Azalea's NaNoWriMo - 2022

Subject: Re: Azalea's NaNoWriMo - 2022 Thu Nov 24, 2022 5:25 pm

Chapter Twenty One
Feels Like Christmas

As much as Azalea would have liked to sit and wallow in her pitiful existence for an era, it was still Christmas and the woman had yet to reply to any form of plans people in her social sphere had tried to make. If she hadn’t been willing to travel across countries before, now Azalea found it difficult to even venture from one room to the next. Though once again, the deciding factor in her life would be those who needed her, not what she needed. In the end, she had politely declined Victoria’s invitation firmly, had told Ivan that she didn’t feel up to travelling to Versailles for the occasion, and confirmed to Andrew that they could indeed have a quiet Christmas in Surrey. The boy had sounded concerned over the phone.

“But mom… you know Ive won’t be there… He will be busy with that fancy party at the palace,” her son reminded her gently. “It’ll just be the two of us.”

“Ivan said he’ll try and make it on Boxing Day,” Azalea reassured him, worried that the boys didn’t keep in touch enough to know each other’s plans. She hoped they would grow out of it in the coming years. “Besides, don’t you want to hang out with just your mom for a few days?” she added, trying to make light of the conversation.

“With you, every time,” Andrew replied, his grin apparent even over the phone. They spoke for a few more minutes, her son confirming that he’ll fly in on the twenty third which should give him enough time to battle jet lag and be ready for Christmas Eve festivities. Azalea listened as he enthusiastically spoke of doing all of Jake’s favorite Christmas traditions including eating himself into a food coma, making the brunette jot a mental note to go shopping before the occasion. Just as they were about to hang up, Andrew spoke out hesitantly.

“Mom… do you remember Jenny?” When Azalea didn’t immediately respond, he added. “She was at the wake… my friend from university.”

“Oh right,” Azalea lied, unsure how to tell him she remembered very little from the wake.

“Well she’s doing level three hundred potions, and I told her about you. She was so impressed because you’re clearly cool as fu-“

“Andrew.”

“You are!” her son insisted, making a small smile tug at the corner of her lips. “You know, everyone I’ve ever dated always thought dad was the coolest. I tried to tell them it was really you but they never believed me. You need to just start moving things around with your vines in front of new people,” he suggested, laughing at his own joke. On her part, Azalea had never pretended to be cool and so had never minded not being considered so.

“Nah, your dad will always be infinitely cooler than me,” she answered and could almost see Andrew rolling his eyes as he made a huffing sound over the phone. In some ways, he had never really changed from the little Adrienne who had come into her life and made her so very happy.

“Anyway, Jenny was wondering if she could do an interview with you. For her class. And well… an interview with you would sell in literally any nerd magazine. She could pay off half her student loan with it. But if you’d rather just to do for her class that’s fine too.” He paused for a moment, and then added. “Or if you don’t want to do it at all, that’s okay too. I didn’t promise her or anything,” he added slightly defensively.

“Can I think about it, sweetie?”

“Of course, mom, and you can absolutely say no. I’m sure she’ll understand. But I think it will be good for you to be out and about. We can’t keep out beautiful mom locked away forever.” Instead of telling him it was too late for her, Azalea simply hummed and mono syllabised her way through the rest of the conversation until they hung up.

With her plans now made, the Herbologist found herself springing into action. No matter how much she simply wanted to stay home and ignore the outside world, her sons would be coming home and it was her job to make the home ready for Christmas. Though she didn’t doubt that if she did nothing at all, the house would still be decked out in seasonal fashion of its own accord, her sons deserved better than that. So the next day she showered, dressed herself and drove herself to London. Fortunately it wasn’t as bad as she had feared. Out here among the throngs of Christmas shoppers, she was just another woman rushing to get things ready for the occasion. No one paid her any special attention and that did a lot to make her feel less anxious and guilty for venturing out. The world was easy to ignore when it ignored you right back and that was what she needed now as she piled her trolley high with groceries decorations, trimmings and other things she would need to get the house in order.

