Post by MMADfan on Nov 9, 2010 15:41:56 GMT -5
Twenty-Four: The Prince Family Past Meets the Tyree Clan
Johannes waved his wand and cast a warming charm.
“Oh, thank you, Johannes,” Lydia said in appreciation, pulling her fluffy pink shawl closer around her shoulders and draping her long bright blue cloak so it covered her legs more. “It is quite a cool breeze up here—but beautiful.”
“We could walk,” Johannes suggested. “It might warm us up a bit.” He gestured over the ridge. “We could see if we can find Malcolm and Siofre and catch up with them. They should be easy enough to see.” There were only a few scrubby trees and some bushes on that side of the hill—or mountain—and on the slope facing it, so it was not difficult to spot someone else clambering around on the hillside, and even to see boats approaching the coastline. It was easy to see why this hill fort had been built.
“Oh, we could, but Malcolm jumps around so, particularly when he’s in his collie form,” Lydia replied.
“We don’t have to catch up with them, then.” Johannes stood and held out his hand.
Lydia reached up and took it, pulling herself to her feet. “Thank you. All right. I’m sure you’d prefer to be walking with Siofre, though. You could have gone with them. I wouldn’t have minded.”
Johannes shrugged. “I believe that Malcolm was glad to have some time with his grandmother. And I enjoy your company. I would not have wished to leave you alone, either.”
“Alone with a chocolate walnut cake?” Lydia asked with a laugh. “That wouldn’t have been a trial, believe me!”
“It was delicious,” Johannes agreed.
Lydia drew her wand and cast a charm over their picnic area. “Saving the rest from the birds or other animals,” she explained, hooking her arm through his. “We might want a little more later.”
“So, Malcolm was about to tell me the name of this mountain when he became distracted by the meat pies,” Johannes said. “Do you know it?”
“Yes, it’s an easy one: Ben Tyree. It’s the highest mountain on the estate, over three thousand feet, and it has the oldest fortification. It also is one of the bordering points of the estate. If you look to the southeast, that land is part of a Muggle conservation project.”
“What do the Muggles think of this land?” Johannes asked.
“I wouldn’t know, although I gather it’s of no interest to them and they barely remark its existence. There are very old charms and wards protecting the estate. Except, of course, for the Summer Walkers. They’ve been allowed access to parts of the property for a long time, and there’s a spot to the northeast of here where they traditionally camp when they pass through.”
“Summer Walkers?” Johannes asked.
“Highland Travellers. Like . . . Tinkers.” When Johannes looked at her blankly and shook his head, Lydia said, “They’re like Scottish gypsies. Muggles sometimes have problems with them, I understand. Wizarding folk, too, I suppose.” Lydia shrugged. “But the Tyrees have always welcomed them. Anyway, this mountain is Ben Tyree, and that valley to the northwest there,” she said, pointing, “is Glen Tyree.”
“It was always called Ben Tyree?”
“I don’t think so. I think it had some other name a long time ago, but I don’t remember it. If you look at some of the oldest maps of the estate, it may be there. But it’s been Ben Tyree for at least seven hundred years, I think.”
“The fort is old?”
“Almost two thousand years, I think. They weren’t Tyrees on this land then. But there may have been some ancestors to the clan among them. Tyrees kept the fort in good shape for a long time, though, this one and a couple others, since they were very good lockout points. When there were troubles with Muggles or the English. Thankfully, those times are a long time since, as Siofre might say.”
“The way that Siofre speaks, though, the troubles with the English are not so long ago. She sometimes speaks as if they might come to the gates and try to take the estate.”
Lydia laughed. “It has been more than two hundred years, but her great-grandfather fought off some pureblood English wizards who thought they’d take advantage of the union between Muggle Britain and Scotland to take some Scottish wizarding lands. The Tyrees had to fight hard to keep this land from being stolen from them, and appeal to the British Ministry for Magic brought them no relief. The Ministry wasn’t interested in what was right—they probably would have been just as happy if the Highland Tyree lands were taken by English wizards. The Tyree children, including Siofre’s grandfather, were hidden in the castle’s tunnels and then evacuated to the island until the English finally were driven off. The Tyrees also lost relatives, both Muggle and wizarding, during the Muggle battles of seventeen forty-five and forty-six. Some of them were murdered outright by British soldiers, murdered in their homes and fields, not killed on a battlefield. Siofre was raised on those stories. And it wasn’t that long ago, really, not in terms of generations.”
“I see . . . Do you know the English families that tried to take the estate? Which ones?”
