to inherit the role of Clan patriarch from Blaise once he becomes an adult. This is complicated, however, by Blaise's suffocating, controlling, abusive parenting, which results in Tristan being dreadfully sheltered, eccentric, entitled, condescending, and lacking in both social skills and basic politeness. Fortunately Tristan isn't completely hopeless. When Carewyn first meets him, it becomes clear to her that for all his faults, Tristan is an incredibly creative, yet lonely person who is desperate for love and approval. And because Blaise has always been the most important person in his life, Tristan longs to make his father proud and take care of him and the rest of his family the way he's expected to. This includes mending the rift between the Clan and Lane, Jacob and Carewyn. Somewhere along the line, Tristan internalized a lesson about love that Blaise never did, which was that love at its core is selfless and longs to make others happy instead of just yourself -- and so Tristan wants his family reunited not out of possessiveness like Blaise, but out of a strong sense of duty to and caring for his loved ones. Tristan's focus on the feelings of others may be linked to his strong interest in both creature and animal anatomy, which eventually earns him an internship with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and (later) helps him pursue a career as a Healer specializing in the care of magical creatures. Like all other Cromwells as well, Tristan has a deep love and passion for music. Unlike the others, though, Tristan's musical talent isn't best expressed vocally, but at the piano, which he mastered over the course of many long, lonely years trapped inside the Cromwell Manor with no one his age for company.

"This is Halloween (cover)" by Marilyn Manson

"Victor's Piano Solo" from Corpse Bride

"There's a Good Reason the Tables are Numbered Honey" by Panic! at the Disco

"Paint It Black" by the Rolling Stones

"Waiting on a Miracle (cover)" by Scott Shattuck

"Learn to be Lonely" by Minnie Driver

"Misfit" by Curiosity Killed the Cat

"Boulevard of Broken Dreams" by Green Day

"Shatter Me" by Lindsey Stirling ft. Lzzy Hale

"Because of You (cover)" by Stephen Scaccia

"Welcome to the Black Parade" by My Chemical Romance

#okay sorry not sorry I couldn't resist putting this together for carewyn's gangling goth bb cousin! #I actually have always loved the goth aesthetic so it kind of broke my heart that I didn't like ismelda more as a character #because I wanted to stan a hogwarts goth kid so much ;~; #I like beatrice a bit more at least XD #but yeah anyway I had a lot of fun assembling this <3 #tristan would've 150% been that weirdo tim burton kid if he'd grown up in the muggle world #he's really not violent at all -- just really eccentric and fascinated by skeletons #but he's just mischievous and arrogant enough that he wouldn't care if people were scared of him because of his interests #he'd probably just be like 'well f*** them I'm gonna be the head of the cromwell clan someday so I'm better than them anyway' #it's kind of hilarious how tristan can be so under his father's foot but when it comes to everyone else he's just like 'whatever loser' #fortunately over time I do see his more sensitive side coming out as his circle of associates grows #tristan cromwell #moodboard #aesthetic #playlist #blaise cromwell #carewyn cromwell

[carewyncromwell]

“I wish I could stop the world from turning -- Keep things just the way they are... I wish I could shelter you from Everything not pure and sweet and good... I know I can’t...I know I can’t... But I wish I could.”

~“I Wish I Could” by Collin Raye

x~x~x~x

tw: emotional manipulation, mild gore

x~x~x~x

the Cromwell family tree // includes references to original character Hermia Flume // learn more about Blaise and his son Tristan

x~x~x~x

In February 1998, the Second Wizarding War was in full swing. Terror reigned supreme through the Death Eaters’ hold over the British Ministry of Magic, with puppet Minister Pius Thicknesse ordering the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to facilitate the persecution and imprisonment of Muggle-borns, political dissidents, and other such “Undesirables.” It was a very scary time for everyone, including people who had to work at the Ministry, such as magical lawyer Carewyn Cromwell.

However scary the entire War was, however, one of the scariest moments of it for Carewyn ended up being when the new Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Death Eater Corban Yaxley interrupted a private meeting with one of her coworkers to pass along a letter for her that he’d unceremoniously ripped open.

When Carewyn took the letter from him and read its contents, her heart leapt into her throat.

Winnie --

Jacob has fallen very ill. I’m caring for him here at the Cromwell estate, but I know he will rest easier, with you at his bedside.

Apparate home at once.

Blaise

“Jacob would be your brother, yes?”

Carewyn looked up at Yaxley. His cold eyes were very beady upon her face.

“I was under the impression that you and your brother weren’t on good terms with your uncle,” he said. “You two helped land him, my brother’s wife, and your other aunt in Azkaban at one point, if memory serves me. Rather charitable of Blaise, to now suddenly want to tend to wittle Jacob’s sniffles...”

Carewyn averted her eyes as she quickly got up from her desk and grabbed her purse.

“Forgive me, sir, but my brother needs me,” she murmured. “I must go to him at once -- ”

Before she reached the door, though, Yaxley blocked her.

“Oh, of course,” said Yaxley, his lips upturned in a rather cool, insincere smile. “Naturally, you must go to him. He is your family, after all. The last thing I want is for one of my most hardworking subordinates to lose a member of her family...especially to such a sudden illness.”

He was so close to her that Carewyn could hear his thoughts without even looking at him. Images of prowling around Jacob’s apartment -- of casting anti-illusionary spells at the walls that did nothing and Yaxley’s fist clenching  around his wand as he ruthlessly kicked over Jacob’s coffee table -- rippled over her vision.

“In fact,” Yaxley pressed on, “if Jacob’s illness is truly so severe, I might recommend he be transferred to St. Mungo’s, for more expert treatment. I think it’s best that I Apparate over to Yorkshire with you, to see him for myself.”

Carewyn’s heart clenched.

“That won’t be necessary -- ” she said at once, but Yaxley cut her off.

“I insist.”

He pushed her office door the rest of the way open, indicating the hall to her pointedly.

“After you, Miss Cromwell,” sneered Yaxley.

~*~

The knowledge that Jacob was ill would’ve worried Carewyn enough on its own. Jacob and Carewyn had always been incredibly close, and that bond had only deepened further after Carewyn saved Jacob from being trapped in a magical portrait for seven years and the two of them refined their shared talent for Legilimency as adults. But Blaise’s note was incredibly suspicious from the off-set, and not just because of the reason Corban Yaxley had cited. For yes, however disconcerting it was that Jacob was with Blaise at the Cromwell estate, when Jacob would never have willingly accepted Blaise’s help in a million years, Jacob had also always been in very good health. Therefore he couldn’t just be “ill.” Injured, on the other hand...

Carewyn couldn’t remember feeling more disconcerted than she did when she Apparated with Yaxley to the Cromwell estate -- or, more specifically, to the lands just outside the Cromwell estate. For around the house itself was a very tall, black wrought-iron gate, enchanted so as to prevent Apparition and Disapparition. Lane Cromwell had told her children all about how impregnable of a fortress the Cromwell estate was -- not just keeping everything from animals to even the weather out, but also trapping all of its residents inside with no chance at freedom.

The thought of Jacob, trapped in such a foreboding manor house behind such a terrifyingly cold, cage-like gate...

“Hmph,” said Yaxley, eying the gate with displeasure. “Suppose this thing prevents Apparition onto the grounds itself. Very well, then...”

He strode up to the gate, whipping his wand out with a flourish. The gate, however, didn’t open -- instead, it only seemed to flicker like red-hot cinders in a fireplace, before fading back to its normal cold black.

With a deepening frown, Yaxley waved his wand, but once again, nothing happened. He then reached out as if to open the gate manually -- when his fingers enclosed over the wrought iron, however, it flared a violent shade of red, and he catapulted backward, bellowing with rage and pain as he clutched his wrist.

“GYAAAARGH!”

It was as if Yaxley had touched a red-hot poker. His palm and fingers were covered in cauterized sores, the outer skin being ripped open exposing the red and violet veins underneath. Carewyn recoiled in horror.

“Corban,” said a very dry voice. "What an unexpected surprise.”

Both Yaxley and Carewyn looked up. From the other side of the gate, Carewyn could see the frame of her uncle, Blaise Cromwell, sweeping toward them. He was dressed in elegant black silk robes with a high white linen collar and white cuffs, and his blond-bearded face was twisted with the kind of immaturity and arrogance better suited to a schoolyard bully.

“If I’d known you were coming, I would’ve arranged to meet you at my fireplace,” the Head of the Cromwell Clan said sleekly. “I’m afraid this gate’s old enchantments don’t allow anyone without Cromwell blood to enter. Don’t tell me Marek didn’t mention it?”

Yaxley gritted his teeth with both pain and fury as he nursed his injured hand.

“...He...must’ve neglected to,” he hissed. “I’ve come to see your nephew, Jacob. I’ve received word that he’s here, in your care.”

Blaise’s eyes flitted over to Carewyn, who was standing just behind Yaxley. Her eyes flashed with contempt upon Yaxley’s back.

“That he is,” said Blaise, putting on his most innocent expression. “I paid his flat a wellness check this morning, only to find him completely emaciated in bed, fighting back a bad case of Black Cat Flu. Nothing life-threatening, of course -- but the boy’s always been hopeless, when it comes to caring for his own health. So I brought him home, so as to make him more comfortable.”

Yaxley cocked his eyebrow disbelievingly. “Awfully charitable of you, Blaise.”

Blaise shrugged. “I am Head of the Cromwells. It’s my duty, to take care of my own.”

His eyes flitted back over to Carewyn, his hand sliding absently into his pocket.

“Now, then,“ he said in a much crisper, more business-like tone, “come, Winnie, my dear -- best get you inside...”

Carewyn didn’t move. The very last place she ever, ever wanted to go was inside the Cromwell estate. After everything her mother had told her, she knew that it was a prison of the highest order...and after everything Blaise had done to try to force Carewyn, Jacob, and Lane to return to the Cromwell estate and rejoin the Clan, the very last thing she wanted to do was to give him a chance at trapping her inside his house.

Carewyn looked up at the foreboding manor with narrowed eyes. Her mind lashed around, trying to grab onto Jacob’s, if it was anywhere...but the gate, it seemed, blocked her Legilimency just as well as it did everything else...

“Don’t dawdle, Winnie,” Blaise said a bit more sharply. “Jacob is waiting.”

Carewyn’s eyes shot back up to her uncle’s face. “You can stop calling me Winnie, you are not entitled to that name.”

It was Carewyn’s mother Lane’s nickname for her, and so it was solely Lane who was allowed to use it.

Blaise returned her mistrustful glare with a far more impatient one of his own as his eyes darted back over his shoulder at the house. It made her really, really wish that his Occlumency wasn’t so rock-solid that she couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

But if Jacob really was in such bad shape...she knew she truly had no choice. And so, taking a deep breath, she swept past Yaxley, her light gray robes billowing behind her as she walked up to the gate.

As soon as she approached, the wrought-iron sparkled with silver, and within seconds, the gate had sprung open, allowing her access. Carewyn walked through, only to realize with a start that someone had abruptly tried to sneak up behind her. Before he could get too close, though, or even before Carewyn herself could react, the gate clanged shut behind her, trapping her inside and flaring with red as it forced Yaxley out. The wizard gave another bellow of rage and pain in response to the iron once again burning him.

“Forgive me, Corban, but you’ll simply have to return to the Ministry and use the Floo Network,” Blaise said airily. “I’ll be happy to receive you properly, once I make it back to my office.”

