Quinn Chambers (quinn_way) wrote in witchway, @ 2008-01-22 13:52:00 |
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Entry tags: | auctorita manor, bernadette, hannah, mortimer, quinn |
Hannah and Quinn - Dinner at the Chambers
Who: Hannah, Quinn, Bernadette and Mortimer
Where: Auctorita Manor, then Hannah's house
When: Sunday, January 6, 1999 (two weeks ago)
What: Dinner with the Chambers' is no small price to pay. And once they've made their escape, are Hannah and Quinn truly alone?
COMPLETE
Auctorita Manor had been the home of the Chambers family since the eleventh century, when Edward Chambers II purchased a large section of Greenwich and had it constructed following the success of his diamond and precious jewels business. Of course, Edward never lived to see his magnificent home be built, as he was assassinated by his son, Alvin, shortly before its completion. Alvin took over the business and moved into the stately home which he named Auctorita Manor.
The manor went through several eccentric heirs and at one time Richard Chambers had fourteen daughters and one son living in the manor at one time during the thirteenth century. The basement dungeon is even haunted by thirteen ghosts - the former wives of Richard Chambers - and are kept there by many spells preventing them from haunting the rest of the manor, though every few decades one will escape to the expansive wine cellar. As a result of the many inhabitants, the decor of the home is a strange collection of modern art deco, gothic revival and medieval splendor to reflect the tastes of its former occupants. It boasted a moat with a stone bridge, a dry moat with a wooden bridge, a sunken rose garden, and even the preserved bedroom of Victoria Chambers' pet lemur, Mah Jongg, who was stuffed and preserved to be arranged on his bed in his favorite attack position. The wards on the house had been fortified so highly that the only way to get into the house was by a special portkey, of which there were only three: one for the Lord, one for the Lady, and one for the Heir.
When Quinn Chambers, the heir of Auctorita Manor, arrived by his portkey he spent several seconds starring up at the stone statue carving above the entrance. Shaking himself out of his reverie, he pointed it out to his companion. "That's the statue of Hospitality," he told her. "I think it was Theodore Chambers' wife, Alanna Chambers, who was very fond of throwing parties and wanted her guests to feel welcome. Mother thinks its gaudy."
His companion, Hannah Abbott--a girl from a good family who were friends with the current Lord of this manor, although she herself would claim no friendship with either of its inhabitants--looked up at the indicated statue and frowned. "It certainly seems out of place," she said, speaking less about the architecture and more about the welcome she expected to receive. Every one of her nerves was on edge as she stood before the house, terrified to enter but knowing she must neither show fear nor the slightest sign that she was bothered by his parents' treatment of her. She smoothed her silk dress--wearing robes would do nothing to to make her own blood look as Pure as the rest of her family's--and tightened her hand on his arm. Then she looked up at him and whispered, "Never, right? Not even if they disinherit you?"
Leaning down, he kissed her upturned face, bringing a hand up to her cheek. "Never. No matter what," he whispered back. Taking her hand in his, he walked up the drive to the door and knocked firmly with his free hand, the one holding hers tightening as the sound reverberated. Hobbs, the oldest elf in the Chambers' line of them, answered the door as he always did, still seeming to stare down his long crooked nose at Quinn despite being a quarter of his size. "The Lord and Lady are expecting Young master and his guest," he wheezed, standing aside to let them enter the circular entrance hall before shutting the door behind them. "The Lady will be with you shortly. You may sit." Nodding once to each of them, he left the room.
Leading Hannah to one of the couches, he gestured for her to sit while he paced behind her. It was odd, really, being treated like a guest in the home he had grown up in. Waiting in the entrance hall when he used to race through and track mud everywhere after a day of playing Quidditch in the dry moat. "It's a weird house," he finally spoke, looking up at the ceiling where the twilight filtered in. "I'll have to give you a tour sometime. Show you the preserved evil lemur and his bedroom."
Hannah--who had been too busy concentrating on keeping her anxiety suppressed to just a slight flaring of her nostrils to truly take in her surroundings yet--turned her head to look at him over her shoulder, her eyebrows flying up. "The what?" she said, eyes wide in disbelief.
"Victoria Chambers, in the eighteenth century, had a pet lemur who was fond of hiding and jumping out to attack people. He had his own room. Someone thought it would be a grand joke to preserve him and have him perched on his bed rail like he's going to attack," Quinn explained, his eyes dancing just a little. "I used to scare the hell out of the children of my parents' guests with it. Though the dungeon was much more fun."
Hannah laughed, either despite or because of her nervousness. "I'm suddenly very glad to come from new old money instead of old old money. Dungeons were out of fashion when they built Endymion Hall, and the strangest animal we have in the house is Thaddeus' owl."
"We have thirteen ghosts in the dungeon," he explained, becoming more at ease as he told her stories. "One time father locked me down there with them for something or another. They really hate men, let me tell you. But after a few hours I managed to convince them that I would never murder one wife so I could marry another and start a collection, and we became quite good friends. I used to visit them often. They really hate my father now though..."
"Not that he has any reason to visit the dungeon," came a voice from one of the hallways, where the Lady of the house, Bernadette Chambers, stood leaning slightly against the wall. Upon catching their attention, she nodded to each of them in turn. "Quinian, Hannah. The elves are serving dinner now, you may join us in the informal dining hall," she bid them, turning and exiting down the hall and leaving them where they were.
