Who: Albus Dumbledore, Kastra Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald What: Kastra returns home for spring recess. When: BACKDATED: April 2nd, evening. Where: The Dumbledore-Grindelwald Household Rating: PG Status: Complete
Had anyone bothered to ask her, Kastra would have proudly declared that no, she was not nervous about seeing her fathers for recess; in fact, she was quite excited to be going home, thank you very much. And while it would be nice to be at home once again, rather than at Hogwarts, which felt more restraining compared to the relative magical freedom she had been accustomed to both at home and at Durmstrang, the truth was that she was a bit ill-at-ease. As fake as her father Gellert's anger may have been, Kastra had no doubt that he was a very capable actor - he had been her coach, after all - and the thought of approaching such fury, no matter how feigned, made her feel unsettled. It had been easy to act concerned when discussing him with her papa, because her concern had been close enough to the truth. She wanted to be prepared for whatever show he might put on, but somehow, that seemed to be a difficult prospect.
Not as difficult as greeting her papa, Albus, however, though she tried to push him to the back of her mind, rather than focusing on the possibilities there. Despite his declaration that Kastra could never do anything to diminish his love for her, she knew that love and politics were two very separate concepts. Even if her papa loved her more than any man could and ever would, that didn't mean that he wasn't considering declaring her an expendable cog in the political machine, to be declared useless and tossed into the darkness and out of any public eye. Worst of all, the unconditional quality of his love meant that Kastra was undoubtedly causing him some pain.
She just had to keep in mind that this was necessary and whatever she could discover from the growing resistance movement would greatly aid the NAA in the future. It was worth the pain, if she could indeed make a difference - and not the kind of difference she was pretending to attempt.
When Friday evening finally came and Kastra headed to Headmaster Slughorn's office to accept her portkey, she was no more prepared for the meeting as she had been when she discovered that she was indeed welcome back home. Not being one to stall, Kastra merely thanked the Headmaster politely, with a smile, and touched the portkey. After a brief period of discomfort, she made it to her destination - her rooms. There was no one to greet her, but she was grateful for a small reprieve, during which she freshened up and made a mental effort to fully assume her role as the bleeding heart - something that was becoming frighteningly easy to do. She then made her way to her fathers' rooms, where she assumed they would be.
When she arrived, she took a deep breath. She knew there would be Muggle servants waiting to answer any knock that sounded upon the door, but she was in a position where she would be accepting no help from Muggles, as she was currently inclined to their freedom. Rather than accepting their assistance, she ordered a loud Alohomora and the doors flung themselves open. She held her head high and strode inside, past the servants and into her fathers' personal dining room, where they were sitting together, working on a letter. She was mildly surprised at the state of the inbox that sat on the table, beside her father Gellert. It was positively overflowing with letters - what a tedious evening, she thought to herself, wondering if any of the letters pertained to her rebellion.
"I'm home!" she declared loudly, folding her arms and awaiting whatever mood combination she was destined to face.
The letters in the inbox at Gellert's elbow were, in fact, all identical copies of one letter in particular--a letter that was being delivered every half hour, on the half hour. Or it had been, until Gellert had ordered his security to temporarily cease allowing any correspondence from Hogwarts to pass through its protocol. Periodically a letter would still manage to be accidentally allowed through and find its way to wherever Gellert happened to be at the moment, flying under its own accord to seek him out in his office, in a corridor, or even in his and Albus's own private quarters. Irritated, Gellert had enlisted Albus's assistance in drafting his response...for he felt compelled to send a reply as immediately as possible and thereby (in theory) put an end to this torrent of letters. And yet he knew better than to assume anything he drafted while so frustrated would be completely without error. A background check on the name in the signature had shown that Lily Elisabeth Evans was currently flagged by the Order of the Phoenix for some suggestive comments made in the journals, though a formal investigation into any potential terrorist connections had yet to be carried out. It had also listed her as a known associate of one Sirius Black, under order to be arrested within the next nine days for declaring his own public war against the NAA and inciting rebellion amongst the impressionable young minds of Hogwarts.