Carewyn flinched as she felt Blaise snake his arm around her and steer her away from the gate.

“Come, Winnie.”

Blaise led her at a very brisk walk away toward the manor house. Fully aware of Yaxley’s glaring eyes on their backs, Carewyn kept her gaze on the manor house rather than at Blaise. As her eyes passed over the climbing ivy and tiny windows, she reached out with her mind again.

Jacob! Jacob!

Something seemed to stir, somewhere in the lower West Wing of the house -- like a child too weak to move.

Pip. Where...Pip...?

CRACK. A ways away, Yaxley had Disapparated.

As soon as Yaxley was gone, Blaise lost all pretense of sophistication or composure. Seizing Carewyn’s arm in a rough vice grip, he yanked her behind him as he ran into the house.

“Augh -- let go of me!”

Carewyn tried to break free, but it was no use -- Blaise had always been much stronger than her. Her uncle whirled on her with a fierce eye.

“Don’t be a child,” he spat.

With a wave of his wand, he’d thrown open the front door, dragging Carewyn inside the house, and then slammed the door behind them. Then without skipping a beat, Blaise forced Carewyn to follow him up the stairs.

“The instant Corban arrives at the Ministry, he’ll be on his way back here through the office’s Floo grate,” Blaise muttered to Carewyn, his arrogant, condescending voice strangely urgent. “I must be there to meet him, if I don’t want him to wander -- ”

Pip? Pip?

Jacob! Jacob, I’m here!

Pip. Where...? Where...?

Jacob’s voice was becoming fainter -- almost as if he was losing awareness, or...as if she was getting further away from him...

“ -- Claire’s not bright enough to keep him occupied there that long,” Blaise pressed on, unaware of Carewyn and Jacob trying to mentally reach out to each other. “And even if she could, Corban will have to see you with Jacob, in order for him to believe that he’s ill and halt any further questioning...”

Ack...Pip...

Carewyn could practically feel Jacob’s pain shooting through her own veins. It made her eyes flash.

“If Yaxley saw me with Jacob, then he would know full well he wasn’t sick with Black Cat Flu, Blaise. What happened to my brother?”

“Nothing the foolish boy didn’t bring upon himself,” scoffed Blaise. “Now come along -- Jacob’s right up here -- ”

“I know full well he’s not, Blaise!” Carewyn spat. Yanking out her wand, she pointed it right at Blaise’s jaw, so as to force him to stop pulling her along. “Now take me to my brother right now, or so help me -- !”

WHOOSH.

Blaise and Carewyn both straightened up sharply at the sound of a gust of air rushing through a fireplace  not too far away: likely in a room around the corner down the hall from where they were standing. A moment later, Carewyn could just barely hear the simpering voice of her aunt Claire.

“Corban! What a nice…surprise!”

A flash of panic pulsed through Blaise’s expression before he whirled on Carewyn, his face twisted with anger and anxiety.

“There’s no time to explain -- I need you upstairs, with your brother, while I go deal with Corban.”

Carewyn’s eyes flashed. She dearly wanted to hex Blaise right in the face -- but with Corban Yaxley inside the manor and Jacob in no fit state to fight back or escape, she knew she couldn’t afford to act rashly. So, her face full of distrust and contempt, she reluctantly lowered her wand.

“As soon as Yaxley is gone, you will bring me to Jacob,” she hissed.

“Yes, yes, of course,” Blaise said dismissively. “Now move.”

He yanked him by the arm up the last set of stairs and down the hall, running to the closest door, which was painted a dark blue. The head of the Cromwell Clan opened the door and quickly shoved Carewyn inside.

“Tend to him until I return,” Blaise told her sternly. “Quietly. His headache doesn’t need to get any worse.”

With this, Blaise shut the door right on Carewyn’s back, forcing her fully into the room, before his footsteps retreated rapidly back down the stairs.

Carewyn glanced at the shut door, before turning to look at the figure lying down in bed. When she saw his face, she gave a start.

Jacob?

It was her brother -- at least, visually. His long messy black-brown curls were all in his face, which was pallid and lined with sweat. He was also shivering noticeably as he blearily blinked up at her. His gaze was distrustful and guarded, despite his exhaustion -- a kind of look Jacob would never give his younger sister in a million years. 

It didn’t take Carewyn long at all to guess the truth.

Polyjuice. How like Blaise.

A bitter taste rippled through her mouth at the thought of Blaise similarly disguising himself as Jacob, eight years ago. This time, though, she wasn’t going to be fooled by someone pretending to be her brother.

Yet Jacob was in the house somewhere. She had sensed his thoughts. So for now, at least until Yaxley left, Carewyn would have to play along with whatever Blaise was up to. And so, after a moment, she took a few steps closer to the bed, coming to stand behind the chair positioned next to the bed.

Not-Jacob stared Carewyn down, his eyes filled with just as much distrust as she’d felt toward Blaise. Even so, the fire was tempered by his lack of energy and consciousness. His mind was a swirling, turbulent sea of clouds that disoriented both its owner and anyone looking in on it. Disjointed echoes of Blaise’s voice even bounced sickeningly through Carewyn’s sinuses, just looking into this stranger’s eyes.

“ -- Winnie -- ”

“Lie down. You’re in no fit state to move, let alone argue -- ”

“Now drink this -- ”

Intense nausea rippled through the stranger’s eyes. He was clearly quite ill -- maybe even with the same Black Cat Flu Blaise had claimed Jacob had.

Polyjuice Potion tastes weird enough when you’re not sick, Carewyn thought. How gross must you feel, drinking it when you are?

“You’re Winnie, aren’t you?” said the stranger.

The question was as petulant as a child’s. It sounded strange, as Jacob’s voice certainly had never sounded that way. It was also accompanied by multiple memories.

“ -- little Winnie -- ”

“ -- saw her the other day -- our little bastard cousin, I mean…”

“Watch your tongue, Iris. Bastard Winnie may be, she is still one of ours.”

“ -- she’ll return home to us soon enough -- ”

Not all the words Carewyn heard were Blaise’s this time, but most of them were. …Come to think of it…the stranger’s childish affect did sound a bit like Blaise’s too…

“…I am Carewyn, yes,” she said softly. “My mother calls me Winnie.”

Not-Jacob’s eyes narrowed further, flashing with resentment and suspicion as he coughed harshly. Carewyn could practically sense the voice of a much younger boy coming off of him -- “I don’t want her here! She sent you away! I hate her, and I hope she never comes back!” -- followed by a loud SLAP and searing pain across the face. The recollection made Carewyn flinch — even when she felt a rocking, queasy sea of guilt wash through her, it only served to make her feel more pain in her face, alongside the pulsing of the stranger’s sinuses and head.

Carewyn rested her hands on the back of the chair as she considered the stranger who was not Jacob lying down in bed. Then, after a moment, she reached into her purse, took out a handkerchief, and wordlessly wet it with her wand.

“Here,” she said gently.

She leaned in and started dabbing the cold wet cloth to not-Jacob’s forehead. He flinched, startled and confused.

“What are you doing, you -- hack, hack -- idiot?” he said very rudely, his voice thick with congestion. “Hack -- I’m not your…your stupid bastard brother — ”

“Surprisingly I figured that out a while ago,” Carewyn shot back dryly. Her expression then grew a bit grimmer. “…Blaise told me to tend to you until he got back. Considering I can’t look for Jacob properly until after Corban Yaxley leaves, I reckon I should do that.”

Especially when you are actually this sick. You must be miserable…

She continued at not-Jacob’s temple with her wet hanky. He kept glaring drowsily up at her, even though his thoughts were so disoriented that Carewyn felt like she was riding a hexed broom. It made her avert her eyes, just to try to shut out his thoughts -- when she did, she noticed the empty glass on the side table.

“Can you sit up?” she asked.

Not-Jacob looked away with a loud huff.

“Use your eyes!” His voice was laced with resentment. “Hack -- I’m obviously in no fit state to move...”

Blaise saying the exact same thing in the stranger’s memory rippled over Carewyn’s mind again, and it made her raise her eyebrows.

“Is that so? Hm…if you were truly in no fit state to do anything, then I would think you would be sleeping so you could build up your strength.”

Not-Jacob grumbled irritably. “I can’t sleep either. Hack — hack — my cough’s too bad.”

“Well, propping your head up and drinking some water should help with that. Here.”

Carewyn reached out a hand back behind not-Jacob’s shoulders, supporting them enough so that she could help ease him up and adjust his pillows under him. He squirmed.

“Get off me, you -- ” he muttered. “ -- you tramp, you -- Muggle-raised bastard -- ”

“If you’re in a fit state to swear, then you’re in a fit state to sleep quietly,” Carewyn scolded him as she picked up the glass from the side table and wordlessly filled it with water from her wand. “Now settle down. I don’t want you to choke.”

Despite all of his fussing, not-Jacob did ultimately do as Carewyn said, however sour he looked about it. He clearly was not feeling well enough to actively rebel against her help, and he did seem a little refreshed after drinking some water and repositioning himself. When he cleared his throat, he actually was able to clear up some of the phlegm that had been trapped there.

“Does that help?” asked Carewyn.

“I suppose so,” not-Jacob said begrudgingly.

“Good.”

“Is it, though?”

Carewyn blinked. Not-Jacob cocked his eyebrows arrogantly.

“Hack -- it’s not like you actually care about your family, aside from your brother and mother,” he said scornfully. “So what does it matter to you, if I get better or not?”

Carewyn frowned deeply as she put down the glass again. “Family or not, no one deserves to suffer.”

“Even the guys who hurt your brother?”

Carewyn stiffened. Not-Jacob’s eyes gleamed -- he seemed pleased that he’d gotten such rapt attention from her.

“Do you want to know what happened to him?” he asked under his breath, rather like a kid divulging a secret. “He got into a duel with a bunch of Uncle Corban’s mates in Hogsmeade.”

Carewyn felt like her heart had been squeezed. “The Death Eaters attacked Hogsmeade?”

“Yeah,” said not-Jacob, seeming even more pleased by her reaction. “Uncle Marek said that one of Honeydukes’s people has been sending enchanted sweets to Hogwarts...so the Death Eaters decided to send them a message, for trying to stand up to the Carrows. Father said he saw them burn Honeydukes’ Sweet Shop to the ground.”

Carewyn’s heart hurt, just hearing this. Jacob had mentioned once that one of Ambrosius Flume’s daughters had been providing him with healing pastries for the fugitives he’d been keeping hidden inside his flat. Not only that, but one of Jacob’s closest friends was the owner of the Three Broomsticks, Madam Rosmerta. He must’ve gone to Hogsmeade to help them, upon hearing their home was in danger...

“...When you say your father, I assume you mean Blaise,” Carewyn asked quietly. It was the only thing that made sense, given not-Jacob’s incredibly distinctive, arrogant attitude. “What was he doing in Hogsmeade?”

Not-Jacob gave another scoff. “What do you think he was doing? Hack, hack -- he was making sure your brother didn’t do anything stupid. Not that that stopped him.”

“But how did he know Jacob would be in trouble?” Carewyn pressed, her eyes narrowing a bit more suspiciously.