Shrugging, Quinn held his hand out to help Hannah up from her seat. "Don't let the sound of it set you off. The formal dining hall is huge and intimidating. Though I prefer it because the seats aren't pink," he told her, leading her down the same hall Bernadette had exited and through a maze of hallways before they reached the dining hall.
The chairs were certainly pink. Hannah wasn't sure if she wouldn't have preferred the formal dining hall--even if it was intimidating, at least it might have put more space between her and Mr. and Mrs. Chambers. She summoned up the closest thing to a pleasant look she could manage the moment when she saw the latter. "Good evening, Mrs. Chambers," she said politely, waiting for an introduction to Quinn's father and wondering for the millionth time whether wearing the jewelry the woman had sent her had been a mistake or not. It felt heavy, even though it was quite light and small and pretty, and Hannah wasn't sure exactly what message she was sending with it. The message she wanted to send with it was that she was above what the woman had done to her at the ball, and she could be polite even if they couldn't, but she feared that it might look like the opposite, that she was bowing to Mrs. Chambers' will.
Pulling a seat out for Hannah, Quinn gestured to the head of the table where his father was sitting. "Hannah, this is my father Mortimer. He runs St. Mungo's," he added as an after thought before taking his seat. Mortimer inclined his head towards Hannah and sent his wife a sharp glare from across the table. "Miss Abbott, you are looking well. How is your Grandfather? I haven't seen him since his birthday. Still planning on running for Minister?"
"Thank you, sir," Hannah said, folding her hands in her lap. So far, so good, although she was never comfortable with the topic of her grandfather's political hopes. "He's quite well, and yes, he's been working toward assembling a team to organize his campaign since we returned from Switzerland."
Mortimer made a noise, somewhere between amusement and disbelief, though if he was going to acknowledge it with words he was interrupted as the Elf assigned to wine selections, Monet, came into the room and poured just a touch into Mortimer's glass for him to taste and approve. Once he went through the motions and signaled for the wine to be poured, Monet came to each seat and served everyone a glass of the deep red chianti, taking it back to the kitchen with her when she had finished. Following Monet, several Elves entered the dining hall with trays of appetizers, walking around to the guests and serving some of each to their plates. Mushroom caps stuffed with crab meat, sirloin and gorgonzola wrapped with bacon, and artichoke hearts topped with goat cheese in a parmesan breading. Once Mortimer had selected a sirloin wrap and eaten it, he nodded to the elves who exited - signaling the others to begin.
Bernadette lifted a mushroom cap to her mouth, taking a bite and returning it to her plate. "Hannah, how is the ministry? I have heard tell that you are working with the Obliviators," she asked, taking a sip of wine to wash down her mushroom.
With some effort, Hannah swallowed a bite of sirloin. The food smelled delicious, and Hannah hadn't managed to eat a thing all day, but it had tasted and felt like sawdust the moment it touched her tongue, and the wine she washed it down with might as well have been vinegar. "I just finished the Legilimency portion of the training on Monday, actually, and I passed the exam, so they're keeping me for another month," she said, keeping her statement of the facts modest. "I'll be doing real Obliviations starting tomorrow."
"I've seen several patients in my hospital with botched obliviations. Tell me, do they still bring their new recruits to the Janus Thickey ward to instill in them the damage that can be done by wielding their power without care?" Mortimer asked, addressing her over the rim of his wine glass.
"Hannah's brilliant at what she does, she isn't going to randomly obliviate people," Quinn pointed out, his shoulders rolling back defensively.
"Oh? Has she been practicing on you?" came the question from Bernadette, an eyebrow raised in careful amusement. While Mortimer glowered at his son. "I wasn't speaking to you, Quinian. When I address you I will look at you as I am doing now. I was speaking to her. Now," he continued, purposefully turning away from Quinn and to Hannah again, "before he interrupted you: have you visited the ward yet?"
"Tomorrow morning," Hannah said, looking at him with wide eyes. Her fork touched the plate, forgotten. "I..." She stopped herself, remembering that she was not going to let them rattle her, and then continued in a more confident tone. "I'm really with the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, so it's a little different for me. Because it has to go by faster, my training is one-on-one and more intensive, and I've had the benefit of working with my father and my uncle after hours, so I've had a bit more thorough preparation than the average Obliviators recruit. I followed all ten of the memory trails I was assigned on Monday without a single mistake." She paused and sipped her wine, even though she knew she really should eat more and drink very little. "Is there anything that you think it would particularly educational for me to pay attention to during my visit to the ward?"
For several long seconds Mortimer was silent, watching her intently until finally he nodded. "Yes. As I'm sure you've been taught by now, no two minds are alike. It isn't a Muggle machine to be idly turned on or off. As such, no two patients in the ward have the same damage. Some were caused by glaring errors, and some by just a small misstep. A torn seam in an otherwise flawless tapestry. Learn from the mistakes of others so one does not have to learn from your mistakes. Find the exact spot in each patient where the Obliviator went wrong, and learn how you can avoid making a similar error in someone yourself. I know the names of every patient in that ward and the names of the Obliviator who put them in there. I do not easily forget, and I'd really hate to have to remember you for those reasons."
Hannah watched him as he spoke, her eyes wary. Though she had not wanted to show it a moment before, she was terrified of actually erasing memories from another person's mind, and she had seriously considered failing her test last Monday on purpose to get out of Obliviation training. But she had her father's reputation to uphold and so she'd done her best, and now...now she had yet another reason why she could not make a single mistake. She nodded, a tight movement. "I certainly wouldn't enjoy that either, sir," she said, wishing she was sitting next to Quinn so she could hold his hand beneath the table. "I'll be sure to do that."