So Gellert let Albus read her letter over their post-dinner drinks, and allowed him even now to watch over Gellert's shoulder as Gellert penned out his carefully-worded reply. They were nearly done, Gellert redipping his quill into the ink to finish the last paragraph, when the balance of auras in the general vicinity abruptly shifted. Gellert knew Albus sensed it as well. It was impossible not to, when it was their own daughter's energy signature that was shifting the threads of magic in the air.
Gellert was already looking up when Kastra burst into the dining room, quill still poised above the parchment. It was altogether too easy to let his expression fasten into something immediately hard and cold, frosting over his gaze and pressing his lips into a thin, straight line. He set his quill down, the motion slow and precise, never once moving his eyes from where they had seized onto Kastra's face--harsh. Accusing.
It was natural, if unpleasant, the way Albus's senses were set just a little on edge when he could feel Kastra drawing closer. Albus had preferred this sort of reunion, Kastra coming to them, if only because he doubted he would have been able to lure Gellert into going to see her. But no, this was the most convenient. He was, however, a little unnerved by the way his grasp of the passage of time felt so distorted lately. The task of dealing with the matter of Remus Lupin, and his aggressively concerned friend, had conveniently occupied his attention to the point of distraction. There was cause enough to be interested in the case of the first aspiring werewolf healer in the NAA, but Ms. Evans's letter had accomplished far more than could have even the most glowing letter of recommendation. Men capable of true self-sacrifice were rare enough, but one who was preemptively obedient, as well? And that said nothing of the charmingly reflexive sympathy Albus felt for anyone who could so promptly gather themselves up and depart home and homeland.
Despite the contradictory pleasure of having Kastra home, the way Gellert's ire had taken on a practically physical presence in the room was enough to have Albus Wishing that they could have been distracted just a little longer. Albus's gaze regarded his daughter perhaps a measure longer than might have been comfortable, his expression effortlessly nondescript. His sense of her was fundamentally altered, distorted by a bit of distance, a haze of a barrier, a division. Albus devoted a small corner of his mind to resolutely ignoring it as he settled properly into his own seat instead of leaning to peer over Gellert's shoulder. There were, after all, measures he did not wish to impose upon her.
"Kastra," Albus greeted, the aim at warmth overwhelmed by the formal neutrality that stole over his voice. There was little for it; Albus certainly could not pretend that everything was perfectly fine. They could, however, be cordial- even if he did not enjoy employing the carefully constructed banal, polite civility. "I trust your trip home was uneventful."
"It was," Kastra replied with a short nod, doing her best assess the situation. She scanned both her fathers' faces, trying to determine the atmosphere into which she had stormed. As expected, her father Gellert wasted no time in feigning his displeasure, and upon meeting his harsh stare, Kastra felt a sudden panic brush over her. For a frightening moment, she thought she would burst out into nervous laughter. She wasted no time in recollecting herself, and the crisis was more or less easily averted; really, she had more self-control than that.
Keeping her defiant posture, she said, in an accusatory tone, "I have missed you both, but we have something important to discuss." The neutral tone her papa invoked was discomforting. Kastra had been hoping for more warmth upon her arrival. "I refuse to be served by any of our Muggle servants. Given my position on the matter of Muggle liberties, I trust that this is not unexpected," she said, in keeping with her papa's formal speech. "I know where you both stand on the matter, but I hope you can at least respect my beliefs."
The prospect of giving up the use of servants was yet another annoying side effect of playing the role of the rebel. Kastra had missed such privileges while at school and usually looked forward to returning to them. And while she may have been able to get away with using the servants under the guise of trying to keep the peace within her household, she did not want to slip in character. A slip in character would open up the opportunity for error, and Kastra could not have that. Besides, what she said to her parents and whether or not she actually used the servants while no one was paying attention were two entirely separate matters, and she intended to keep them that way.