“He overheard Uncle Marek talking about it while tending to me,” her disguised cousin said with a shrug. “Hack -- Uncle Marek is Uncle Corban's brother, you know. Uncle Marek really wants to join the Death Eaters himself, though Father won’t let him. Father thinks we should stay out of it and just look after ourselves.”

Carewyn’s brows knit together. “And what do you think?”

“That Father’s right, of course,” not-Jacob said, as if it were obvious. “Family’s the only thing that really matters. Not that you and Jacob know anything about that -- all you can do is run around trying to save people who aren’t anything to you.”

Carewyn crossed her arms. “There are a lot more people in the world that matter besides those who share our blood.”

“So you’ll put yourself in danger just for them?” not-Jacob shot back. “A bunch of nobodies? When your family needs you, when -- hack -- all it does is make your family worry about your safety, all the time?”

Carewyn’s eyebrows knit together over her eyes. She could sense an odd kind of conviction ebbing off of not-Jacob, when he said this -- something oddly fiery, under the surface. She could see Blaise’s pale, anxious face, as he carried Jacob past the open door of the bedroom they were currently in -- “Damn you, Jacob!”

“You and Jacob are so selfish,” not-Jacob said coldly. “All you can do is run around -- hack, hack -- making yourselves feel good by helping a bunch of outsiders who will never love you the way your real family can. Hack -- meanwhile, that real family has to sit on the sidelines helplessly -- hack -- hoping and praying that you’re going to be okay. All because you won’t even come home, where it’s safe.”

Carewyn could sense someone entering an old room with only one very high window looking out toward the grounds -- “To hell with the world. ...It could never love you, as I do, my son -- ”

That must be Mum’s old room, Carewyn realized -- Lane had described her old bedroom as tiny and dark with only one high window.

And sure enough, Blaise had come to take hold of the person’s shoulders from behind, when he stood in the doorway, a gesture that made the person flinch, given the possessive strength in his father’s hands -- “She’ll return home to us soon enough -- ” “You’ll be able to hear her sing yourself, when she does -- ”

Carewyn’s red lips came together tightly as she considered Not-Jacob solemnly.

“Family is more than just flesh and blood,” she said softly. “I have many friends who have put themselves on the line to fight for my safety and happiness...and I’m grateful every day, for that love they’ve shown me. And I know that there are a lot of other people out there who...yes, perhaps they haven’t done anything for me...but they have the capacity to express just as much love themselves -- for me or otherwise.”

Her eyes drifted down to the bed covers under her hand.

“...As much as...your father might worry about us, in his own weird way...he’s been very lucky, to be able to stand on the sidelines and act like the War doesn’t apply to him. We've all been lucky, to be able to live somewhat normal lives. Many other people aren’t so lucky. And those people aren’t nothing to us. They’re our friends -- our coworkers and mentors...even just people who we’ve gotten used to seeing every day on our commute, but never really talk to. And those people do matter. Maybe not as much to us as other people do -- but they still matter.”

With another loud cough, not-Jacob crossed his arms and turned over in bed, away from Carewyn. The lawyer’s eyes narrowed upon his back.

“You called Jacob and me selfish, a moment ago,” she said a bit more coldly. “Well, we’re not selfish enough to only care about a human life if it benefits us.”

Glancing around, she eased herself off of the bed and stood up. She strolled across the room, over to the window in the corner, and looked out into the garden below. It was very well-manicured with many white flowers, but the hedges around it were so high, one could hardly see the sky. When she reached out her hands and, with a bit of effort, opened the window, though, Carewyn was a bit put-out to discover none of the nice ambient noise one could expect from opening a window: no wind blowing through the hedges, nor birds singing.

Looks like the shields around this house really are impregnable, she thought grimly. She had to get Jacob and herself out of here...

“What are you doing? Father shut that to keep out the cold air.”

Carewyn glanced at Not-Jacob. He was peeking over his shoulder at her without uncrossing his arms or fully turning over, which made him look all the more like a child stubbornly refusing to apologize for his bad behavior.

Carewyn regarded him with a slight wry smile. “Cold air doesn’t hurt you when you’re sick. When you cough, you’re expelling the germs that are making you sick into the air -- if you keep all the windows closed, then all you’re breathing in is the air that made you sick in the first place. So we need to bring in some fresh air so it can push the bad air out.”

“Yeah, right,” said Not-Jacob, as he turned back over.

Carewyn could practically feel him pause. Then, abruptly, he said,

“Bring me some soup.”

Carewyn cocked her eyebrows.

“Hack -- if anything’ll make me feel better, it’s some soup,” Not-Jacob said petulantly. “So bring me some.”

Do I look like a maidservant to you? Carewyn thought scornfully. I have no idea where the kitchen even is in this house, anyway.

“Sorry, but your father told me to stay here with you,” she said primly instead.

“Well, then, the very least you can do is sing something, to help me sleep,” not-Jacob said without skipping a beat, as he closed his eyes. “You said that I should be sleeping, so I can build up my strength.”

Carewyn gave Not-Jacob’s back a rather bewildered look. He didn’t look at her again, though -- instead he simply sat there and waited. Rather than merely seeming expectant or entitled, though, there was something anticipatory, coming off of him -- almost hopeful.

Blaise singing to a dark-haired teenager resting fitfully in this exact same bed -- “You are my sunshine -- my only sunshine -- ” -- Blaise fixing the boy’s collar as he sat at the piano --  “You’ll be able to hear her sing yourself, when she does -- ”

The tension in Carewyn’s eyebrows slowly faded, despite herself. It left her expression far more pensive than it had been previously, as she settled herself back down on the bed. She paused, considering the stranger wearing her brother’s face still turned away from her in bed as his shoulders tensed.

Blaise’s son must still be rather young, Carewyn considered for the first time. A young teenager, most likely, if one factored in both his vocabulary and his bratty attitude. How old was he when his father went to Azkaban, with the rest of R? He would’ve had to have been at least a toddler, to have any memory of the Ministry arresting Blaise. How old was this boy now, when he wasn’t wearing Jacob’s twenty-seven-year-old face?

Carewyn’s eyes drifted around her cousin’s bedroom. However sparsely decorated Lane’s old room had been, this room was not so austere. It actually looked rather cluttered and “lived-in,” despite the grandiose furniture and bed curtains. A large collection of model dragons, griffins, basilisks, and Acromantula was scattered about the room; the bookshelf was almost completely full, its only incomplete row of books being supported by a pair of dragon-skull-shaped bookends; and there was a fake dog skeleton wearing a red collar and an ugly Christmas sweater sitting loyally next to the chair in the corner. There were even two signed posters for Lorcan D’Eath and the magical boy band Spellb🔮und hung up on the far wall beside the bed’s ornate side table. What caught Carewyn’s eye most, though, was the tiny model thestrals that had been hung on every handle or knob in the room so that they dangled off of them, their wings occasionally flapping with the force of gravity.

Carewyn’s eyes lingered on the thestral dangling off the side table’s drawer handle as she quietly inhaled and started to sing.

“Hush-a-bye -- don't you cry -- go to sleep, little baby... When you wake, you shall have all the pretty little horses...”

As soon as she started singing, she could feel the boy wearing Jacob’s face give the slightest start, but it almost instantly softened his posture. Almost immediately, all of the tension had rippled off his shoulders, and his arms crossed so tightly over his chest had fallen loose beside his covers. His hand even lightly clutched his covers. He’d also gone so quiet that it was clear he was paying her rapt attention.

“Dapples and greys -- pintos and bays -- all the pretty little horses...”

Carewyn could sense something almost wistful coming off of her cousin, as she sang for him -- watching his model thestrals “fly” across his room -- wishing he could ride one -- crying bitterly when his father broke one, in the heat of anger, when he was a toddler -- clinging to his legs, sobbing and begging forgiveness -- “I’m sorry, Father! I won’t leave you alone -- I swear I won’t!” -- Blaise holding an older boy, bringing a hand through his hair -- “ -- no one out there could love you as much as I do -- remember that -- ”

Blaise’s son isn’t happy here, any more than Mum was, Carewyn realized. He just feels guilty about the thought of leaving his father...no matter how badly Blaise treats him...

Her blue eyes softened with pity despite herself as she reached out and rested a hand on top of her cousin’s hand on the covers. The gesture made him flinch, so Carewyn sang the next lines more gently, in an attempt to reassure him.

“Way down yonder, in the meadow, Poor little baby, cryin’, ‘Mama’... Birds and the butterflies flutter ‘round his eyes -- Poor little baby, cryin’, ‘Mama’...”

Slowly not-Jacob seemed to relax again. Carewyn could once again sense Blaise in his thoughts -- the times when his touch made the boy flinch, as he wasn’t sure what kind of mood his father was in, when he held him so tightly --

“Don’t pull away, and perhaps I won’t hold so tight -- ”

Carewyn very gently took her cousin’s hand, being careful not to hold it too tightly. She wanted to comfort, not restrict him.

“Hush-a-bye -- don't you cry...go to sleep, little baby...”

Not-Jacob quietly exhaled as Carewyn’s song came to an end. His hand even very lightly enclosed over Carewyn’s in return as she heard the click of the door opening behind them.

She looked over her shoulder, to see Blaise and Corban Yaxley in the door frame.

“Here you are, Corban,” said Blaise. “Your proof of my testimony.”

His blue eyes passed from his disguised son in bed to Carewyn, zeroing in on her holding his hand. Something strangely happy flitted through his expression, before he put on a more solemn face and approached his niece.

“How is he?” he asked softly. The sincerity came through seemingly despite himself, but so did something oddly smug that Carewyn couldn’t quite place, thanks to his rock-hard Occlumency.

Carewyn’s eyes narrowed up at her uncle. “Better. You shouldn’t have shut him up in your son’s room like this -- he’s not going to get any better, breathing in nothing but stale air.”

Blaise looked miffed at being told how to take care of his son, but he tried to feign nonchalance. “I merely thought to stave off the chill.”

He turned to Yaxley, who was peering carefully down at not-Jacob.

“As you can see, Jacob is in no fit state to have been anywhere, Hogsmeade village included,” said Blaise in a slightly haughtier voice. “I don’t know who your scouts thought they saw, back there -- but my nephew has been here at the Cromwell estate since this morning.”

Not-Jacob stirred at that moment. He glanced from Blaise, his eyes blinking blearily up at him, before looking over at Carewyn.

“...Pip...” he rasped.

The nickname coming out of anyone besides Jacob made Carewyn incredibly uncomfortable, but she quickly feigned concern as she rested a hand over not-Jacob’s head on the pillow.

“Shh,” she whispered. “Don’t try to talk...rest now...”

Not-Jacob’s hair fell into his eyes as he reclined back on the pillows with a tired sigh. Carewyn brought a hand down to gently pat his head -- out the sight of her eye, she could see Yaxley’s upper lip curling with displeasure.

“...I see,” snarled the new Head of Magical Law Enforcement. “I suppose there must’ve been some sort of mistake.”

It was clear he didn’t fully believe this -- but with Jacob present, and seemingly too ill to leave his bed, he didn’t have anything to justify further investigation. He’d been outmaneuvered...and he was not happy about it. And the Death-Eater-turned-Ministry-employee turned on his heel as if to leave.

“Very well -- I shall leave you to tend to your nephew,” he said coldly. “I’ll make a follow-up trip tomorrow, to check on his progress.”

“I’ll expect you at noon,” Blaise replied crisply. 