"Good," he said, the word a hiss as it came out between his teeth. As if on cue, the Elves came out of the kitchen to clear the appetizer plates and cutlery. Following them came the main course, medallions of pork tenderloin with dried apples and plums, the fruit forming a rich mahogany sauce from being cooked with balsamic vinegar and dijon mustard. Steamed French green beans drizzled with roasted hazelnut oil and couscous were laid out beside it. Monet returned once the food was served and topped off each glass, making her the last Elf to leave the dining hall.
Lifting his glass, Mortimer turned his clear blue eyes to Hannah. "To our guest of honour," he toasted, his sombre face belying the hint of something not quite serious to his words as he sipped his wine. "Let us eat."
After lowering her glass, Hannah forced herself to take up her knife and fork again and go through the motions of eating, though she felt even less like eating than before, if that were possible. Her mind raced ahead to the next day when she'd be visiting the ward and seeing just how badly she could fail. And she couldn't fail. Not when Mr. Chambers would see the results, would remember it forever. She knew she should say something, but she couldn't think of a single one of the polite questions she'd come up with while she was dressing earlier, and so she focused on transferring small bites of food from her plate to her mouth, and on drinking her wine without spilling it all over herself.
Quinn was having the worst time restraining himself, and it was only the knowledge that the more defensive he became the worse they would treat her that kept him from hexing either of his parents from where he sat. Choking down a bite of pork and fruit, he washed it down with a long sip of his wine. The chianti was his favourite, something he hadn't been able to afford for some months now, and he knew his parents had served it on purpose. That the entire dinner had revolved around serving this wine, leaving the food secondary. But he couldn't enjoy it, and he suspected that had been the point.
"The concert went very well," he suddenly spoke, hoping it would take the attention off of her. "The reviews have all been very positive, and the album release is the most anticipated of the year. The advance sales at the concert were sold in a matter of minutes."
"I heard you quit your job," his mother broke in, swallowing a bite of green beans. "I hope you're receiving a paycheque for this concert thing. You know what happens if you don't."
Closing his eyes, Quinn bit back the comments he had and instead nodded. "Yes, I got paid for the concert. And for sales of the album. So my part of the flat is still safe. That's the deal, isn't it? As long as I bring in some form of earnings the flat remains paid for?"
Mortimer grunted, placing his forkful of pork back on the plate. "Yes, yes. That's the deal. Although, really Quinian, this is entirely beneath you. A boy of your breeding should have a proper career. Not jump around screaming. I'm sure Frank could find you something suitable since for some reason unbeknownst to logic he has taken a fondness for you."
Hannah felt her fear knotting and twisting into something that burned hotter in her stomach. It was different, hearing them speak that way to Quinn. "I don't think my grandfather would be willing to do that," she said, and then took a sip of her wine.
"Even if he were," Quinn said, a hard edge to his voice as he stabbed at his beans, "I wouldn't take it. I don't want to work for the Ministry or the press. I have a job and I earned it on my own. That's that."
Mortimer resisted the urge to roll his eyes, instead ignoring him and turning his sharpened gaze towards the girl. "Of course he would. Why ever would he not?"
"Because, as you said, sir, he's extremely fond of Quinn," Hannah said, setting her wineglass down and beginning to cut her tenderloin into small pieces. "But moreover, he's very set on the idea of Quinn continuing to court me, and he's insightful enough to know that if Quinn were to sell out and take a job he didn't love in order to be more respectable, I'd have to deny his suit." Her gaze flickered from Mortimer to Quinn and then back down to her plate. "That, and he had his assistant go to the concert just to buy one of the advance copies of the album. I hear he's been listening to it in his office."
If someone had been looking at Bernadette they'd have seen her cover her mouth with her napkin to hide her smile, but the way her eyes danced would have given away her amusement. Luckily for her, both men in the room were intently watching Hannah. Oh she'd be very good for him indeed. Her blood wasn't entirely pure, so she felt no guilt about Quinn's real blood being dirty and tarnishing their line. Her father had already done that, thankfully. It would do him well to be in the center of a huge family as completely opposite from his own anyways. But if she so much as uttered those words he'd have seen a hidden agenda beneath them and refused to comply. So she arranged her face, assuring the mask was back into place before lowering her napkin. "Yes, well Frank isn't exactly at his sanest these days," she drawled. "Quinian has never listened to our opinions before, he certainly isn't about to now." Giving Mortimer a significant look, she glanced at Hannah and back to him again. "If he wants to make mistakes it's on his own head."
Hannah caught the look. Her nostrils flared, but otherwise she kept herself from reacting visibly. She hated that word, she had since she'd figured out that was all she'd been to her parents to begin with. "You're quite right, Mrs. Chambers," Hannah said, forcing herself to sound polite. "In the end, we all have to live with our own choices. And actions."
"That we do," she murmured, her lips twitching before she took a dainty forkful of couscous into her mouth, waiting until she finished before putting on a bright plastic smile and changing the subject. "How has Lucy been? I haven't seen her in what feels like ages. We must do brunch again sometime soon. Please give her my regards."
A thin line appeared between Hannah's eyebrows when Mrs. Chambers caught her off guard with this new topic. She was friends with Aunt Lucy? "She's been well--very busy with Christmas sales, though. I think she's looking forward to things quieting down when the Hogwarts students return to school."