Sliding into false anger was all too easy. Hearing such words coming from Kastra's lips, even if he knew they were scripted--even if he had helped script them--when accompanied with that tone of voice.... It was almost enough for Gellert to convince himself that she really meant it. Gellert was and always had been a fantastic actor, and the role he played now was one that he had played out in reality too many times already, with the hundreds upon hundreds of traitors that he had personally dealt with, had personally brought to their deaths.
Albus's formality was expected. Because that was how Albus dealt with these things, was it not? Closing off the heat from the rage and letting something freeze within him instead. It had always worked beautifully as a foil to Gellert's own unpredictable temperament. But Gellert spared him not a glance, rising so quickly that he nearly knocked over his chair, slamming a fist against the table so hard that the inkwell nearly toppled over. Plunging deep within himself, Gellert grasped hold of the most volatile of his magic, thrusting it to the outer edges of his energy signature, pulsing at the constraints of his aura as if Gellert were only just restraining himself from releasing some curse of terrifying proportions upon his daughter.
"Have you lost your mind?" Gellert hissed, rage flashing in his eyes and clenching through every muscle of his body. Even though it was all an act, the Elder Wand seemed to crave more--to plead for him to make it all real. Even Gellert's wand sheath, enchanted to keep him from funneling magic through the Wand without intent, often seemed little defense against the power of the Deathstick and its unignorable pull. "What happened to you?" The words snapped across his tongue, each syllable practically begging to become a curse. They formed a question and a condemnation, all at once.
Teenage rebellion was something Albus had been aware of, but not an avenue he had ever pursued himself. How unthinkably absurd it wore on Kastra. The only missing element was an impudent stamp of her foot. How irresponsibly dangerous it was. It was dizzying, the swift swell of Gellert's temper, the churn of volatile, violent magic just begging to be unleashed. Reflexively, Albus released his hold of his own potential magic, letting it hover poised and alert. Unwilling to truly restrain Gellert in front of Kastra, Albus was all too aware of the fact that if Gellert let slip his grasp, Albus's intercession would have to be immediate. Regardless of what might be necessary, what he and Gellert might be compelled to do, Albus could not yet overcome the hurdle of reservation in his core. That misgiving that pleaded patience. The voice in his consciousness that insisted 'not yet.'
"Gellert," Albus said, his voice quiet but not soft. Gellert had been handling this whole circus so well, all things considered. Albus would hate for that to derail just then. He was, however, not ignorant of the fact that Kastra was hardly helping matters. His words were careful and measured as he said to her, "A little more care, my dear, with what you say." A pause, "And how you say it."
He meant more than just in this particular moment. Not to mention, it was remarkably poor form to demand respect while offering so little. They could address her fanciful declaration in a moment. Where was their considered daughter? Their clever, subtle, insightful daughter? How far and for how long did she think she could go on in this fashion before there were very real consequences? Not for the first time, Albus's thoughts strayed to Gellert's curiosity over precisely where they had gone so very, very wrong.
Though she had anticipated a reaction to her impudence - had braced herself for such cold and raw anger - there was no way Kastra could have prepared for the violent surge of Gellert's power. She jumped when his fist made contact with the table, and every instinct within her begged her to back down, to leave, to find a way out. Never before had she been the subject - the cause - of such powerful aggression. It seemed to her that her father's act was too good; she wanted to vomit.
Clenching her shaking hands, she did her best to remain firm in will. The difficulty she had in maintaining her defiant stance did not need to be an act, for she truly was thrown off balance by her father's show of displeasure. She unfolded her arms and cast down her stare. "Forgive me for being so discourteous," she said quietly, trying to keep her voice steady. "I stand by what I said, but I realize I could have been more respectful." She wanted to sit, as her legs felt weak, but thought it best to remain standing.
Gellert pretended to barely register Albus's warning, pressing his palm flat against the surface of the table. "Not good enough," he said. His ring finger twitched, and something black slowly spread out from beneath his hand, Dark magic creeping out from his skin, the wood rotting in its presence. "What you are doing, Kastra--those words you said in the journals--do you think they do not constitute betrayal? Are you so hopelessly naive as to think that you can denounce your father and I so easily? So publicly?"