Yaxley headed for the open door. Waiting in the hall just outside was Carewyn’s brown-haired, doll-like aunt Claire. At the sight of his sister, Blaise straightened up a bit -- she gave a covert little nod before shooting an anxious look over at Yaxley. Blaise’s eyes narrowed.

“Claire, escort Corban back to the fireplace, won’t you?” the Head of the Cromwell Clan said pointedly. “I daresay he has very pressing matters to attend to, back at the Ministry.”

Yaxley shot Blaise a rather dirty look over his shoulder, before sweeping back down the hall from whence he came. Claire rushed after Yaxley -- even after they had both left down the stairs, Blaise remained in the door frame, listening carefully as their steps faded away down the hall below.

“Winnie?”

Carewyn looked down at not-Jacob. He hadn’t opened his eyes yet, still pretending to be asleep.

“Yes?” she asked.

“Your brother’s hair is really long and annoying,” he mumbled.

Carewyn’s lips turned up in a slight smile as she reached out to smooth some of her brother’s messy curls out of Not-Jacob’s face. He relaxed again, smiling ever-so-slightly despite himself.

“Did it work, Father?” he asked a bit more loudly.

“Quiet, son,” Blaise said tersely. “I’m trying to hear.”

Not-Jacob shut up at once. Carewyn glanced at Blaise -- her uncle’s eyes were narrowed upon the staircase as he listened hard. Finally, in the distance, Carewyn heard the loud WHOOSH of the downstairs fireplace, and Blaise’s shoulders finally relaxed as he exhaled.

“...He’s gone,” he murmured.

Not-Jacob blearily opened his eyes at last, his features spreading into a bigger, brighter smile.

“So it worked?” he asked eagerly. Then he devolved into a coughing fit.

“Hush,” said Blaise sternly. “Lie back down before you cough up your entire lung.”

Once his son had quieted down again, Blaise gave him a smug smile.

“...Yes, it worked. You needn’t have worried -- it was truly not so difficult for your father to manage. Your Uncle Corban has always been a stupid man.”

“If he’s so stupid, I must wonder why it took you so long to join us,” Carewyn said dryly.

Blaise shrugged. “Perhaps I just wanted to give Tristan some time to get to know his cousin.”

He crossed over to not-Jacob (in truth Tristan Cromwell), fetching a small, green-tinted bottle out of his robes.

“Here, son, drink this. No sense in you looking like a ragamuffin any longer than you have to...”

Tristan obeyed. As soon as he’d downed the contents of the bottle, his frame began to morph, his features smoothing out with fresh youth, his height shrinking and Jacob’s long curls bending back in on themselves and straightening out to a flat, straight black.

When the Polyjuice Potion’s effects had been completely negated, Carewyn found a pale, frail-looking thirteen-year-old boy laying in the spot where the “not-Jacob” had before. And when he blinked up drowsily at Carewyn with eyes as blue and almond-shaped as hers, but far less sunken-in or tired than hers or Jacob’s, he offered her a weak, cheeky smile.

“Hi, Winnie,” he said impishly.

“Hello, Tristan,” Carewyn answered coolly. “And it’s Carewyn, please.”

“Father calls you Winnie, so will I,” Tristan shot back. “After all, I’m going to be head of the Cromwell Clan someday -- which means one day, I’ll be head of you too.”

“Sorry -- but the only head that shall dictate my fate is the one on my own shoulders,” Carewyn said very coldly.

Rather than being offended by this, Tristan's cheeky smile spread as he gave another hacking cough.

“Hack -- I made Winnie sing for me,” he told his father, his haughty voice oddly boyish in its mischief.

“I heard,” said Blaise, looking incredibly pleased with both himself and his son as he smirked at Carewyn. “Very pretty, Winnie. I sincerely hope it was a song your mother picked up somewhere, rather than something from that Muggle wretch who sired you.”

Carewyn felt a flare of loathing.

“Stop calling me Winnie -- and Mum did sing it to Jacob and me as children, yes,” she said. Her red lips curled up in a rather cold smirk of her own as she added, “It’s an old folk song -- though the version Mum heard first was performed by her favorite Muggle band, Peter, Paul, and Mary.”

Blaise’s nose wrinkled at once, but Carewyn pressed on a bit more aggressively.

“Now enough stalling, Blaise. I want to see my brother. Now.”

Blaise gave a rather irritable sigh. “Oh, all right. Forgive me for trying to encourage some familial affection...”

His tone dripped with a kind of passive-aggressiveness that could make anyone want to punch him in the nose. But before he could say or do anything else, the clock tolling in the hall made him stiffen like a startled cat. Tristan likewise had bolted up in bed, looking up toward the hall.

“Father?” the boy said hesitantly.

“Blast!” swore Blaise. “Pacifying Corban took more time than I thought -- ”

Carewyn cocked her eyebrows dully at Blaise. Guess he wasn’t so easy to deal with, after all.

Blaise strolled out of Tristan’s room to the top of the staircase, shouting down the stairs.

“CLAIRE! Keep Pearl and that neanderthal husband of yours on the ground floor until I come down there, do you hear me!?”

Somewhere downstairs, Carewyn caught the muffled sound of Claire’s voice obediently shouting back some kind of assent before dashing down the stairs. Blaise then swept back over to the bed and brought a hand down on his son’s head, looking down at him sternly as he steered him back down onto his back.

“Rest here quietly until I return, Tristan,” he told him. “I must send Winnie on her way at once.”

Carewyn’s brows knit together tightly over her eyes in righteous anger. “I’m not leaving without -- !”

“Without Jacob, I know, now be quiet and come with me!” spat Blaise venomously.

He tried to grab hold of Carewyn’s arm again, but this time she was able to dodge his hold.

“Don’t touch me,” she said fiercely as she dashed out the door of Tristan’s room and back to the top of the stairs. 

Sensing that Carewyn would at least follow him this time, Blaise gave an irritated growl before sweeping past her and down the stairs. Carewyn glanced back at Tristan briefly, noting the anxiety in his pale, boyish face, before quickly taking off after her uncle.

“Your brother is already in the room across from my office,” Blaise shot over his shoulder at Carewyn as they raced down the hall. “I instructed Claire to move him to the chaise longue in there while I distracted Corban. In the office is the Floo grate you can use to transport Jacob out of here -- I’ll mop up whatever blood he leaves behind once you’re gone -- ”

The thought of Jacob bleeding heavily made Carewyn’s heart pang with anxiety. She tried once again to reach out to Jacob with her mind.

Jacob. Jacob!

That familiar presence stirred again.

Pip? Pip!

He was close! Carewyn felt her heart leap.

Jacob! Jacob, are you awake?

Pip -- no -- I don’t think so, Pip --

Images of buildings overwhelmed by Fiendfyre dragons and manticores swam over Carewyn’s eyes. Jacob himself was fully surrounded, flinching with pain every time the heat lashed at his limbs -- holding his arms out wide as if to protect the alley behind him from the flames he was actively confronting -- Jacob’s determined thoughts echoing in her own head, and then his voice choked by the sooty air -- I can’t let them go any farther -- “Finite Daemonium!” --

You’re dreaming, Jacob, she told him firmly.

I thought so. Pip, where are we? You’re close, but...I can’t tell where you are, from looking at it...

Never mind that now. Don’t worry, I’m coming --

Carewyn was so locked on her brother’s mind that she ended up overtaking Blaise in the last stretch, barreling over to the door through which she could sense Jacob. She seized the door to the room neighboring the office that had once belonged to Charles Cromwell and threw it open.

Lying prone on his stomach across the chaise longue was the real Jacob. His face, neck, and back were covered in bandages and orange burn paste, both of which could only half disguise the severe burn marks that slashed across his back and had hacked a good chunk out of his long hair.

Carewyn’s heart leapt into her throat.

“Jacob!”

She ran to her brother’s side and quickly tried to turn him over enough that she could take hold of his face with both hands.

Jacob! Carewyn urged him with her mind. I’m here, Jacob -- focus on my voice, Jacob --

Jacob gave a soft groan of pain in his sleep, but inside his own mind, he was more aware and easier to hear than before.

Pip. Pip -- Honeydukes. Were there casualties?

Carewyn’s heart sank remembering what Tristan had said about the Death Eaters’ attack in Hogsmeade.

...I don’t know, but...the building was completely destroyed. It was burned to the ground.

She could feel Jacob’s heart pang with guilt and sorrow, hearing this. The face of a pretty woman with a blond bun and a strong jawline handing him several boxes rippled over her eyes -- “ -- for your tenants, not you, so don’t gorge yourself -- ”

“You’ll have to hide him yourself,” said Blaise tersely, once he’d caught up with her. “Claire might be loyal enough to keep her mouth shut, and Pearl dislikes the Dark Lord’s methods enough herself that she won’t be too cross, but I can’t take the risk that that idiot Marek learns of Jacob’s true condition, considering his blood relations...”

Carewyn’s eyes shot back up to Blaise, narrowing slightly.

“Is this why you wanted me to come so quickly?” she asked. “Because you knew once Claire’s husband came home, it’d be harder to hide Jacob from him and the Death Eaters?”

“Of course,” snorted Blaise. “Your brother would undoubtedly throw a fit if he woke up here. And although I would normally be perfectly willing to deal with one of your brother’s little temper tantrums, Marek hears more than enough from Corban that he’d be able to deduce where Jacob’s injuries came from, if he saw them. And just about everything Marek thinks, Corban could eventually hear.”

Jacob’s form twitched sharply.

Pip. Pip -- is that Blaise with you?

Jacob seemed to writhe in both anger and anxiety, even through the pain that still pulsed through his every vein and made it hard for him to move. Carewyn hurriedly brought a hand through his bangs, trying to soothe him.

It’s okay, Jacob. It’s okay.

“As much as I could take better care of both of you here,” Blaise said with a glare across the hall at the closed office door, “I’ll have to leave this to you and your mother, to sort out...”

The Head of the Cromwell Clan strode over to the office, threw open the door, and moved toward the blazing fireplace. He seized a cluster of Floo powder from a dish on the mantle and tossed it into the flames, turning them a bright emerald green. Then he returned to the sitting room where Carewyn was bent down beside Jacob, hoisting Jacob up into his arms with some difficulty so he could carry the younger man into the office. Some blood leaked through the bandages on Jacob’s right shoulder, staining the carpet.

“Ugh -- you’re far too weak to lift him on your own, but I must get downstairs quickly,” Blaise instructed Carewyn. “Choose your destination, and then use Mobilicorpus to carry him into the grate. The fireplace’s tiles are already arranged in the correct order to allow one to leave on a Tuesday, so we shouldn’t have to worry about anyone else coming through the Floo Network in the meantime.”

Seeing Carewyn's deep frown at his word choice, Blaise gave her a dark smile.

“Your grandfather was very strict about when a person could come or go from this house, and so am I,” he said, lowering Jacob down into the armchair beside the fireplace. “Be grateful for my mercy, under the circumstances.”

Carewyn pursed her lips.

“Grateful? For not keeping us locked up in a cage?” she whispered tartly. “Forgive me for not singing your praises. It’s shameful enough that you’ve already done it to your own son -- ”

“I’m protecting him,” Blaise retorted, his eyes flaring with temper. “Just as I would you, Lane, and Jacob, if you all would just open your eyes. At least then you and Jacob wouldn’t be throwing yourselves into Fiendfyre for the sake of some low-class shopkeepers -- ”

Jacob must’ve heard that through his connection with Carewyn’s mind, despite the state of delirium he was in, for at that moment he lashed out his limbs violently. The burns to his chest, however, abruptly made his body crumple in on itself as he moaned in pain.