"I'm sure she is. Tell her to owl me at her earliest opportunity, would you?" The saccharine smile on her face was sickly sweet, and her eyes glided around the table to settle on Quinn's hardened expression. With any luck the girl would ask her aunt about this and be encouraged to wait it out, though she was from Auror blood so she was bound to have enough strength to put up with resistance she and her husband represented.
Quinn, however, was distracted by different and imaginative ways of assassinating his parents. Alvin had a rather ingenious method with seducing the maid into laundering his father's blanket with a poison that seeped into his skin over night. But Quinn really didn't desire having to seduce a House Elf and he doubted Hannah would approve even if he did. Looking up at her across the table, he tried to force as much apology as he could into his expression, reaching one of his long legs out so his foot could brush against her ankle as well.
"I'll pass along the message," Hannah was saying when Quinn's foot brushing her ankle caught her attention. She glanced at him, and her expression softened for a moment before she looked back down to scoop up a forkful of green beans.
The table was silent as the four finished dinner and the plates and red wine glasses were collected, replaced with a serving of strawberry cream torte and glasses of sweet dessert wine. The food was how it always was to Quinn, good but lacking something that he'd come to find in Hannah's cooking. He was positive had she made anything that had been served that night he'd have been able to pick it out blindly and it would be the best he'd ever tasted of that dish. But she hadn't, and he knew he'd be begging her to make him something later that night.
When dessert finished, Mortimer rose from the table and beckoned Quinn to follow him. "Come, let me give you what you've come for. We'll go to my office and you can meet her back in the Drawing room." Quinn gave Hannah a quick look, not wanting to leave her alone with his mother, and his reluctance showed as he looked between her and the door his father had just exited. Bernadette rolled her eyes as she stood from her own seat. "Don't be ridiculous, Quinian. Go get your money."
Swallowing, he caught Hannah's eyes and held them, wanting to tell her that if she wanted him to stay with her there that he'd refuse the money but finding it hard to convey that in a look.
"Go on," Hannah said, giving him a small smile. She couldn't tell him that she'd been alone with his mother before and come out of it confused but in one piece, and she wouldn't have even if they'd been alone, but she hoped that her look was encouraging enough to get him to go get it over with.
Forcing a smile, he stood up and followed Mortimer, pausing to give her one last glance over his shoulder before he disappeared around the corner.
Bernadette leaned against her chair as she waited for Hannah to rise. "The drawing room is back on the other end of the house. Brita should have already lit the fire for us, so it will be a good deal warmer, thankfully."
Hannah stood and followed her from the room. "Old homes always seem to be built with men's clothing in mind rather than women's," she said, hoping if she kept to an uninteresting topic it would keep them from talking about anything else or, worse, walking in a harsh silence.
"They do that," she agreed, her demeanour from dinner changing into an all together more pleasant one than it had been when the men were in the room. "At least we're given leave to decorate," she said with a roll of her eyes, "I tell you, if the men in this family had any say over the way this house was decorated it would be even more bizarre. As it is the house hardly lets me change or update a thing without extensive convincing."
"I don't know," Hannah said, almost smiling. "Quinn did a wonderful job on my house, although..." She hesitated, realizing she was speaking freely, pleasantly with Mrs. Chambers, with the woman who'd...well, she just needed to pass the time. She had to keep talking. "Although," she continued a little more tentatively. "I think that may only be because he had some of my girl friends help with that part, and had Ernie advise him on what the house used to look like. But he supervised and approved of everything, so he wasn't uninvolved."
"He usually knows when he needs to ask for help, not that he always does," she said conspiratorially as she retraced the path through the house and lead them back in the direction of the Entrance hall. "I'm glad to hear the house came together. Have you moved in yet?"
"On New Year's day," Hannah said, glancing up at Mrs. Chambers for the first time since they'd begun to walk. She was being nice--nicer than she'd been at the jewelry shop. At her waist, her hand caught the bracelet around her wrist and twisted it idly. "The house is perfect. It must have taken so much work."
"Despite how lazy he claims to be, Quinian can be rather motivated and dedicated to something when he sets his mind to it. A single minded devotion, and the more you tell him he can't do something the more he has to do it, the more he wants it," she told her, finally reaching the Entrance hall and opening a door directly across from main entrance, leading Hannah into the Drawing room.
"No wonder he was still asking me out three years after the first time I told him I couldn't have anything to do with him..." Hannah's steps slowed just inside the room. Her fingers stopped turning the bracelet and just held it as she stared at the woman before her, her gaze turning analytical. For a moment, it all made sense--the apology at the jewelry shop, the earrings, the scene at the ball, the jewelry she'd sent her for Christmas. She'd told Quinn he couldn't date her--did that mean that, despite her words at the ball, she was actually trying to help her? She'd told her to keep her chin up and hopefully she'd get everything she wanted. But...but. Hannah had told her she didn't want to run the jewelry shop, and, well, they weren't telling Quinn he couldn't date her anymore. The opposite could be true as well. They could be trying to be as polite as they could bring themselves to be to her in the hopes that Quinn would grow less determined to be with her. "Of course, I don't think anyone likes being told that they can't do something," she added, before her pause gave her thoughts away. "Some of us are more persistent than others."
The entire Drawing room was designed to showcase the Italian art and furniture the room played host to. Bernadette crossed the room to one of the large blue chairs in front of the roaring fire, seating herself and waiting expectantly for Hannah to join her. "There are few as persistent as he is. Even as a boy... he was manic about the things he was obsessed with. The more they angered us, the more he wanted to pursue them. Music is that way. He's brilliant, isn't he?"