The next two weeks Azalea scheduled into tight blocks, cleaning, cooking, freezing, decorating, all the things she would have normally done, but with less cheer and more mechanical-ness. It wasn’t easy remembering that there were now only three of them, several times she found herself correcting for portions, taking down extra stockings and lingering at old photos as she dusted them. Much like the rest of her life, Christmas felt wrong without Jake, but she was still a mom and she had a job to do.

The day of the twenty third brought with it snow. Admittedly not much snow but enough to coat the ground thinly and provide a pretty layer of white fluff over everything. The snowing itself lasted for maybe half an hour but it was enough to make Andrew grin as he landed, sending Azalea a selfie from the airport’s outdoor lounge with soft snowflakes in his hair. Despite his mother offering to pick him up repeatedly, Andrew had refused, insisting he would find his own way home from the airport. The boy’s arrival was denoted by a dark blue car turning into her lane as Azalea waited on the front steps. She watched as the vehicle came to a stop at their front gate and Andrew emerged a few minutes later, clearly saying goodbye to the driver. His two huge bags came out next as the gate opened, the boy rolling them easily in before ditching them on the porch to run towards his mother and envelop her in a big hug.

“Hi sweetheart,” Azalea greeted her son, holding him tightly to herself for a moment before letting go. “Would your friend like to come in?” she asked politely.

“She doesn’t want to intrude,” Andrew replied shyly, saying without saying that this was the illustrious Jenny who had wanted to interview her. They both waved to the blue car as it reversed and drove away.

“Come on in, there’s hot chocolate with marshmallows and whipped cream for you,” the brunette encouraged, making Andrew grin. The boy lugged his bags inside, admitting how glad he was to be back home “like normal”. She knew it wouldn’t last, the feeling of normalcy. Sooner rather than later, Andrew would realize what was missing, who was missing, but until then she couldn’t bring herself to break his heart.

The next few hours were spent catching up on Andrew’s studies. He was thankfully still on track to graduate next May though the boy still had no clue what he wanted to do after. Azalea reassured him that part wasn’t as important as most people made you think and he nodded appreciatively, suggesting that he may take up the position of flying instructor at Hogwarts until he figured out more permanent plans for a career. They didn’t say it but Azalea knew how much it meant to Andrew to follow in his dad’s footsteps. Though eventually she would tell him to try and find his own thing too. Just not now. Right now she only wanted to be very, very proud of him for all the decision he had made thus far.

The evening brought with it another surprise in the form of the doorbell chiming through the house. Both mother and son were in the living room, arranging Andrew’s brought over presents under the tree when it rang, making Azalea look up with a frown. “I got it,” Andrew assured her, getting to his feet. “It’s probably carolers.” As he left, Azalea continued to arrange the brightly colored packages under the tree, wondering who had helped Andrew wrap them. The boy’s wrapping for notoriously bad and these were folded to perfection and tied with matching ribbons. Perhaps Jenny was responsible once again?

“Fucking hell, is that really you?” she heard her son exclaim from the door before she heard his brother’s softer voice.

“It is, now will you please let me in, it’s cold out here!” Azalea was up on her feet and dashing to the front door before Ivan even had a chance to take off his shoes. Reaching her son, she wrapped him in her arms, not saying anything because she didn’t know how to express having him here.

“What are you even doing here, Ive?” Andrew grinned as his turn to hug his brother arrived. The boy pretended to squeeze hard, making Ivan protest before they embraced with laughter. “Don’t you have your Ball thing at the palace?”

“I did, but I’m here on official orders from the Heir Clement,” her oldest son grinned. “His Lordship himself insisted I be home with you guys for Christmas this year. I told you, I work for the best people in the world.”

“So you needed to be ordered to return to your own home and family, wait to make us feel special bro,” Andrew rolled his eyes but Azalea merely smiled.

“Don’t listen to him,” she replied before Ivan could retort. “He’s happy really because now he doesn’t have to wait till Boxing Day to open presents.”