“Clearly those ‘low-class shopkeepers’ mean a lot to Jacob,” Carewyn said fiercely. “So keep your insults to yourself.”

She turned her focus back to Jacob, trying to send soothing thoughts through her Legilimency. Then, her eyes still narrowed, she looked back up toward Blaise, her gaze landing on his shoulder rather than his face.

“...Thank you,” she said softly. “For saving him.”

Blaise scoffed as he turned away. “I said it before -- I’m the head of our family. It’s my duty to take care of you.”

Despite this, his face betrayed a rather self-satisfied expression as he headed for the open door. Once he’d reached it, he rested his hand on the frame as turned back to look over his shoulder again at Carewyn.

“Safe travels, Winnie,” he said, unable to fight back a smug smirk despite himself. “Do try to return home sometime in October, won’t you? Tristan plays the piano for hours, on his birthday...”

“This is not my home, Blaise,” Carewyn said coldly. “And don’t call me Winnie.”

Blaise was still smirking like a cat who’d successfully caught a rat as he retreated from the room, closing the office door behind him with a snap. As soon as Blaise was gone, Carewyn took her wand back out and flourished it at Jacob.

“Mobilicorpus.”

Ghostly white ropes emerged from her wand and lashed themselves onto Jacob’s limbs, allowing her to lift him off the chaise longue and carry him after her like a balloon on a string.

Pip --

Shh, Carewyn sent Jacob more comforting vibes through her Legilimency. You can sleep easy now, Jacob -- we’re going home.

With some difficulty, she eased herself and Jacob into the Cromwell fireplace, resting a hand beside Jacob’s head so that it didn’t accidentally hit the top of it.

“Cromwell Cottage,” Carewyn said her mother’s new address very clearly, “Tintagel, Cornwall!”

And with a flash of green and a WHOOSH of air, both Carewyn and Jacob disappeared from the Cromwell Manor.

~*~

Lane Cromwell was also absolutely beside herself, at the sight of her son. She quickly shut down all emotion so she could set about brewing a large batch of burn paste at her large kitchen cauldron, while Carewyn reached out to her Healer friend Chiara, who sent over several more potions she’d brewed herself via Owl Post, which were specifically intended for reversing curse damage.

After administering the multiple potions to Jacob both orally and topically over the course of several hours, Jacob’s condition finally seemed to improve -- his back and right shoulder had scarred over badly thanks to the violently angry third-degree burns, but the pain had finally been tempered enough that Jacob could sleep peacefully and wake up very early the next morning, just before sunrise. Carewyn, who’d curled up asleep in the chair at Jacob’s bedside, woke up not long after he did, subconsciously sensing his thoughts poking at the inside of her mind.

Pip. Can you hear me, Pip?

She stirred restlessly.

Jacob...?

She slowly opened her eyes. Her older brother smiled tiredly up at her from the bed.

“Morning, Pip,” he murmured. His orange-paste-soaked, scruffy face was very gentle as he passed her several comforting mental images through his Legilimency -- Jacob and Carewyn hugging each other upon their shared graduation from Hogwarts -- them singing Christmas carols together -- Jacob as a teenager carrying his very sleepy little sister on his back to bed --

Carewyn immediately moved to unfurl herself from the ball she’d been curled up in on the chair, rubbing her eyes quickly to try to wake herself up.

“Jacob...”

She slid out of the chair to the floor, crawling on her knees over to Jacob’s bed. When she reached him, she threw her head protectively over his heart as Jacob -- predicting the move long before she’d made it thanks to his Legilimency -- encircled her in his arms, bringing a hand gently through her hair. She knew he could feel her heart beating against the front of her rib cage -- see the memory of how scared she was, seeing his condition at Cromwell Manor -- Lane’s reaction, to seeing him...

“I’m sorry, Pip,” he whispered. “I’m sorry I worried you. You and Mum.”

Carewyn gave his arm a squeeze. “You were just trying to help the Flumes and Rosmerta. I know that.”

“I was,” assented Jacob guiltily. “But I should’ve been faster, I should’ve been able to do more. Then maybe Honeydukes...”

He exhaled heavily as he closed his eyes.

“I’d really wanted to save it,” he said lowly. “Even if just some of it was salvageable, at least then the Flumes would have somewhere to go -- some piece of what they had, at least some small thing they could hold onto and build off of. But they don’t...and now Hermia...”

He broke off, too despondent to put his grief into words. Carewyn gave her brother’s arm another supportive squeeze.

“They can rebuild, Jacob,” she said gently. “Jae told me that there were no casualties in Hogsmeade that night, because someone was able to reach the heart of the Fiendfyre tearing up the village and extinguish it.”

Carewyn smiled softly.

“I have a strong feeling that ‘someone’ was you, Jacob. And if it was, then the Flumes, and everyone else in Hogsmeade...they owe you their lives.”

She passed the warm pride that made her chest fit to burst through her mind to Jacob’s. It made his brother hold her that bit more tightly, leaning down awkwardly to rest his head on top of hers on his chest. Carewyn could see herself carrying Jacob into the Cromwell grate while supporting his head -- herself at age fifteen, running through the Portrait Vault to throw her arms around Jacob --

“And as usual,” he said through a slightly choked smile, “I owe you mine.”

Carewyn could sense him parsing through her memories of the Cromwell Manor. Seeing Blaise and that dark, cold house through her eyes made Jacob’s heart flare with distrust and resentment.

“Thanks for getting me out of there, Pip,” he murmured. “I don’t like thinking I owe that no-good, gaslighting old knob Blaise a favor.”

“After everything he did to you as part of R, this is the very least he could do,” Carewyn said dryly. “Even so...for once, I’d say we should be glad that Blaise is only stupid enough to pacify the Death Eaters, not actively support them...and that he’ll choose to protect you over elevating those relations of his that do.”

She paused. The memory of sitting by Tristan’s bedside while he was disguised as Jacob passed over her mind.

“...Jacob?”

“Yeah, Pip?”

“I think we should send something along in October, for Blaise’s son’s birthday. What Muggle sheet music do you think we should send him?”

Jacob blinked. Then his bandaged face broke into a huge grin as he started to laugh.

“...Dancing Queen. Merlin Alive, Pip, one of them HAS to be Dancing Queen.”

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #my writing #carewyn cromwell #blaise cromwell #jacob cromwell #tristan cromwell #corban yaxley #claire cromwell #hermia flume #clare's a stay-at-home mom so she's pretty much always at the cromwell manor #blaise stayed home because 'family emergency' -- in this case tristan being sick #the others all have work until five or six in the evening #including tristan's older cousins arsen and kain (pearl's sons) and dahlia iris heather and elmer (claire's kids) #they have very prompt schedules and are expected to *never* be late #due to blaise's latent 'control freak' issues (thanks charles) #so yeah little to no social life for those poor kids :( #still at least they get *some* social interaction by being at work -- poor tristan is stuck inside almost 24/7 #unless his father actually agrees to take him on an outing #tristan is fascinated with creatures and their anatomy hence the dog skeleton #he put the ugly christmas sweater and collar on it because it's the closest thing he has to a pet #the dog skeleton's name is funny bone #honestly this kid would be SUCH a tim burton fan if he was in the muggle world #he's legit that 'weird kid' archetype #it's also why thestrals are his favorite magical creature -- he thinks their skeletal look is oddly beautiful #not that he's been able to see one for real hence why he looks at pictures others have drawn and collects models of them #honestly it was kind of fun to explore tristan's personality outside the cinderella au #in canon they meet when they're older and after blaise was sent to azkaban due to carewyn and jacob's efforts #so yeah a bit more baggage and yet also tristan is older and has seen how desperately blaise wants their family together again #even though yeah jacob carewyn and lane are thoroughly within their rights not to want to engage with that toxic bugger

[carewyncromwell]

“Are we too far apart? Two worlds among the stars? You’re gonna take a piece of my heart if you leave... So it’s two separate ways, Or am I too late to say, I wanna fight for what we got? ‘Cause I believe in family...in family...”

~“Family” by TobyMac

x~x~x~x

I gotta say, I didn’t think I’d become so attached to Carewyn’s youngest cousin Tristan when I decided to write for him in that one drabble I did, but...yeah, here he ended up as a young adult with Carewyn in my sketchbook! Go figure! XD

But yeah, this is Tristan Cromwell, age 18, and dressed to the Goth Victorian nines. Yes, that is his aesthetic -- he would’ve 150% been that Tim Burton-obsessed weirdo kid, if he’d been raised in the Muggle World. I see this being him reaching out to his now-nearly-30-year-old cousin Carewyn at the Ministry of Magic, specifically talking at that one fountain in the center Atrium, which has gone through some changes since its pre-Wizarding-War days and especially since the Wizarding War itself. As you can see, Tristan’s grown up a lot since he appears in that drabble -- a bit personality-wise, yes, but definitely physically. Tristan ends up being the tallest and lankiest of all the Cromwells at 5′11″, making him both an inch taller than his father and the same height as his deceased grandfather, Charles. It also means he towers over Carewyn, the smallest Cromwell at 5′3″.

Despite his and Carewyn’s differences, though, Tristan as a young adult really becomes all the more motivated to fix the rift in his broken family. (I’m not joking, while working on this, I must have played Scott Shattuck’s cover of Waiting on a Miracle a good twenty times, imagining it as a theme for adult!Tristan.) As Blaise’s only son and heir, he’s presumed to be the one who’ll have to take on the mantle of leadership for the Clan, even while the youngest of the Cromwell cousins, so Tristan feels an obligation to do what his father has been unable to and bring Carewyn, Jacob, and Lane back into the fold. One lesson Tristan does internalize that Blaise never does, however, is that love is about sacrifice, not just possessive control...a lesson bolstered by his interactions with his favorite "bastard cousin,” Carewyn. I could even see Tristan seeking out Carewyn’s help with getting a position at the Ministry as an adult, since his father’s influence is far less than Charles’s was back in the day and Tristan’s lack of real-world experience, connections, and social skills hampers him in his job search.

“I’m a Cromwell! I’m not supposed to have to struggle to get the respect owed me.”

Fortunately for however proud and entitled Tristan is thanks to Blaise’s toxic influence, he also is painfully aware of his duty to his family and is determined to be the best Head he can be...even if it required him taking a desk job he’d be miserable at.

“Wouldn’t I, what, prefer to do something else? Obviously. I’ve been locked up inside nearly my whole life -- you don’t think I don’t wish every day I could just pack my bags and go running off into the sunset on some whirlwind adventure, the way your brother does? Hell, reckon even your precious Quidditch player’s able to do that sometimes, with how much travel he must get up to...

“...But...I can’t. Not when it’d break Father’s heart. Not when the whole Clan needs leadership, and just about all of them presume it has to be me. It’s not like it could be anyone else, really. Elmer’s not the leadership sort, and Arsen and Kain...they can’t even score a promotion with the Hitwizards, let alone take charge of the Clan. And Heather, Dahlia, and Iris, feh -- the Manor would probably get burned to the ground in a week if they called the shots.