Lydia chuckled softly. “Oh, yes. Prince. Malfoy. Rosier. Those were the main ones.”
“Prince? Your family?”
“Yes. But the Tyrees welcomed me warmly when Murdoch brought me home and married me. They were more than just gracious, you understand. It was more than simple good manners—though their manners would have had them treat me civilly, in any case. And perhaps some wouldn’t recognise the warmth behind their words and actions—Siofre is positively effusive compared to her father, though her mother was more open with her feelings—but they were welcoming, and far more than my own family were at the time, though Bertrand did try.”
“Siofre told me that you had been in London for a while, that you were studying music?”
“Yes, music and acting. I worked in . . . well, not to put too fine a point on it, I worked playing piano wherever I could get paid to. So I played piano in a small theatre, and I played in a pub, and sometimes I played in what one might politely term a house of pleasure.”
“In a, I do not know the English, in einem Bordel?”
“A brothel, yes.” She looked up at him, a very slight smile on her face. “You are shocked?”
“Ah, surprised.”
“That was the only entertainment I provided, you understand, Johannes. I played piano in the bar there. And I only did that a short time, when I . . . well, I needed the money. My brother sent me some a few weeks after I began working there. I believe someone told my family he’d seen me, or that I was seen there . . . anyway, I quit that job. It wasn’t so bad, I suppose, although I did get a little unwanted attention occasionally. I was rather a pretty girl then.”
“You still are pretty,” Johannes said.
Lydia laughed. “No, not really. A bit too plump, and a bit too old, to still be pretty.”
“You are pretty still. And your age, it is fine. For the figure, you are . . . comfortable, yes? Not fat. And your face, that is lovely, with a beautiful smile.”
“You know, Johannes, you are good for a witch” Lydia said, squeezing his arm. “But back then, I was also young, and youth has its own attractions—”
“As does age, with some. With some, age only can increase them.”
“That is true. But I was young, and I was pretty, and I had many, many dreams. I would work, and I would scrimp and save, and I would take classes at the Academy of Magical Musical and Dramatic Arts—that was before they separated and WADA stayed in London whilst MAMA moved to Cardiff—”
“WADA and MAMA?”
“Wizarding Academy of Dramatic Arts and Magical Academy of Musical Arts. I think it’s a pity they divided, but they both survived. Anyway, I took classes when I could, and I even eventually had a few private students in piano . . . I had several wonderful, exciting years, then I made a very foolish mistake, the mistake of a very naive young witch who thinks she’s very worldly. I fell in love.”
“Falling in love can be a very good thing.”
“It can be, yes, but I fell in love with an older man who . . . he said the right things, you know. All the sweet words and phrases a girl wishes to hear from her lover. But he didn’t love me, and he didn’t care that I loved him, except that there were advantages to him.”
“I am sorry.”
“Well, I was so enamoured of this wizard, I didn’t care for anything else. I thought that my entire life revolved around him and always would. That he barely noticed me in his orbit except when he wanted something, I didn’t see. I was glad for what time he would spare me . . . I . . . I truly believed that it was only a matter of time before we would marry—or if not marry, then live together as husband and wife. He had already set me up in nicer rooms than the one I’d had over a pub. I thought we were quite bohemian, the two of us together . . . but we weren’t really together. And I became pregnant. When I told him, I was so happy. He was shocked, but then feigned happiness. He left my rooms to purchase champagne, and he never returned. He vanished from London.
“I was alone. I didn’t know what to do. I wrote my brother and told him that I had to see him. Bertrand came down to London. I told him . . . he was upset, but he wished to help me. He spoke to my parents, but they wanted nothing to do with me. He sent me a little money, but truly, it was so little, it almost made me more desperate. But his own wife was pregnant, and although we were pureblood, we never had the same standing as the Malfoys or Blacks, and Father held a tight fist around the family purse, such as it was. I knew that Bertrand had sent all that he could afford, and likely against my parents’ wishes, as well.”
“It is hard to imagine what you must have been enduring,” Johannes said.
“That is when Murdoch came to me and proposed marriage. At first, although I was desperate, I refused him. But he had always liked me, he said, and he claimed that he believed that no other witch could ever make him a happier husband. So I married him and I fell in love with him. I believe that I did make him happy. I certainly was, even if my life was not what I had dreamed of when I was a girl. I had so wanted to be a performer, an artist . . .”
“You still are an artist,” Johannes said. “Your touch is everywhere in the house. Siofre comments on it. And your music is beautiful, whether you play what you have written or something else.”