The table felt soft and malleable now under the press of his hand, but no matter. Dark magic might be irreversible, but a dining table was easily replaced. He drew his hand away, ignoring the blackened wood that now extended for several feet. His glass of firewhiskey teetered on the edge separating the softened wood from the unrotted, threatening to spill over. Gellert straightened up, standing to his full height and never once moving his gaze from Kastra.
There was something comforting in the fact that she still had the sense to fear consequence, even if only immediately perceivable. No part of Albus enjoyed what Gellert was doing, but he was entirely unwilling to stop it. The best thing for Kastra, at the moment, was to hopefully be hedged in, even if it had to be done through fear instead of reason. Reason, he couldn't help thinking, was likely futile. So as magic began wicking out of Gellert, Albus did no more than simply lift his own glass of brandy out of harm's way.
But the words that Gellert used- they weren't inaccurate, words like betrayal, but Albus could not suppress his aversion to them. Something simply balked within him. It was not difficult to believe, however, that his revulsion at the words were merely extensions to how he felt about the fact at hand, about what had happened as much as what might have to happen. Might. Because there was still hope, still time, still some slim chance that misgivings in his core were not entirely derived from his emotional inclinations. So Albus waited, silently, not entirely sure if his was hoping to be proved right or wrong, because the stance on that was blurring quite a bit, but unable to shake the suspicion that he was likely going to be disappointed.
Kastra felt slightly panicked as she watched the wood of the table rot at her father's touch. Though she tried to reason herself out of it - this was acting, after all, this had all been loosely planned from the beginning - she found that she, quite irrationally, could not. Her survival instinct was stronger than any amount of thought she could muster, despite her trust in her father's ability to control himself and his magic. Under normal circumstances, she would chide herself - or even expect her father to chide her - for being so easily overcome by fear, but in this circumstance, it was for the best. Her inclination toward irrationality would keep her in character, and that was all that mattered in the moment. She could address her shortcomings later.
"I - I'm not trying to betray you," she tried to explain, preventing herself from giving into the desire to just come clean and have done with the silly act that seemed to turn so serious so quickly. "You're still my parents and I love you both, but I can't pretend that support the way things are - the way you treat those oppose you - the poor Muggles. I just - a life shouldn't been taken so easily. I just can't be a part of this anymore." She was rambling - hopelessly and stupidly. Before this meeting, she had outlined arguments in favor of the resistance, had practiced responding to such questioning, but it was impossible for her to recall it in that moment. She couldn't help her stupidity and had her father not been aware that all of this was an act, she wouldn't have blamed him for smiting her on the spot for being so ignorant. She looked down at her feet, lest she spend another moment focusing on the ruined table.
Gellert was still for a moment, that dark energy still seething up and down his spine, potential magic just waiting to be unleashed. The Wand burned white-hot even through its sheath and Gellert was certain his thigh must be blistering in its presence. Kastra's response was perfect, it truly was. Frightened enough to be convincing, and frightened enough that Albus may yet be incapable of suppressing his conscience enough to do what, had this not been an act, would have to be done. The strength of the magic pushing against his skin was enormous, and Gellert was suddenly, acutely aware that he needed to leave. That he either needed to leave, now, or he needed to let that power go tearing through the Wand and kill his daughter. Because even pretending, he desperately felt the urge to strike her down; he could only imagine how forceful such a desire would be had this not been feigned.
A sharp, frustrated sound burst from Gellert's lips and he finally twisted on his heel, stalking across the room and through the small door leading to the bedroom. He decided to conserve no energy, slamming it shut as forcefully as possible upon his exit.
The inanity pouring out of her was precisely this sort of thing that Albus had so wanted to avoid, had so endeavoured to keep her free from- it was why he'd always been as honest as possible with her about why they did certain things, why certain things had to be done a certain way. The entire process had strayed very close to how his mother had dealt with him, with a few relevant adjustments. But clearly, something had broken down, somewhere.