"He's amazing," Hannah said, her eyebrows lifting as she sat down across from her. There were questions she wanted to ask now--so many questions--and she knew that must show all over her face, but she also knew that she didn't really want to know the answers, even if they were positive. If Mrs. Chambers was trying to help her, knowing that would make her part of it all, and she certainly didn't want to trick Quinn into wanting to marry her. "You should have seen the crowd at the concert, cheering for his voice, his playing, his songs. He's...he's more than brilliant. With any luck, he'll be a legend."
"With any luck," she repeated, her voice soft, and she looked up above Hannah's head as the men walked into the room, Mortimer looking disgruntled and Quinian's face pinched together. His eyes immediately swiveled around the room till they landed on Hannah's head, and he walked quickly to her side to place a hand on her shoulder. "Come on, let's go," he muttered, glancing up to catch Bernadette's eyes with his own narrowed ones.
Hannah broke her gaze away from Mrs. Chambers and looked up at Quinn as she stood up next to him, trying to figure out from his expression how things had gone with his father. Then she looked at Mrs. Chambers again. "Thank you for dinner," she said, slipping her hand into Quinn's and squeezing it.
The friendliness in Bernadette's face had melted at the first sign of her son, and her posture became more refined. "Until next month then... possibly," she added with a careless shrug and a haphazard glance at Hannah, making Quinn's grip on her hand tighten. With a forced nod at both his parents, he half dragged Hannah to the door and out of it. "I swear, we don't have to come back next month. I can make the galleons last," he told her once they were outside the manor and heading down the drive.
"At least it was only three courses," Hannah said, walking next to him, staring off to the side of the path. Her thoughts had still been half attuned to her conversation with Mrs. Chambers, but now she looked up and focused just on him. "Quinn, I...I can do this. And it's not just for the money. The thirteen ghosts you befriended...all the things you know about the house...being a Chambers, even if it's just to run from what that means...that's who you are. We're going to have enough problems with..." She sighed. "If it makes your parents less likely to disinherit you if they get to be mean to me face to face once a month, I can handle that."
Pausing, he pulled her into his arms, hugging her close to him. "I hate hearing the way they talk to you. I could barely restrain from hexing that smug look off my mother's face. She's just toying with us, Pidge, like it's some twisted game of hers to try and make me break up with you. I'm not going to let her do that!"
She rested her check against him and sighed. "I'm glad you're so protective of me, but...but it wasn't unbearable. Yes, I'll be thinking of everything your father said tomorrow, but as nervous as that's going to make me, he did give me a good piece of advice." She pulled back to catch his eye. "If it becomes unbearable, that's one thing, but as long as I can take it...you do amazing things for me. Let me do something for you."
"You're the amazing one, have I told you that lately?" he said, kissing her forehead. "Come on, let's go back to your place and you can make me something to eat. Something as unfancy as possible. I'm starving."
"Me too," she said, glancing back at the manor one more time before heading toward the end of the drive. "I have some ground beef--what about hamburgers and milkshakes?"
"This is why I love you!" he exclaimed, throwing an arm over her shoulder as they walked, feeling lighter and lighter the further they got away from the house.
She laughed, slipping her arm around his waist and pulling him closer. "I'm glad I started cooking again for you, if that's what it took to get to you fall for me," she said, resting her head on his shoulder. She walked a few steps before her earlier curiosity came back to her. "Your father...he didn't say anything awful while you were alone with him, did he?"
Stiffening, Quinn glanced back at the house, forcing himself to shrug. "No worse than usual. Come on, let me Apparate us back to your house."
"I'll make chips to go with the hamburgers." She drew away from him enough to take his hand and hold on tight. "Ready."
With a spin and a flick of his wand they Disapparated and appeared in front of the Wimsic Alley house. Hurrying up the drive, he waited for her to unlock the door and bring them into the warmth of the house and out of the cold. Away from his parents and the house.
Hannah fished the key out of her purse and twisted it in the lock. The door swung open and the house seemed to reach out to them, enveloping them in warmth before they even crossed the threshold, the air carrying a light scent of pine needles and spices. The Christmas decorations were still up and a thousand tiny fairy lights burst to life as soon as they entered. She saw a flicker of movement near the hallway down to the office and master bedroom, but when she called out for Pierce he came trotting down from the second floor, so she chocked it up to the lights coming on.
She slipped out of her coat and hung it up on the coat rack by the door, then walked through the kitchen to let Pierce out into the back garden. Right away, she put on an apron to protect her dress and started summoning ingredients and ordering knives, spoons, pans, and Quinn as to what she needed them all to do. As they worked, she felt her tension slip away, replaced by the calm focus that cooking demanded. Besides, she sort of enjoyed bossing Quinn around, and in the kitchen she was definitely in charge.
Quinn had asked for as unfancy as possible, but Hannah had enjoyed stocking her own icebox for the first time far too much. The ground beef had been coarsely ground to order from choice cuts, the caramelized onions she fried to go on the burgers were doused with some very expensive silver label balsamic vinegar, and the ice cream for the milkshakes was the premium vanilla from I Scream, You Scream. The result was a lot of direct and simple but high quality food, and no frightening parents to ask them questions as they sat down with it in the breakfast nook that opened onto the sun room.
"You'll have to tell me what you think of this recipe," Hannah said as she scooted in close to the table to minimize the risk of ruining her dress. "It's from the cookbook Uncle Thad and Annette gave me for Christmas."