“Thank you. It does bring me some happiness and satisfaction,” Lydia said. “Anyway, after we married, only a few weeks, actually, I lost the child.”
“I am very sorry.”
“I grieved and I felt guilty. But Murdoch was very good to me, and Bridget was so kind. She became like my own mother then, but better, even if that sounds a wicked thing to say.”
“No. Your own mother did not treat you as a mother should a daughter.”
“But despite the circumstances under which I entered their household, and the fact that my great-grandfather would have gladly killed any Tyree and taken their lands, Bridget and Séaghán welcomed me warmly as their son’s bride, and they both remained as good to me as ever, and they were glad to see their son happy with me.”
“I am glad. The man, the wizard who left you, did you ever see him again?”
Lydia nodded. “He returned to London several years later with a French wife in tow. A very young, very wealthy French wife, an orphan, whose guardian was pleased to have her marry a handsome Englishman. They did have a family, but from what I learned from friends, he was not a good husband to her. I have seen him at times over the years, though I have never spoken to him. He behaved as if I were a stranger to him, and so he has remained to me. He has become quite fat, and his face has fallen apart, all blotchy red and sagging as if made of slowly melting wax. Still dresses like a popinjay, though.”
“It is indiscreet of me to ask, but now I am curious about his identity.”
Lydia smiled crookedly. “Well, I did whet your curiosity, so I suppose it wouldn’t be fair to leave a Ravenclaw in that state of ignorance. His name is Eustacio Lockhart.”
“My first years teaching, I taught a Meretricio Lockhart, a tall, blond wizard.”
“That is his grandson.”
“Hm.” Johannes caught sight of Siofre and Malcolm on a hillside opposite them, Malcolm in his smooth collie form, sable, black, and white, racing back and forth. “What is it that they are doing?”
“Playing fetch, I believe,” Lydia said.
“Malcolm plays fetch?” Johannes asked, looking amused.
Lydia laughed.
“I do not see a stick or a ball,” Johannes said, watching puzzled as Malcolm raced off after nothing.
“Siofre Disillusions it.”
“She Disillusions it? Why?”
“Seems more sporting, I suppose. A challenge for Malcolm. And it amuses Siofre,” Lydia said with a laugh.
“I cannot imagine being an Animagus,” Johannes said as they ambled down the hill, looking for a way to join the others on the hillside opposite. “It must be an unsettling experience the first time, or for the first dozen times.”
“Malcolm was very keen on it,” Lydia said. “He hoped he’d be something he termed ‘exciting,’ but I don’t think he was disappointed when he found his form. He certainly enjoys it!”
“I remember. He was working with Minerva on it during that year he taught Defence—my final year at Hogwarts. He kept mentioning things like hippogriffs and dragons,” Johannes said with a chuckle. “I do not believe that Minerva had much hope that he would achieve it, but he did.”
“I think we all should have guessed he’d be a dog of some sort—it suits him.”
“It is funny that the house-elves call him like an Animagus all of the time,” Johannes remarked as he helped Lydia down a short but steep drop.
“You mean, Little Collie? They have always called him that, since he was a child. I think it is a play on his name, Malcolm, Colm, Collie. His grandfather was Collum.” Lydia shrugged and put her arm through Johannes’s again. “Perhaps he took his form from his nickname, at least partly.”
Johannes laughed. “That is funny. Maybe they could see the collie in him.”
Lydia shook her head. “I don’t know. House-elves are funny creatures. You never know what they’re capable of. I think they hide a lot . . . but they love us. Ours do, anyway.”
“We never had house-elves,” Johannes said. “I did not know any until I taught at Hogwarts.”
“My Uncle Severus had one, but she was old when I was a girl. She never mated, and when she died, that was the last of the Prince house-elves. Drusus hoped that when he married Mabelle, they’d get one of the Black house-elves, but I don’t think they ever did. I know he’s hoping that Eileen will marry Giles Black, bring in some of the Black family fortune—or at least some of the Black social standing, even though Giles isn’t the most prominent among them—but Philomena told me that there are rumours going around that Eileen’s rejected Giles. There’s even talk that she’s seeing a Muggleborn, or a Muggle-lover, or something. Someone her father would find unsuitable, anyway.”
“Good for her. I hope that she finds some happiness.”
“If Drusus keeps out of her life, she might,” Lydia said. “If she’s as lucky as I was, she will lead such an unsuitable life, her Prince family won’t want to have anything to do with her. Then maybe she’ll be as happy as I have been, find a new family, have wonderful children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren . . .”