When Gellert left, so abruptly, some of the tension in Albus's demeanor went with him. The grasp of his magic became a thing far more containing than enabling, but the edge of Albus's emotional state softened just a bit. He didn't care for seeing Kastra afraid, and he liked even less that she had genuine cause to be afraid of Gellert, and with good reason. His gaze fell to the distorted wood of the table before his palm settled atop a dark, stained dip upon the surface. The traces of Gellert's magic, of his anger, were positively vibrant. It was helpful to focus on that, to let himself slide toward a bit of counterweight, a little temperance to balance Gellert's extremity.
"He's upset," was all Albus offered for Gellert's behaviour. He knew that she feared he hated her. It could be productive to allow that fear to thrive a while. "And I cannot help wondering what on earth you hope to achieve with all this nonsense."
Once her father had exited the room, Kastra allowed herself to sink to the floor. She was grateful for the reprieve, for having all of that power behind a closed door, rather than directly in front of her, taunting her. The whole event had been awful - when did they agree to let things get so violent? True, she knew that her father had to keep up appearances, and she was well aware of his ability to anger so thoroughly, but she would have preferred not to worry herself over whether or not her father would slip, would accidentally release that hold that had kept Kastra standing alive before them. Putting her head in her hands, she thought to herself that she was glad he had chosen that moment to leave, so that he wouldn't have to see how sufficiently affected she was, how real things had suddenly become to her. Showing such weakness in front of her papa was easier, though, and so she allowed the show of strength to sag from her shoulders despite his audience.
"What a mess," she mumbled, in part to herself, though it doubled as a response to her papa's statements. It was a mess, even if the mess had been carefully constructed in advance. The thought that her father could actually be that angry with her - if she had truly rebelled - made her stomach turn. She looked up, wondering what her papa was thinking, being on the outside of the mess, not knowing the truth.
Lying was exhausting.
"I don't suppose I could request a subject change?" she asked wearily.
Something cold and hard resonated in Albus's core, longing to deny her request, to hammer away at the notions that plagued her mind. Albus simply couldn't tell what good it would do. Emotions were not to be discounted; in fact, Albus cherished very much the emotions he felt. But ever aspect of the human experience had to be governed by reason. Emotions had to be simply another tool, not the hand that operated instruments. The end result was- well, being reduced to a heap on the floor.
He could manipulate her. He could manage her. Pull her strings and produce an heir that was little better than an Imperiused trinket. But that was not the daughter they needed. They needed someone they could trust to think independently, but correctly. That particular battle felt already lost. The only option was to simply let her be.... as she was, for perhaps a little while longer. And if there was nothing for it, there was no reason to maintain the distance, physical and otherwise, from which he took no pleasure.
After a moment, Albus stood, walking around the table to stand next to her. He turned his hand toward her, offering it to take hers so that he could help her to her feet. "You may," he said quietly, his voice very near to its normal tone, if still just a little flat.
She hadn't known what type of response to expect, but Kastra was immensely relieved when her papa both offered his hand and agreed to a subject change. As he helped her up, she threw herself into a hug, longing for reassurance. Gellert's display of rage had thrown her off balance, had left her more vulnerable than she was accustomed to being. She wanted, in that moment, to hear that she was loved, that her papa - the father who was left out of all the details and the planning - would not allow her little act to get too deeply between them. Of course, such a display of vulnerability would be added to her list of things to chide herself for later, but that could wait.
To what, however, Albus could barely fathom. The back of his mind kept spinning- weighing variables and risks, his thoughts darting down an array of potential paths. That warning that gnawed at him had Albus reluctant to trust his senses, which was odd when paired with the general impression that he had enough information to move forward, to simply wait and watch. To find some other avenue of access, of influence, of perhaps calling Kastra back to herself. He gave only the slightest hesitation before his shoulders relaxed and he wrapped his arm around her. One hand smoothed over the long fall of her hair. He couldn't help contemplating simpler times, when making world contain a little more sense had been achievable with a few simple braids in her hair. Bowing his head, Albus pressed his lips to the top of her head.