Whatever Quinn thought of the recipe was indecipherable since he couldn't stop eating the burger and chips long enough to make a coherent sentence. But if the indecent noises he was making while eating were any indication, it was a very positive sign for the cookbook and its recipe.
The longer Quinn didn't answer and the more noises he made, the more it made Hannah giggle. "I guess it gets a gold star," she said, watching him over the rim of her milkshake glass.
"Two," Quinn paused long enough to comment and inhaling the rest of the burger. "Wow. Amazing. Really, truly," he told her, leaning back in his chair with his milkshake, feeling more satisfied from one burger than the whole of dinner he'd had before.
Hannah grinned, her cheeks turning pink with pride. "I should've had you sign the thank you card, too."
"I signed it in spirit," he laughed, lifting his wand and sending their empty plates to the sink and then standing with his milkshake glass. "Come on, let's go into the sitting room. Loads more comfortable. You can play me something on your piano."
"You don't have to pretend I'm any good, Quinn," Hannah said, standing and following him out into the living room. "You're the musician between the two of us. If you want live music, we're much better off with you providing it."
"I'm going to show you what you're doing wrong," he told her patiently, transfiguring a coaster and putting his milkshake on the end table. Sitting at the piano bench, he patted the seat next to him. "Come on. Play the Beatles song you were playing before."
She sighed, and then she sat down next to him, tucking her skirt under her. "Okay, but only if you'll sing," she said, laying her fingers on the cool ivory keys.
"I promise, now play," he ordered her, putting his arm low around her waist and resting his chin against her shoulder.
She started to play the meandering melody in her right hand, adding in the rhythmic chords she remembered her mother playing in her left. In her memory, the mood of the song sank into her chest, heavy with a strange, sad calm, but the notes she played in the present didn't quite match the feeling.
Singing along to her notes, he reached up a hand to cover her eyes while she played, causing him to pause in the song. "You know the notes. Don't think the song, just feel it. It means something to you, songs you love enough to memorize even if you don't know them always mean something. Tell me what it means to you, but with the music."
"I means...all right, with the music," she said, already frustrated that she wouldn't be able to do it before she'd even tried. She kept playing, starting from the beginning of the song when she reached the end, trying to push her thoughts about the music into it through her fingers. It wasn't something her mother had ever played for Hannah; it was something she'd only ever played when she thought Hannah wasn't listening. It was sad and happy at the same time in a way that just ached in her heart, but also distant in a way, as if the endless trailing of the melody was a wall she was putting between herself and those feelings. It actually reminded her a little of what Uncle Thad had taught her about Occlumency. Slowly, the melody began to ache along with her a little, her fingers hesitating on the keys here and there as if she was reluctant to leave each note behind.
"Sounds of laughter shades of life are ringing through my open ears, exciting and inviting me," he sang the final verse, the tones of his voice urging her to match him, to find the haunting beauty of the song. "Limitless undying love which shines around me like a million suns. It calls me on and on across the universe."
This time, Quinn's voice was like a magnet to the notes, drawing more emotion out of them, and as he reached the chorus she found herself joining in quietly with him. "Jai guru deva om...Nothing's gonna change my world," she sang, "nothing's gonna change my world...." Her voice and her playing tapered off, and she rested her head against his shoulder. "What does 'Jai guru deva om' mean, anyway?"
"It's Sanskrit," he told her, kissing her forehead. "Jai implies 'Glory,' Guru is 'Master' or 'Teacher,' and Deva is like 'God'. Omm is a word commonly used to end a meditative thought. So it would be something like 'Glory to the spiritual Master.' Lennon was really big into meditation, and apparently he used that phrase to focus himself," he explained. "I went through a Beatles phase when I was fifteen, I dissected everything. Beautiful song, isn't it? So cleverly constructed. Everything spinning out of control around him, spilling out across the universe and changing. And he focuses his thoughts and vows that nothing will change his world. As if just by deciding it everything will stay the same..."
"Yeah...that makes sense." She idly played the first few notes of the melody again, and then lifted her head to kiss his shoulder and sat up again. "Tell me if you recognize this one," she said, starting to play her best attempt at the beginning of "Mahogany" on the piano rather than guitar.
"Oh that sounds pretty good on piano!" he remarked, watching her fingers fly over the keys. "I've always wanted to learn piano. Just never enough to actually learn it."
She laughed, stopping in the middle of a verse--the song got a bit repetitive after awhile without the lyrics, anyway, although that hadn't stopped her from playing it a number of times since she'd moved in to see if she could work out the chords. "Good thing you didn't feel that way about the guitar."
"Yes, well, the guitar isn't played in proper circles," he reasoned, running a finger over the keys and pressing one down at random. "Piano is. I wouldn't have gotten into as much trouble for piano."
Remember what Mrs. Chambers had said when they were alone, Hannah watched his finger on the keys. "Would you have gotten into any for piano?" she asked. "The only time I ever got in trouble for piano was when I didn't want to practise--granted, I wasn't much for getting in trouble, so that only happened once or twice. I had to wait for later in life to learn the joys of breaking rules." She grinned at him.
Laughing, he tried to remember the order she had pressed them in to play the song, pressing one at a time till he found the right note. "Some, but not much. It was music but could be used as 'proper' music. And I didn't want to play proper music. I wanted to be Stubby Boardman. And he played guitar."
"I wanted to be able to play like my mum," she said, and shook her head. "I guess I really do take after my dad's side."
"Do you think your mum would have liked me?" he asked suddenly, fingers slipping off his fruitless pursuit of the piano keys and returning to her waist.