“It doesn’t seem as though Eileen has quite your spirit, though, your joie de vivre. I do not know if she could defy her father’s wishes and create her own life. But she might be able to find some happiness. We will both hope for that for her.”
“I wish I knew her . . . I haven’t seen her since she was, well, since shortly after she was born. I think that was the last time I saw Drusus, too, at least to speak to. It’s as though all the worst Prince traits were distilled in him. A pity, too, since Louisa, his mother, she used to be nice enough. Not as likeable as Sally, but . . . well, it isn’t fair to compare sisters, I think. I am looking forward to seeing Sally and Bertrand next week, though. I’m glad there are so many things going on right now, with preparing for the party, and now Malcolm’s impromptu visit, or I’d just be a bundle of nerves, just waiting for them to arrive!”
“I look forward to meeting them both. When is the last time you saw them?” Johannes asked.
“About seven years ago. After Murdoch died. I just needed to see our boy, you know? So a couple months after the funeral, I went out to New Zealand and visited them both for a few weeks. They said then that they thought they’d be back within the next year or so . . . but they were so involved in things there. They were happy. But oh, I am very glad they’re returning now!”
“Siofre is, too, I believe.”
Lydia nodded. “I know. I’ll be glad to have you meet more of the family, as well. Phoebe will be arriving on Monday, and Siofre has invited Lachina to come stay all week—she and Phoebe are quite close friends.”
“Lachina . . . that is another cousin of Siofre’s, yes?”
“Yes. One of her younger cousins—a rather distant cousin, but a Tyree. She’s about Minerva’s age, a couple years older, I think. She’s a jeweller in Aberdeen. She does metal and gem charming, as well as jewellery design—Phoebe is also a metal charmer. But Lachina is a very talented witch, and Siofre is quite fond of her.”
“I look forward to meeting them, then—and Connor and Elisabeth and their son. The only visit they have made recently, I was not here.”
“Liam loves the estate. I know he would enjoy it if you would show him some of the gardens.”
“He is five?”
“Six.”
“I will show him the gardens he might most enjoy, and I will bring him to the quads’ garden and ask him if he has any ideas for it. He might have an idea of things he would enjoy, too.”
“That is kind of you.”
“Not at all. I like children.” Johannes gestured toward Siofre and Malcolm. “I believe Malcolm and Siofre are done with their games now.” Malcolm had returned to his ordinary form, and the two were climbing over some large rocks, though it looked as though it would have been easier to go around them. Malcolm reached up a hand to help Siofre down. She looked very small and fragile to Johannes, though he knew she was strong and sturdy despite her height. “I hope that Malcolm does not allow Siofre to fall.”
“No, I’m sure he won’t. And Siofre’s quite agile. She scrambles about these hills in almost all weather. I do worry about her a bit more now that old Jag isn’t around to go with her. I think they’re coming over to meet us—why don’t we find a nice place to sit and wait for them?”
Johannes removed his loden cloak, casting a charm to keep it dry, and spread it on the somewhat damp ground. He cast a warming charm as Lydia took a seat, folding her legs under her. Johannes, though, stood, watching the other two approaching, but his eyes focussed on Siofre. Lydia was right: Siofre was agile, light and lithe. To Johannes, it seemed that Siofre’s feet barely touched the ground, and to him, she was the most beautiful thing within view. The most beautiful thing he had ever seen. She had removed her short peaked cap and stuffed it in the pocket of her tweedy brown and green cloak, and her hair seemed to float about her head with the wind as she sped over the rocks and through the bracken. Her tartan skirts with their many pleats were shortened to mid-calf to ease her clambering about on the hills. Siofre was beautiful, intelligent, talented, and breath-takingly alive, and at that moment, Johannes wanted to cross the green grass and grey rock between them and catch her in his arms and hold her.
“You look happy, Johannes,” Lydia said, looking up at him.
Pulled from his thoughts, Johannes looked down. He blinked and nodded, then sat beside her, one foot tucked under him, resting one arm on his other raised bent knee, but still watching Siofre.
“Yes. I am. I am happy.”
“And in love?” Lydia asked.
“Perilously so, but happily, and I would not change it. She has me, Lydia,” Johannes said softly. “Forever. Whether she knows it or ever acknowledges it. It does not matter. I will love her and honour her and serve her with all my being for as long as we both walk this earth.”
“You are a romantic, Johannes.”
Johannes turned his head and looked at her, smiling slightly. “If I were not before, love for Siofre has made me one.”