“I was raised to do this, by my father. I have to do this, the way he has -- but I can’t do it his way. Not just because the Cromwell name’s been tarnished and Father can’t help me get ahead the way Grandfather did for him, but because...well...”

“...You’re not your father.”

“...Yes. And...if anything is going to get better, with our family...if I’m ever going to make things right...I can’t be like him, either. No matter how much I love him and no matter how much I want to make him proud...if I’m going to make that dream come true, I have to do things my way.

“So just...put in a good word for me, will you? Maybe Father’s word doesn’t have weight here at the Ministry, but yours does. You’re the Ministry’s Star Prosecutor, after all. Even if I do have to be stuck indoors all day, well, at least it’ll be a different ‘indoors.’ And I know Father will be pleased, if I ended up in your Department. Sure he’ll see it as the perfect excuse to try to lure you back home...”

Tristan’s lips were curled up in an amused, mischievous smirk, when he said this: one that made him more closely resemble that thirteen-year-old boy Carewyn had seen back at the Cromwell Manor during the War.

As one can expect, Carewyn didn’t flaunt her influence around to get Tristan a job the way he wanted...but, feeling some compassion for her cousin, she did line up several promising Ministry internship opportunities for him -- one with the Department of International Magical Cooperation, one in the Department of Magical Games and Sports’s office closer to Quidditch League Headquarters, one at St. Mungo’s sponsored by the Accidental Magical Reversal Squad, and even three for the Department of the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. None of those opportunities, however, were in Wizarding Law. 

Sorry, Tristan -- but I think you’ve had more than enough of being stuck indoors.

After much deliberation, Tristan selected one of the internships for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, specifically the one that required him to work with the Dragon Research and Restraint Bureau, exploring more humane methods of transport for the creatures across Muggle-occupied areas. Tristan’s extensive knowledge of magical creature anatomy ended up being very helpful in this task -- though the best part of the experience, by far, ended up being when he was able to finally see a real-life Welsh Green for the first time. After only ever knowing such creatures as models and drawings in books, Tristan almost couldn’t breathe when he was able to actually reach out and touch one, with his own hands.

Blaise would probably be more than a little disconcerted about his son ending up so close to such a dangerous creature -- but in that moment, Tristan couldn’t keep the huge grin off his face as he ran a hand gently along the dragon’s comb, rubbing his wet eyes on his sleeve. He’d never been so happy in all his life.

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #my art #tristan cromwell #carewyn cromwell #my writing #blaise cromwell #jacob cromwell #orion amari #yes for the record carewyn's become legal partners with orion at this point #blaise hates orion's guts LMAO #he thinks carewyn deserves better than 'some orphaned broom jockey' #tristan acts condescending too because he's seen the whole situation through his father's filtered perspective #but he at least is a bit more conscious of the fact that orion's a famous quidditch star #arsen and kain both love quidditch like their mum did XDDD #iris also may or may not have swooned over some of the sexier quidditch stars out there a few times #when she didn't think the adults could hear >) #dahlia's type is more 'scholar' and heather's type is more 'action hero' #but yeah anyway tangent aside tristan's actually a bit more okay with carewyn dating orion because hey he's famous #that's cool #even if yeah winnie isn't even getting married and having a 'real' family that weirdo *impish grin* #hey tristan is blaise's son what are you gonna do #at least he's more just immature naive and proud rather than an emotionally toxic gaslighter #tristan has actually thought a few times that carewyn would be a good leader of the Clan #but he knows she wouldn't be able to bring them together -- there's just too much baggage there #if he's going to be head of the Clan though tristan would want carewyn's support #he wants both her and his father's advice on this journey he's taking and he's hoping to walk a path between them #time will tell how well that will go #this pic is set in 2002 for the record -- tristan is 18 and carewyn is 29

[carewyncromwell]

“I haven't been running from my problems --  I've been running from you! What kind of parents would rather see their daughter dead Than be married to a man from the wrong family?!”

~“Stronger” from & Juliet

x~x~x~x

tw: physical and emotional abuse

x~x~x~x

The Cromwell estate was a very large property in the outskirts of Yorkshire. It was honestly remarkable that such an old and beautiful manor house could live in such isolation, but the cloaking spells around the house were virtually impregnable. It warded off not only Muggles, but all creatures as well. No one could Apparate onto or Disapparate out of the property -- instead one would either have to use the very well-guarded Floo Network grate in Charles’s office or Apparate outside the house and come through an enchanted gate that only a member of the Cromwell family could open. There were times that the enchantments around the house were so strong that it was even impervious to the elements outside, warding off rainstorms before they could go any further than the back gardens. 

Marilyn Cromwell would say it made her family’s home a sanctuary, safely detached from the normal mess and noise of everyday life. For Lane, however, not being able to go out and play in puddles, hear any birds singing outside, or even watch frost crystallize over the windowpane was just one more mark of how like a prison this house was. 

Now, of course, Lane hadn’t always seen it that way. In the beginning, she didn’t give the arrangement much thought at all, aside from her usual discontent at being forced to attend social gatherings and entertain her father’s coworkers. She’d contented herself with the contents of her father’s library for most of her life, escaping onto the pages of A History of Magic, Nature’s Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy, and biographies about Cornelius Agrippa and Uric the Oddball. Charles had actually encouraged Lane’s escapism in his own weird way, generously giving her free reign to borrow and read whatever book she wished from his library. It was a freedom Lane had cherished at the time, before realizing just how many subjects were censored from Charles’s collection. How many authors were censored from it...

It was largely thanks to the love of learning Charles had encouraged in Lane by reading in his library that resulted in her being sorted into Ravenclaw house. And sure enough, it was here -- and at Hogwarts itself -- that Lane saw starkly just how many things had been denied her at home. 

Not having to wake up at the same time every single day. 

Having a pet. 

Choosing what you wanted to wear, no matter what was scheduled for the day. 

Being allowed to eat whatever and as much as you wanted, when you wanted. 

Making real friends. 

Having actual privacy -- being allowed to write, do and say whatever you wanted, without being afraid that your father would somehow immediately know you’d done wrong no matter how much you might try to hide it. 

Even being able to sit back in a comfy chair and just look out the window! At school Lane had multiple windows in her dormroom -- ones tall as the ceiling and completely uncovered, which let in both sunlight and moonlight that lit up the whole room, and yet also looked out toward the entire Hogwarts grounds, thanks to the height of Ravenclaw Tower. At home Lane had to settle for one very tiny window mounted high on the wall over her bed, which overlooked nothing but the flower-trimmed hedges in the back garden. She could barely even see the sky, the hedges grew so high. 

And then there was the library. Hogwarts’s library was the place of dreams, for Lane Cromwell. Compared to her father’s admittedly rather respectable collection at home, Hogwarts’s library was nirvana -- endless rows of shelves, all a mile high, full of books about every subject: even ones Lane hadn’t known were subjects before! Books about scrying and Flesh-Eating Trees -- scholarly journals about new and developing Potions research -- even a few fictional stories written by Muggles! David Copperfield by Charles Dickens -- Animal Farm by George Orwell -- Treasure Island and The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson...all books Lane hid safely under her pillow in her dormroom, half out of fear of her siblings seeing her with them and half to sneak a few more chapters after curfew while everyone else was asleep. 

After reading those, she actually sought out other books written by Muggles -- this time regarding her favorite subject, history. Thanks to her dormmates, who were all thoroughly charmed by softspoken Lane getting so excited about something, the third-eldest Cromwell got her hands on even more interesting books, including The Diary of Anne Frank and biographies for Muggles like Elizabeth I and William Wilberforce. Lane’s dormmates also introduced her to other interesting Muggle things, like soda pop and roller-skates. And from there, Lane’s love of Muggles and the world they’d created only grew, to the point that she’d even fallen hard for a Muggle she’d collided with in her best friend Judy Castine’s neighborhood -- a protective, upright young man named Evan Bach.

At school Lane truly was happier than she’d ever been in her life. And Charles Cromwell most assuredly had noticed. That was made very clear to Lane when one day, during the winter break of her seventh year, Charles asked to speak to Lane privately in his study.

Charles’s study was a room no Cromwell child ever liked visiting. From the time they were very small, it was a place they were expected to stay away from, whenever the door was closed -- it meant that their father was busy, whether because he was speaking privately to some Ministry official he’d invited over or because he was speaking privately to one of them. And you did not interrupt Charles Cromwell when he was speaking to one of his children. No matter what you might hear -- no matter how much crying or pleading, no matter what kind of sounds might echo from behind that door, you never interrupted. You never tried to intervene. After all, it was just about always just a simple talk -- Charles never raised a hand or wand against his children, unless they really made him. And there was no reason for anyone to cry about something as normal as a talk with one’s father...

Lane’s hands were freezing cold at her sides as she approached her father’s study. The door was open -- she could see Charles sitting at his desk, his reading glasses on as he consulted some papers. Before she could even think of speaking, Charles looked up, greeting her with a cold smile as he slid his glasses off with one hand.

“Lane, my dear. Come in and close the door.”

Lane glanced down at the doorknob under her hand. She did not want to do that. She didn’t like being in a room alone with her father -- she’d never liked it, especially when he was angry --

But she knew she had no choice. With a swallow, Lane very reluctantly did as she was told. She closed the door behind her and wordlessly approached her father’s desk.

Charles considered his third daughter for a very long moment. It was a detached, and yet thoroughly penetrating stare -- one that made Lane feel exposed beyond belief. Like every flit of his eyes along her lightly freckled cheek and long, loose blond hair was a needle poking at every tiny, seemingly most insignificant flaw. 

“You seem apprehensive, child,” said Charles. 

His voice should’ve been concerned, and yet, for some reason, it didn’t sound that way, to Lane. Instead it sounded perfunctory -- rehearsed, somehow. 

“I’m sorry,” Lane mumbled at once. 

Judy’s father’s warm, reassuring face rippled over her memory. 

“Oh, now, don’t fret -- we won’t bite you. Go ahead, take off your coat -- ”

Charles’s eyebrows seemed to twitch. Lane felt her heart skip a beat anxiously. 

“I...I just...I hope I haven’t upset you,” she said very quickly. Her voice was a frail, breathy shadow of what her siblings’ were, even more so due to the slight strain that came from her nerves. “I’ve been studying very hard -- I’ll make sure to pass all my NEWTs...”

Charles didn’t respond to Lane’s nerves. Instead he merely gave a very slow nod of muted approval.

“As is proper. With a brain like yours, I would expect nothing less.”

Lane attempted a weak smile. “...Th-thank you, Father.”

Charles, however, did not smile in return. He merely watched her, his bue eyes boring into her with singular focus. Lane could feel a cold chill running along the back of her head, almost like a claw -- it made her stiffen despite herself. 

“I’ve summoned you here so that we may discuss your future,” Charles said airily. 

Lane faltered. “...My future?”

“Yes. After your schooling has ended. Surely you’ve considered it -- how you intend to be useful to the Cromwell Clan?”

The claw seemed to scratch at the inside of her brain. Lane flinched. 

“...I...I did, yes,” said Lane meekly. 

Memories of her Career Advice session with her Head of House flitted over her mind. Pleasant conversation by a sunny window, alongside a cup of tea and some fairy cakes --

Lane suddenly felt like the claw poke a single, sharp nail right into her brain. She gave a soft cry as it scraped across her skull, dragging that memory up to the forefront of her mind --

“It’s your life, Miss Cromwell -- may as well live it! So? What is it that you want to do?”