"She did listen to the Hobgoblins," Hannah said, shifting toward him. "But I'm pretty sure she would've liked you anyway. She was a Ravenclaw, and she made up excuses for a living. At least, that's what she did after she left the Aurors."
"I like excuses," he said thoughtfully, trailing his free hand up and down her neck. "If my career crashes and burns maybe I can be a professional Excuse maker."
"I thought you'd like that idea," she said, her gaze falling as his fingers took up an increasing amount of her attention. "But unless there are any other excuse organizations out there, it'd mean you'd have to work at the Ministry."
"I'll make my own then," he declared, placing a kiss behind her ear and moving his lips downward. "I can be creative. And resourceful. It's a Ravenclaw thing. That and a being generally fantastic thing. I happen to inhabit both which makes me twice as creative and resourceful."
Hannah's eyes opened wide again for a moment and she looked from window to window, making sure all the curtains were drawn. "That explains so many things," she said, letting her head tilt down toward her other shoulder. "If it didn't, I'd have to make a joke about your extremely healthy ego."
"There are no health problems with my ego, thank you very much," he laughed, lips vibrating against her neck as he did so. "I've taken very good care of it, I'll have you know. Years of tender love and devotion."
She laughed and turned her face in toward him, her cheek brushing soft against his. "At least that proves you can take care of the things you love," she said, nudging him with her nose to draw his lips upward. "Not that I needed more proof."
"But that's the other thing about Ravenclaws," he whispered, lips barely brushing against hers. "We like proof." Closing the nearly non-existent gap, he crushed his mouth against hers, the hand on her waist moving to support her back and draw her in closer to him, the one on her neck entangling itself in her hair. The bench beneath them wasn't exactly designed with snogging in mind, and he could hear the piano make an angry noise as one of them hit the keys, but despite the awkward discomfort of the position the last thing he wanted to do in that moment was to move.
A quick flash of memory raced through Hannah's mind when she closed her eyes--the first time he'd kissed her, with her legs in all the wrong places for her to get closer to him--but thankfully this time relative experience replaced that awkwardness with instinct. As he drew her in, she twisted to him and her knees came to rest on the bench on either side of his hips, her skirt sliding up her stockings. "I think I like proof, too," she whispered back, her forehead touching his in a brief instant when their lips parted before coming back together harder than before. She wrapped her arm around his neck as much to keep from toppling off the bench as to hold onto him, and the fingers of her other hand threaded through his hair.
Shifting his hips, he let both hands slide to her waist and then her legs, gently coaxing them out of their kneeling position so she could settle neatly onto his lap. "I have lots of proof," he told her between the few seconds where his lips weren't on hers, his arms moving to a vine-like grip around her.
Her ankles hooked behind the bench. "I know. I'm well-acquainted with your, um, proof," she said, and giggled against his lips. "I really thought I could say that with a straight face."
"You made a bad joke!" he exclaimed, a look of proud amazement crossing his face. "You should be rewarded for such a feat. Since you're always rewarding my bad jokes. Positive reinforcement!"
"I'm always inadvertently rewarding your bad jokes," she said, pulling back enough to look into his eyes. "But I won't stop you from returning the favour on purpose."
Scooping his arms under her knees, Quinn stood suddenly from the piano bench. Reaching her room involved stairs, which didn't seem all that appealing given he was carrying her, but the plush couch near the fire would certainly do in a pinch. Mentally patting himself on the back for his resourcefulness, he very carefully picked his way from the piano to his destination, setting her down on the couch with a muffled thump as both their bodies crashed into the cushions. "Now," he continued, leaning over her, arms supporting him as they dug into the couch on either side of her head as he looked down at her, "where were we?"
It was a little odd not having to hide away in one of their bedrooms. Even at Quinn's flat there were his roommates to consider, and Hannah felt strangely exposed lying beneath him on the couch, her legs locked around him and her skirt bunched up at her hips. Which was silly, really--no one could see in the windows, and they were alone in the house. Telling herself it would just take some getting used to, she raised both of her eyebrows. "I think it was about my reward, or you proving yourself to me, or something," she said, the corner of her mouth quirking upward as the giggles threatened to return. This time, though, she managed to fend them off, at least for the moment.
Chalking up the uneasy feeling he had to just being unused to openly snogging his girlfriend on a couch without fear of points being deducted or parents walking in, Quinn tried to push it aside and focus on what he'd promised Hannah. "Your reward, yes. Proof is in the reward, of course," he told her as modestly as he could, which wasn't very, and bending down to capture her mouth with his again, doing his best to ignore the nagging feeling of being watched.
Her eyes closed as she kissed him back, only to snap open again and dart toward the hallway. Which, of course, was perfectly empty. "I thought it was in the pudding."
"Pudding is a form of reward, but I think you should like my rewards better than pudding. Though I imagine you make brilliant pudding, so let's not test it, yeah?" he laughed, trying not to babble but feeling increasingly more antsy the further they got in the reward process.
She giggled, a little nervously. "I don't know. Maybe we should. If your ego is already so healthy, I should be careful not to overfeed it." She just needed to relax, she thought, and took a deep breath and kissed him again. Her hands traveled down and untucked his shirt, slipping beneath it and up to his shoulder blades.
Shifting his weight from one arm to the other, he helped her slide his shirt off and heard it slither to a pile on the floor behind her. "If you think we need to bring pudding into this, I won't object," he told her, lips at her ear, one hand moving up her leg along the fabric of her stockings.