“Seriously, presents? He knows we are in our twenties right?” To which Andrew merely stuck out his tongue. The boys argued all the way to the kitchen about the symbolic nature and importance (or lack thereof) on Christmas day and how only killjoys didn’t like presents, or fun, or being happy. For a few minutes, it felt just like the old days. Azalea expected Jake to come around the corner any minute, trying to break up the fight by suggesting their annual eggnog competition or watching the football game or playing scrabble by the fire.

But of course Jake didn’t manifest. Even if they did end up playing Scrabble by the fire. Even if the boys ate as heartily as they could.

Even if Azalea wished with all that remained of her heart for him to please, please come back to her.

1840 words

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Subject: Re: Azalea's NaNoWriMo - 2022 Fri Nov 25, 2022 6:17 pm

Chapter Twenty Two
An Alternate Universe

Perhaps it was strange to expect Christmas to go on like normal this year, yet one had to applaud the degree to which humans could deceive themselves. Azalea didn’t know when the notion had formed in her mind but it must have somewhere along the way, as she shopped, cooked and decorated. The notion that if she treated this Christmas like any other, if she did what she did every single holiday season, then the world would shift, forced into normalcy by the power of her will alone. When Ivan had unexpectedly shown up the night before Christmas Eve, it had begun to feel more and more like a miracle. All that was left was for the boys’ father to make an appearance, a fond smile on his face and soft stubble growing on his chin and cheeks, primarily to tease his wife. The boys would all be decked in glaring jumpers courtesy of Alexis and the great debate of opening at least one or two presents on Christmas Eve would ensue. And when it was finally time for Andrew and Ivan to retire to their beds - Andrew still needing convincing because he truly believed Santa was just an evasive creature all these years and this would be the night the young man finally caught the old codger – Jake would take her up to bed and work all the day’s stresses from her body. They would wake up on Christmas morning holding on to each other like they were still teenagers, still amazed at what they had, still afraid of letting go.

So when Azalea woke up, cold and alone on Christmas morning, the wave of sadness that hit her was like a physical blow, threatening to crush her under its weight. And how desperately she wanted to give in to it. What was the point of existing in this world without Jake? If this was what Christmas mornings would be like from now on then she was better off dead. The brunette stayed in bed, letting the memories wash over her in painful pangs. It was better to have a breakdown now than later in front of the boys. The woman kept her eyes tightly shut, tears streaming down her face as she allowed herself to be battered violently with thoughts of what she had lost, thoughts of what she would always lose now and how she had betrayed Jake’s memory in a fit of rage. It was only when she heard Andrew moving around that she lifted a heavy hand to wipe her face clean. Her legs felt like lead as she walked to the bathroom to wash her face and the cold water stung at her red, raw eyes, making them look more bloodshot than before.

But only for a moment before the swelling was healed instantly, leaving a photo smooth finish.

Breakfast was a sleepy, sombre affair. Even as Azalea made Christmas tree pancakes with sugary snow, the boys sat quietly. The high from the last day and a half had certainly come down. Not seeing Jake at Christmas breakfast, smoking some form of fish, had made it hit home for the boys that he wasn’t here. The realization Azalea had been living with for months was only solidifying for her children now, and how she envied them their delayed reactions.

“Pancakes okay?” she asked, trying to prompt conversation. Uncharacteristically, both boys only nodded in response. Normally Jake and Azalea had to move heaven and earth to bring the two boys on the same page. Though she supposed gravity had shifted on its axis six months ago, altering their reality forever. Ivan attempted to make some conversation over his juice, talking of the Clement children and how quickly they were growing. He had even brought photographs to show Azalea and Andrew. As he spoke of the children, Azalea understood that he would be okay.

Jake had always worried about Ivan more given their oldest son’s soft spoken nature and the inability to stand up for himself in any physical way. But despite what Andrew thought of his brother, Ivan was a quietly confident man now doing what he adored and well assured of his place in the world. He would miss his father bitterly but he would have the strength to go on, to even prosper, without Jake by side.