“...I...I want to be a Historian. Like Bathilda Bagshot. I want to travel, and study dig sites...maybe even write a book, someday -- ”

“If that’s what you want to do, then I say you should do it! And don’t you let anyone tell you otherwise -- ”

“A Magical Historian?” Charles’s low Bass tone seemed to echo through Lane’s brain, warping the memory she’d been forced to relive. 

Lane felt like her head had been roughly thrown backward. She choked, blinking back tears as she tried to orient herself. The room was spinning...

“Lane, my dear, I’m disappointed,” Charles pressed on as if nothing had happened. “Magical Historians have always been severely undervalued, from an economic standpoint -- why, even Bathilda Bagshot herself only just barely stays afloat, on the back of her book sales. You know full well you can’t support a husband and children of your own, with so pitiful a salary.”

Lane swallowed, trying to catch her breath. 

“Yes, but...won’t it be all right, for a little while?” she said timidly. “At least...while I’m unmarried? Mother said I’d stay at home, a-after graduation...a-at least until then...so I won’t need to find a home, just yet. I...I could save up whatever I don’t spend on food and necessities -- ”

“That won’t be necessary,” Charles cut her off. “I’ve already made arrangements to ensure you’ll be well-provided for.”

Lane’s shoulders tensed. 

“...What arrangements?” she said very softly. 

Charles offered Lane a very cold smile. “Come now, Lane, my dear...what other kind of arrangements could I mean? You’ve grown into a very pretty, well-read, obedient young lady -- it’s high time that we capitalize on those favorable qualities, while your bloom is still new.”

“But -- but I thought that Pearl and Claire would -- ”

Lane’s voice was naturally so quiet and insubstantial that Charles was able to talk over her without even having to raise his voice. 

“Your lack of enthusiasm during our most recent gathering was rather troublesome, for your mother. Fortunately I’ve been in contact with Elias Urquart, and he believes his son Claude would do very well in the company of a quiet, patient young lady like you...”

“F-Father -- ”

Lane felt the claw sinking its claws into her head again, latching onto the fear in her brain. She gave a weak cry as that ball of fear inside of her was seemingly slammed down into her throat, forcing her into choked, suffocated silence. 

“And I must agree,” said Charles, seemingly not even noticing his daughter’s distress. “Why, a lady so soft-spoken and frail as you needs a proper husband to provide for her, if she’s going to make it in a cut-throat world like this. And with Claude’s wealth and the size of his family’s estate, you would be able to raise quite a respectable family, there. A son or two -- a daughter, perhaps. All within a stone’s throw of Cromwell Manor, as well. Your mother and I will never be far away...”

Fear. All Lane could feel was fear. Over her eyes, she could see Cromwell Manor -- the endless halls, lonely and dark -- the dining hall, underscored by Marilyn’s digs at her posture and table manners -- the windows never touched by frost or rain -- 

No -- no -- 

Lane felt her knees give way, but it was like she couldn’t even feel the floor. Both it and the room she’d been in were invisible to her eyes, through the pain in her mind. 

Locked doors. Barred windows and high hedges. Those would be her future, for the rest of her life. The thought made her intestines snake out around her nauseously pumping heart and stomach and squeeze. In her mind, she was back in her room right after her first year, miserably peeking out through that tiny window in a vain attempt to see the sky -- missing Judy and Simon and Carol -- all of her professors -- Evan -- Evan, oh, Evan -- me, married, Evan --

Then, all at once, the fear suffocating her throat seemed to slowly dissipate. 

Lane gasped for air. Her knees were throbbing with pain from the impact with the floor -- her hair was wet with sweat and her pale hands clutching the carpet were trembling. She tried to take several deep breathes, even as her father’s shadow engulfed her.

“Lane,” he said in a strange, almost paternal manner. “My poor child...there’s no need to be frightened...”

Lane felt her father bring his hands under her arms and gently hoist her up as if she were a child. She blinked up at him, trying to see through the teary blur that had overtaken her vision. 

When she made direct eye contact with Charles, however, she instantly knew she’d made a mistake. 

At once, the claw had seized hold of her brain again, making her crumple up in her father’s arms. Her frail voice came out in a weak, pitiful scream, more akin to a badly wounded animal, as the claw tore into her mind with force.

“Who is he, Lane?” her father’s voice rumbled through her head like some kind of distant thunder.

Lane could see Professor Slughorn, in her mind -- Professor Dumbledore --  Judy’s and her father Roy’s smiling faces --

Her father was searching. He was searching for him. 

Evan’s silhouette in the diner, by the jukebox, was brought to the front of her mind -- he’d be turning around any moment -- introducing himself -- 

No! 

Lane shoved Evan to the back of her mind. The claw seemed to dig in further, shoving things crassly aside trying to get to the memory, but Lane tried to push it back.

No -- no, you can’t have him!

“Who is he, Lane?” Charles’s voice rumbled more forebodingly than ever.

No!

The claw slammed down into her brain with the force of knives. Lane could hear her own screams echoing endlessly in her ears. Still, however terrified she was and however numb with pain her body was, she still weakly tried to keep Evan obscured.

Don’t think of his face -- don’t let Father hear him say his name --

Lane had read about Legilimency in the Library. Sure, none of the books gave much guidance about how it worked or how to prevent it, but she still immediately knew that that had to be how her father was so able to see through her and her siblings, when they were young. That had to be how he was able to hurt them like this, without ever raising his wand. 

Legilimency is a magic that allows a magic user to view someone else’s thoughts or memories. 

That was what the book had said. And so that is what Lane focused on -- however much Charles tried to shove the thought and memory aside to reach Evan, Lane desperately tried to stay locked on the memory of reading that book, while kicking and writhing to try to get out of her father’s arms --

You can’t have him -- you can’t hurt him -- 

Evan’s hand, holding hers -- no, not his face -- “your parents -- they shouldn’t say stuff like that to you” -- his comforting smile -- “I’d look after you -- I mean -- ”

Lane felt both the claw and her father throw her roughly to the floor. She collided with the side table, making the glass lamp on it smash on top of her with a loud CRASH, before she crumpled to the floor, shaking and breathing heavily as she blinked back both tears and blood. The glass must’ve collided with her head...

“So it seems you’ve read up on my particular talent,” Charles murmured. “I must wonder if Blaise prompted that...”

He bent down beside Lane. Rather than help her up, however, the head of the Cromwell Clan merely looked down at her with such an emotionless, uncaring look that he resembled one of the china dolls Lane had seen in Judy’s room at her house. 

“I do not know who that boy is,” he said, his Bass voice so low and hushed with displeasure, it was like a demon bitterly whispering his terms to his latest target, “but you will discard him immediately, or else I shall have to make pointed inquiries to Hogwarts’s school governors, regarding his identity. We don’t need you getting distracted, do we?”

Charles’s voice grew darker still as he leaned his hand on the floor right beside Lane’s head. 

“Never forget that your life -- your future -- everything you are and ever will be -- has been written to serve the Clan’s interests. My interests. It is I who has paid for your home, comfort, and safety -- the clothes you wear and the food you eat -- and it is I whom you shall have to pay that back for, with interest. I wished to be generous -- allowing you the freedom to be a bit more selfish at school, if just for a short while...but sadly, the clock has run out, and playtime is over. It’s high time that you grow up and accept your duty as a member of the Cromwell Clan. Your duty to your father and leader.”

Charles’s almond-shaped blue eyes grew a little smaller.

“Have I made myself clear?”

Lane’s face had lost all its color. Her long blond hair fell into her face as she crumpled up on the floor, bowing her head.

“...Yes, sir,” she whispered.

Charles seemed to relax a bit. Lane could hear the floor creak a bit under him as he got up off the floor. 

“Good,” he said, his curt voice feigning gentility again. “Now then -- go clean yourself up and get ready for supper. Your mother plans to serve a lovely roast goose.”

Lane heard the door of Charles’s office open and -- without seemingly any hesitation -- his footsteps down the hall.

Lane remained still on the floor, bleeding and weak, for what felt like ages. When the clock chimed the hour, though, she knew it was in truth only about fifteen minutes. 

It was right as the clock chimed that Lane felt someone hoist her up off the floor.

“Lane,” she heard Pearl sigh in aggravation, “why do you always have to be such a thorn in our sides...?”

Despite muttering this, her older sister nonetheless hoisted Lane up onto her back and carried her to her room. 

Lane didn’t speak at all while Pearl carried her -- her older sister likewise didn’t say anything to her, though she did have to fend off Blaise at one point, when he saw Lane on her back.

“You need to support her head better!” Blaise said, his petulant voice nonetheless betraying some genuine upset. “See, you’re getting her blood on your shoulder -- ”

“I’ll clean up her mess myself, thank you,” Pearl spat at her youngest sibling. “That’s what I always have to do, for you lot -- ”

“You?” Blaise shot back vindictively. The last Cromwell sibling, Claire, stayed off to the side, timidly watching, as Blaise tried and failed to yank Lane out of Pearl’s arms. “Please! You don’t know the first thing about taking care of someone -- all you ever do is tell us to shut up and stop complaining -- ”

“Maybe if you did shut your trap and stop whining, I wouldn’t have to say it so much!” snapped Pearl. 

With a not-so-pleasant kick, she forced Blaise back away enough to reach Lane’s bedroom door, which she lightly kicked open and then slammed behind her. She then dropped her sister down on the bed like dead weight.

“Mother and Father still expect you on time for supper,” Pearl said harshly as she turned to the door. “Keep your mouth shut and your head down until it’s over, and maybe Father won’t see the need to do anything else.”

With this, she opened the door again and shut it firmly behind her. Lane could hear her shooing Blaise and Claire away outside the door -- Blaise was taking it much less well than Claire did, since Lane could hear him obnoxiously arguing the point as their voices faded away down the hall.

Very weakly Lane tried to pick herself up off the mattress. She only managed to hoist herself up enough to lean against the wall under her window -- but it was as she leaned back, her blond hair sliding out of her face again at last, that her pale face was fully visible once again.

And anyone who could’ve seen Lane’s face would’ve known...that face was not that of someone who had decided to surrender.

Lane knew there was only one way in or out of Cromwell Manor -- through Charles’s fireplace, which he would never let her near in a million years, especially now that she’d managed to hide Evan’s identity from him. But Lane would have to return to Hogwarts, in order to graduate -- she was much less valuable to him, if she didn’t. That had to be why he had made these marriage arrangements so abruptly and why he’d called her into his office to tell her about them. He wanted to make sure she knew she was trapped -- alone, penniless, and powerless -- that he still had control over her life, and that he would keep that control for the rest of his. 

But even with this...while she was at Hogwarts, Charles could not access her. He could not monitor or guard her or read her thoughts. Most important of all, while she was there, he could not stop her from making her own choices. 

And after Hogwarts, Lane decided...after she was a legal adult, with her education complete...he never would again. After graduation, she would steal a chance of freedom for herself, and leave Charles Cromwell and his Clan behind her, once and for all. 

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #lane cromwell #charles cromwell #pearl cromwell #blaise cromwell #claire cromwell #marilyn cromwell #my writing #yes that adaptation of the song really did inspire this whole thing #I listened to it and just went 'YES' because I already associated the original song with lane breaking away from her toxic family #but this one just leans even more into that idea and I love it #lane I'm so proud of you bb break away from that prat charles!!