Her nails dug into his back, and her already pink cheeks flushed bright red. "Quinn!" And then after a moment, she added, "Well, I suppose we already brought chocolate mousse into it."
"And it was very good chocolate mousse. Did everything it was told," he said dryly, and a bit distracted, his eyes flicking to the side where he'd thought something had moved, but it was just the lights from the tree.
Her gaze followed his toward...nothing. Just the tree, the lights, the warm, cozy sitting room, full of memories that completely clashed with what she was doing. She knew that was why she was feeling uneasy, so why didn't knowing that solve the problem? It was her house now, and the couch wasn't even the original. If anything was going to distract her from Quinn right now, it should've been the conversation over dinner, or her anxiety about tomorrow, but both of those things seemed like distant memories at the moment. "Did you not get enough to eat, or are you just stalling on my reward?" she said, raising her eyebrows in a challenge with the hope that once they were caught up in everything, the feeling would finally pass.
Well if anything could distract Quinn it was the single minded pursuit of a challenge. So he met her raised eyebrows with his own and got lost in trying to reward her to the best of his ability, the notion of being watched pushed to the farthest part of his mind until he had forgotten about it completely.
Hannah really, honestly tried to at least forget about where they were, if nothing else, but it seemed like the more skin they exposed and the better his hands and lips on her felt, the stronger she felt that they weren't alone, that at any moment her father would come out of his study and hex Quinn across the room, or that her mum would walk in from the sunroom and hex him completely out the door. "Quinn...wait...I..." She squeezed her eyes shut and said quickly, "This is going to sound strange but can we move up to my room?"
It took a moment for her words to register, but as soon as they did a feeling of intense relief washed over him. "Yes," he told her emphatically, sitting up and readjusting her skirt. "Though I don't think I can carry you up the stairs without injury befalling one or both of us."
She sat up, smoothing her skirt down again for good measure, and kissed his cheek. "I think my own legs will work perfectly fine," she said, reaching down to pick up her shoes and stockings from the ground. Even though it was completely illogical, she didn't want to leave any evidence lying around, not even for a few hours. "It's just...I know this is my house now, but it still feels like...like theirs, like we're going to get walked in on at any moment."
"No, I get that," he said, looking over his shoulder as they walked up the stairs, convinced he'd see someone watching them, but no one was there. Turning back to her, he smiled widely and took her hand at the landing, leading her back to her room. "Come on... let's get to the best part of that reward." A wicked smile crossed his face as he pulled her into the room after him, shutting her bedroom door and placing a locking charm on it for good measure.
Once they were inside her room and behind the locked door, Hannah's unease evaporated. "I need to tell bad jokes more often," she said much later, nestled up against Quinn's side and resting her head on his chest.
"Bad jokes are my thing," he protested, laughing into her hair. "But all that talk of pudding has me starved. Anything good I can bring back for us on a trek to the kitchen?"
"I just cooked for you!" she said, tilting her face up to his, her grin belying the exasperation in her tone. "Oh, actually, there's crumble in the icebox. I know it's not pudding, but...."
"Oooh, crumble," he breathed, throwing the covers off and sliding out of the bed, hunting around the floor until he found his slacks and pulled them up. Kissing her one last time, he left the room and headed to the stairs when a melody reached his ears. An unfamiliar song drifting up the stairs. Not quite a song, really, but faint notes as if someone was playing the piano as softly as possible one note at a time. Ignoring the kitchen, Quinn made his way to the sitting room where the piano was, but as he'd expected no one was there. Shrugging, he headed into the kitchen, eyes flicking to the Wireless on the counter. Walking over to it, he heard music coming from it faintly at its low volume. Had Hannah turned it on? Reaching a hand out, he turned off the Wireless, cutting off the sound and sending the house into complete silence. Telling himself he was being ridiculous, Quinn grabbed the crumble from the icebox and hurried up the stairs and back to Hannah.
Hannah was sitting up in bed, the pale pink sheet tucked around her and under her arms, and sliding the ring Quinn hadn't taken back after he'd had her wear his for him during I Never on and off, feeling it expand and contract as the enchantments resized it. The enchantments, of course, could only shrink it so much without compromising the quality of the jewelry, but at least it got small enough to fit on her index finger. As soon as he came through the door, though, she jammed it back on and hid it beneath her other hand, as if he might suddenly realize his mistake and take it back, even though logically he had to have left it with her on purpose. "Find it all right?"
"Took some hunting, but I got it," he said, jumping back into the bed and handing her the crumble tin. "I turned the Wireless off for you, did you know you left it on?"
"No," she said as she scooted in closer to him and balanced the crumble between them. "When did I turn it on? I don't remember listening to it."
"Not sure, but I noticed it on when I was in the kitchen." Shrugging, he scooped a bit of the fruit and held it out to her.
Hannah took the bite from the spoon, savoring the flavour of the apples and spices that warmed her up even when the crumble was cold. "That's odd," she said. "I must've turned it on when we were cooking. I don't even remember."
"Habit?" he suggested, taking a bite for himself. "Don't worry about it now though, it's off. There's nothing else to bother us now." Despite his words, he couldn't fight the way the hair on the back of his neck rose, especially since he knew the song playing on the Wireless when he'd turned it off was not the same as the notes he'd heard from the stairs. Eating another bite of the crumble, he decided he just had to have misheard the song is all, there was nothing strange in the house besides its memories. Forcing a smile, he held a spoonful of apple crumble up to Hannah's mouth watching the way she ate and forgetting the music downstairs entirely.