The acceptance of her embrace helped Kastra feel grounded once again. She straightened, tucked her hair behind her ear and let out a small sigh. Now that the event was behind them - at least for the moment - she felt able to discuss other matters. "Do you want me to tell you about school?" she asked, grateful to set aside the topic of rebellion.
It was almost surprisingly easy, to set the thoughts at the forefront of his mind to trivial things. There was, after all, little else to be done at the moment. Gellert he would see to later than evening, though he doubted the other's temper would have much abated by then. Either way, Albus ignored the ominous implications of indulging in the pleasant farce that everything was fine. "I think that would be best," he nodded, his grasp taking light hold of her fingers to lead her into adjoining sitting room. As soon as Albus took a seat on the settee, full tea service winked into existence atop the nearby coffee table. "How are you finding Hogwarts?" he asked, pleased at least to find that his voice had not shed all of its weariness. No, he was certain it would be far worse if he were to genuinely attempt to pretend that nothing was wrong.
"Honestly..." Kastra hesitated as she took a seat, attempting to choose her words carefully. She wasn't interested in lying more than she had already done - her papa's weary tone had not escaped her notice - but she needed to be realistic. "I miss Durmstrang quite a bit, but I'm beginning to enjoy my time at Hogwarts. I've made some friends." Some rebellious friends, but she supposed that much was apparent. The connections she had thus far cultivated were of little real concern to her, but she needed to be mindful of her purpose, and part of that meant befriending would-be traitors. Besides, she doubted her friends at Durmstrang would receive her rebellion warmly.
For the most fleeting of moments, Albus considered if perhaps this was all an elaborate scheme to get herself recalled home, returned to Durmstrang. He wanted to balk from that idea on the grounds that surely, she would have made some kind of private request rather than staging some public defiance- but then, he'd expected that if she'd had some revelation of conscience she'd have mentioned as much in private beforehand, too. Unable to be certain, Albus was not about to bait the topic by suggesting she return to Durmstrang, lest she actually say yes. The last thing they needed, after a rebellious daughter off at Hogwarts, was a rebellious daughter closer to home. At any rate, if that were her design, he doubted she'd have endured Gellert's temper over so slight an issue. Having no desire to discuss precisely what sort of friends she'd been making, Albus opted for an altogether more neutral topic. "I have very fond memories of Hogwarts. Admittedly, I suppose the depth of my education was achieved through rather more extracurricular means. It's almost a pity you weren't sorted into Gryffindor- you'd have excelled at the gambling system."
Kastra gave a short nod, as though in agreement, though she couldn't help but wonder if he realized that most of the student would-be resistors came from Gryffindor - that they almost prided themselves on a collective, resisting identity. She thought of Lily Evan's remark in response to her renouncing of the NAA - how House Gryffindor would be impressed by her "guts." Kastra didn't really care for the methodology behind the Hogwarts sorting system, but she didn't think that she belong there when it came to her true alliances. But she certainly wasn't going to bring that up to her papa; even if he did recognize it, he might just consider the damage done.
"I'm glad for the opportunity to create my own memories at Hogwarts," was all she said, a classic safe response.
Albus hated this, the way he knew that every conversation was going to very carefully not going to be about something else. The way conversations were reduced to what was safe and careful and practically meaningless. He hated this, but he loved her, and he was reluctant to simply dismiss her to her room. So a small wave of his hand had a few lumps of sugar settling into the nearest cup, and one into the cup in front of Kastra. The tea sorted itself out, adding a bit of milk to hers and leaving Albus's pristinely sweet. Longing very much to discuss something real without reverting to the most prominent topic, Albus said with a simple curiosity, "Are you happy there?"
"Yes," Kastra lied, giving her papa what she hoped would be received as a genuine smile as she reached for her tea. Adding yet another lie to her repertoire was wearisome, but she didn't see what choice she had. Saying no would have brought about further questions, and she could hardly explain herself without going into detail. Unfortunately for Kastra, the question was not simple and did not stray far enough from the topic that weighed over their conversation; the pretense had become a part of her identity, at least for the time being.