[carewyncromwell]

Jacko and Tristan for the bingo? ☺️

Hahaha, Tristan breaks the pattern — I hurt him because I love him because damn it, boy, I know Blaise is your father and you love him, but he’s a toxic gaslighter and you need to break away from him STAT. :|

#unhinged character bingo #jackson knightly #tristan cromwell #blaise cromwell

[carewyncromwell]

“Everyday people, in their own sweet way, Like to add a coat of paint and be what they ain’t! That’s how our little game is played, Livin’ like a masquerade, actin’ a bizarre charade, While playing the saint!”

~“Facade” from Jekyll and Hyde

x~x~x~x

Ahhh, no!! Carewyn!! D:

Ahem -- yeah, this is a counterpoint to a piece I’ve done in the past about Jacob and how he got ensnared by Charles Cromwell and R’s web...but this is going to take a little bit of explanation! First, though, my musical accompaniment while working on this includes Things Are Not What They Appear from Pocahontas II: Journey to a New World, Elsie Lovelock’s cover of Trust in Me from The Jungle Book, and Wolfsong by Omnia. 😊

Okay, right to it. Those of you who know Hogwarts Mystery, there’s a moment toward the beginning of year 6 where MC meets Jacob in his old room at Hogwarts, after following Sickleworth the Niffler, who’s carrying a white quill that it turns out is a threat from R, reminding MC that R still intends to “collect” on one of their friends’ lives. Well, this scene has always bugged me, because Hogwarts is supposed to be nigh impregnable, to the point that even Voldemort couldn’t get inside during the First Wizarding War -- so how does a non-Hogwarts-graduate like Jacob get in so easily?

My answer -- that is not really Jacob. In my canon, the person Carewyn instead meets is an agent of R, who -- with inside help from another agent who plays as the newest Defense Against the Dark Arts professor -- was able to sneak into the school and impersonate Jacob with Polyjuice Potion. And this agent impersonating Jacob is none other than Carewyn’s maternal uncle and heir to the Cromwell Clan, Blaise. 

Blaise Cromwell is a character who -- quite honestly -- I think deserves multiple punches to the face. He is ridiculously possessive of his family, seeing them as akin to prized toys that no one else is allowed to touch but him, and his sister Lane and her children are no exception. Blaise is just as determined as Charles is to force Lane, Jacob, and Carewyn back into the fold of the Cromwell Clan, and he has no moral compunctions that might temper that desire. He’s more than willing to lie, deceive, torture, or even kill to achieve that goal. And because he was raised by Charles -- who like Jacob and Carewyn was born with immensely powerful Legilimency -- Blaise became a master of Occlumency at a young age, all in the effort of maintaining some privacy in and control over his own mind. This Occlumency and Blaise’s rather convincing act makes it so that Carewyn at first has no idea that she’s not speaking to her brother...at least, not until Blaise as Jacob collides with her in Knockturn Alley, while Carewyn herself is disguised as Patricia Rakepick. But for now, Carewyn is completely unawares...not just because Blaise was so good at capturing Jacob’s mannerisms and overall attitude, but because he sounded so sincere, speaking of his desire for their family to be as it once was. It made it so that when he so “reluctantly” accepted her help with the Vaults on the condition that she not involve her friends “unnecessarily” the way he did Duncan and Olivia, Carewyn didn’t suspect anything amiss. And well, Blaise does want his family as he once had it. He wants his sister Lane back at the Cromwell estate...and he does want her children there with them. Sure, for her and them, it’d be a cage, but they’d learn to accept it. They were family, after all -- the Cromwell estate, and the Cromwell Clan, was where they belonged. 

For however terrible of a person Blaise is, however, I will point out that the moment Blaise collided with Carewyn in Jacob’s old room was the first time he’d really been able to interact with his niece. And however much he was focused on his goal, it didn’t mean he felt nothing, seeing her for the first time. 

Lane had been Blaise’s favorite sibling when they were young -- admittedly largely by default since they were closest in age and Lane was both intellectual and disinterested in social gatherings enough that Blaise enjoyed her company -- so her departure had a profound impact on Blaise, just as it did the rest of the Clan. He missed his third sister dearly, and hearing that she’d not only married a Muggle, but that that wretched man then proceeded to abandon her and her children upon Jacob’s Hogwarts letter arriving at their door, Blaise felt a surge of overprotectiveness toward both Lane and her children. They deserved better than what they’d had to live with -- they deserved to live well, not in poverty; they deserved to be treated like high society, not like freaks; they deserved a real home with the Clan, not living in a Muggle gutter. Jacob and Carewyn’s experience with their father should prove to them the superiority of wizardkind over Muggles -- not drive them further into the arms of Muggle lovers like the Weasleys or Mudbloods like Olivia Green or Ben Copper. With Blaise himself a widower and single father, he’s imprinted some of those twisted paternal instincts onto both Jacob and Carewyn as well -- and when he met Carewyn for the first time while disguised as Jacob, he witnessed her capacity to love first-hand. For while he wore her brother’s face, this usually stoic, pretty little teenager fussed over Blaise, fixing his robes and expressing sincere and open concern for his safety. The closest comparison point Blaise had for Carewyn’s behavior was that of his own deceased mother, Marilyn -- and yet there was no sense of asserting control here, with Carewyn. Charles only used “concern” as a means to an end -- to get a better read on who he was talking to. Even Marilyn would express concern by taking some authority over her children -- telling them to sit up straight, fixing their collars and hair to make them look perfect, because she wanted them to succeed, which would also reflect well on her. But not Carewyn. Her caring was given with no caveats or conditions -- no semblance of dominance or control. It was so...selfless.

Blaise had had no concept that any relative of his could be so weak-hearted. And yet all it did was make him want to bring her into the fold more.

People are rife to take advantage of a child like this. The people around her already have taken advantage of her. These ‘friends’ of hers that she’s so desperate to protect from us...what have they done, to deserve her caring? Who are they, to deserve her loyalty? Muggle lovers, Mudbloods, paupers and orphans...they are not her family -- we are her family!

The thought made Blaise’s inside flare with resentment and anger. 

And I intend to treat her like it. 

At one point during their meeting, Carewyn asked the man she thought was Jacob if something was wrong. Blaise tried to play this off, simply claiming he was lost in thought. Sensing Carewyn might be starting to pull away from him, Blaise offered a shred of vulnerability. 

“...It’s just...the last time I saw you...you were only a child. You still would be a child, if not for the Cursed Vaults...”

Some resentment slipped out despite himself. As much as he wanted his family back together, and as much as he knew his father Charles’s word was law so long as he was head of the Clan, Blaise really hadn’t wanted his son or any of his nieces and nephews to be involved with R. He’d fought hard to keep Tristan and Pearl and Claire’s children out of this whole mess. 

“...I wish I could shield you, Pip. I wish that...things could be just the way they were.”

Carewyn’s eyes softened. Feeling compassion in her heart for who she thought was her brother, she then opened up her arms and encircled “Jacob” in a hug. The gesture made Blaise flinch. 

“Me too,” Carewyn murmured. 

The warmth of her embrace flooded Blaise with a strange, trembling kind of pain -- an ache he hardly knew the origin of. He so rarely received hugs as it was, but this kind of hug in particular -- however much it comforted Carewyn as much as him, once again, there was no sense of transaction, no sense of control. She was just offering him comfort, and she found comfort herself just in giving it...such a weak-hearted gesture, and yet expressed by such a firm, warm embrace. 

Abruptly, before he fully knew what he was doing, Blaise had lashed his arms out and seized hold of Carewyn, cradling her against his chest the way he did his own son, Tristan. The strength of his hug made Carewyn give him a light squeeze in return, which in turn made tears clutch at Blaise’s throat. Forcing them back fiercely, the heir of the Cromwell Clan simply held on tighter, resting his head on top of Carewyn’s as a choked song drifted absently from his lips. 

“The other night, dear, as I lay sleeping, I dreamed I held you in my arms... When I awoke, dear, I was mistaken, So I hung my head and cried.”

Blaise hardly knew the origin of the old song anymore, aside from it being his main choice of lullaby for his son, Tristan, when he was young. Carewyn seemed to know it, though. Her lips even curled up in a small, sad smile of her own as she sang the chorus with him --

“You are my sunshine...my only sunshine... You make me happy when skies are gray... You’ll never know, dear...how much I love you... Please don’t take my sunshine away.”

Patricia Rakepick had told Blaise that Carewyn was a true Cromwell, when she sang. Seeing what she meant, by hearing the warm, trained tone of his niece for the first time, made Blaise squeeze Carewyn that little bit tighter.

Oh, if only his mother could’ve heard her, Blaise thought of Marilyn at the grand piano so many years ago...if only she’d had the chance to hear Lane’s daughter sing...

“We can’t forget Laney’s baby. We must get something for the baby...”

When Blaise finally forced himself to let go of Carewyn, he cleared his throat, trying to pull himself together as he turned away. 

“...I should go. The longer I’m here, the more of a chance someone’ll see me. Can’t afford to get you in more trouble, on my account...”

Carewyn frowned. “Mm...”

Even with how disappointed she looked, she still nodded. Blaise turned to her much more seriously. 

“Best not tell anyone I was here, Pip,” he said. “If your friends are anything like mine...I doubt they’ll just stand back and watch, if they know you’re helping me with the Vaults.”

Carewyn’s eyes fell away as she nodded again grimly. She clearly didn’t need to be convinced -- she’d already come to that conclusion herself. 

Good, thought Blaise coldly. The more she separates herself from them now, the easier it’ll be for her to let go of them and return home to us. Then she’ll know what home and family truly are.

The memory of trying and failing to completely modify Ben Copper’s memory outside the Ice Vault -- of seeing him fearfully mumbling Carewyn’s name in his sleep in the Hospital Wing, after he was recovered -- made Blaise’s fist clench around his wand as he left the room and disappeared down the hall. 

Everything would be the way it should be, Blaise thought, once he brought Lane and her children home. He’d make sure Lane, Jacob, and Carewyn had everything they could ever want, once they came home to the Clan. He’d make sure they were content -- that they’d have everything they needed, at home, where they belonged.

Then they’d stay. They’d stay, and never leave again.

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #my art #my writing #carewyn cromwell #jacob cromwell #blaise cromwell #lane cromwell #charles cromwell #gdamnit blaise you big walking bag of issues #yeah he's definitely not a good person but he's still way more human than charles #marilyn cromwell honestly is where a lot of the cromwells' love of music came from #though charles actually really enjoys it too -- he just sees his family like songbirds that can sing for his entertainment #marilyn was a musical prodigy #she could play the flute violin piano and of course she sang #and she *loved* hearing her children sing #music basically = love to all cromwells even the really messed-up ones #writing this though i couldn't help but smirk thinking of how blaise would react to what evan did to lane #honestly I think if evan collided with jacob again he'd somehow still be safer than if he collided with blaise #jacob would beat him up but blaise would be close to crucio-ing his arse #you hurt his family he'll f*** you up #though to be blunt if *he* hurts his family he just gaslights TF out of them so they'll stay so again -- perspective >> #this guy is not a good person :I #also yes of all of carewyn's friends blaise hates and mistrusts ben most #because 'mudblood' and also he was one of carey's very first friends #that's part of the reason ben ended up r's initial target though him trying to protect Carewyn so much definitely affected that decision too