"Don't worry, Papa," she said quietly, sighing as she did so. It was silly for her to say it, as he had much to worry about - more than he knew - but she couldn't help herself. Her happiness was the very last concern that should be on his mind, given recent developments. She took a sip of her tea.
Of all the very strange things Kastra had said already, the last of it was the most ridiculous by far. There were upsets in Britain. Their daughter had a mind for... 'reform.' And Albus was quite certain that by the end of the week he would have to find for Gellert a new competent secretary who was not reduced to an ineffective puddle of fear over the mortality rate associated with the position. And Kastra's advice was not to worry. But there was, perhaps, nothing for it. His worry would abate once he'd made up his mind, when there was no more deliberating to be done, just a plan of action. Before taking his own cup of tea, Albus gave her an encouraging sort of smile. "We'll be hosting the Transylvanian Symphony next month," he mentioned, aiming for a a topic so far removed as to be perhaps a little abstract. "It's a pity you'll be away at school." Never mind that at the moment, she was barred from any public event. Never mind that she could not be truly happy at Hogwarts, not with so brief an answer. Never mind a dozen other things.
Kastra nodded in agreement, though she doubted that she would be invited to attend even if she planned on being at home for the event. The conversation remained tense and uncomfortable, despite her papa's attempts at finding a neutral subject. It bothered Kastra, as she usually felt more comfortable around him than she did anyone else. Feeling at a loss, she took one final sip of tea, and then set the still-full cup down. "Papa, I'm a bit tired from the day. Do you mind if I go to my room?" she asked politely.
Recognising a futile endeavour for what it was, Albus relented. He had hoped that she would have been able to manage a bit of small talk. The careful rules that governed such conversations were specifically designed to navigate awkward waters of interaction, to smooth over situations such as these. But there were, it seemed, a number of things that Albus had hoped for in her that might never reach fruition. "Not at all," he replied, falling into the ease of compulsory niceties. "Do try to get some rest." Although he did not wish to be alone with his thoughts, he would not deny her the reprieve for such a selfish want. And it was selfish; Albus knew precisely what he was trying to hold at bay.
Kastra stood, but paused to bend to give her papa a kiss on the cheek. "Good night," she murmured," forcing herself to give him what she hoped was a reasonably warm smile. As she left her fathers' rooms, she felt more unsettled than relieved; it seemed that her relationship with her papa had shifted in such a way that their relationship just might remain altered. It was a fact with which she could not feel comfortable, and she couldn't help but wonder if keeping her true alliance a secret from her papa had been the best decision.
The coners of his mouth reflexively lifted as she kissed him goodnight. He could feel his thoughts howling at the barricade in his mind. At the sound of the door clicking shut, he let them loose upon his mind. Quick, slicing, ravenous things they were, engulfing her every word, every tilt of her head and blink of her eyes- any and every minute detail that might reveal the truth of things. Once he'd returned his teacup to the table, he let his head tip back to rest against the back of the settee, dizzy with the torrent of it all. He needed something else to focus on; it was maddening to devote so much of his attention to so singular a task. His tie was slipped from his neck and set into the air before him. It hovered, as if trapped in midair, before it broke apart into a haze of unbound molecules. Closing his eyes, he let slip a small, steady stream of magic that occupied itself with reassembling the available atoms into whatever combinations the side of his mind could dream up. Potential outcomes exploded in his awareness and he set to the task of isolating the most probable path of events. It was not so terribly difficult. If he'd truly expected there to be hope of restoration, he would have been honest with her. He would have meticulously outlined every flawed line of logic before moving into the emotional appeal of how much it hurt him to see her doing this. All of his expectations now followed a similar route, down a path that would be more easily endured if he did not love her. And yet, he refused to eradicate the emotion. He clung to it. He wanted to go slowly, he wanted to be sure. And his love would slow his pace.
Albus let the blaze of his thoughts dwindle and fade to a low smoulder. A sweep of his hand vanished the molecular mess in front of him. It was time to find Gellert.