Of Andrew she wasn’t so sure. Always more physically confrontational than his brother, Andrew was also a highly sensitive boy. Quick to lose his temper and quick to apologize after, the boy felt everything a touch too deeply. Hurt, betrayal, anger, boredom, the highs and lows, these marked Andrew’s life more than regular milestones and usually, Azalea prided her son in feeling as much as he did in that regard. But she also knew the cost of such an existence. Andrew would feel the loss of his father and the subsequent emptiness for years to come, it would taint every experience he would have for a long, long time. And no mother wanted that for her child.

After breakfast, the three reconvened around the Christmas tree, Andrew finally managing an excited smile at the bright pile of presents underneath the decorated fir. “By the way, who helped you wrap these up?” Azalea asked as the boy dug into the pile of gifts, trying to find ones with his name on them. “Don’t think I didn’t notice, kiddo.”

“Oh, Jenny,” her son answered offhandedly, starting to make a small separate pile beside him, something he had done since he was old enough to pile up presents. “She saw me do one and apparently had a panic attack. She’s diagnosed herself as “not OCD” so she took it from me and redid it, then did all the others. Then she went and got ribbons and added those. She’s pretty cool.”

“Jenny?” Ivan asked, an eyebrow raised. Unlike his brother, he had taken a back seat to the present piling, knowing that in his haste, Andrew would inevitably separate Ivan’s pile too, and then gnash his teeth loudly when Ivan took too long to carefully unwrap his presents.

“His “not girlfriend”, the one who picked him up from the airport and drove him here,” Azalea replied, only for Andrew to blush hotly.

“Mom!” the boy protested, his attention clearly divided between defending his relationship status and opening presents. Unsurprisingly, the presents won out. Picking up a bright gold, medium sized box, he tore into it with glee. “Jenny is more into you than me anyway. She just wanted to have a look at you. You have no idea how much she’s been researching into you, it’s like she’s obsessed. You should totally do the interv-“ the boy stopped, reading the card taped to the front of the box and belatedly, Azalea realized her mistake.

She had labelled all the presents, and signed all the cards, as she normally did. “From Mom and Dad.”

For a moment, it looked like Andrew was going to cry. But the boy bravely gulped and opened the box to find a silk, red and green striped tie within. Attached to the tie was a shimmering tie pin with Andrew’s initials embossed in gold.

“We were saving this for your graduation,” the brunette explained softly. “But I figured it was okay to give it to you a little early. We were always sure you were going to make it, kiddo.”

This time, tears did appear in Andrew’s eyes as he choked back a sob. Wordlessly, Azalea moved beside him on the floor, wrapping him into her as he cried. She held her son’s shuddering body close as he sobbed into her, more than he ever had since he’d lost his father. “I w-want d-d-dad,” he choked through his tears, clinging to her so desperately as if she was going to disappear too. “I m-miss him, m-mommy.”

“I know, baby,” Azalea soothed, running a hand through his hair as he cried. I want him too, she added softly to herself. You can’t imagine how much. Holding Andrew close to herself, she looked across the room at Ivan who was furiously rubbing his own eyes. He wasn’t sobbing like his brother but that didn’t mean his grief was any less. It had never meant that. Extending her other arm to him, Azalea ushered Ivan close to her too, and the historian came meekly, clinging to her other side with his face buried in her shoulder.

“I miss him too…” Ivan admitted brokenly, his arms around his mother’s waist to steady his own weight against her slender frame. “All the time…”

“We all miss him, so, so much,” she replied, holding both her children like she hadn’t in years. It was rare that they were both this upset and needed physical comfort, even more so as they had started getting older and it was uncool to want a cuddle from your mom. But now they had morphed back into the little children she had opened her life too, alone, lost and scared without the presence of their father to steady and guide them, to reassure them that everything would be okay. “But your dad was so fiercely protective of you, he would have done anything in the world for you boys, and he was so, infinitely proud of your two.”

“No he wasn’t,” both boys spoke in unison, surprising even themselves enough to look up from her and at each other. For a moment, it looked like they would start crying again, but it was Andrew who spoke first, trying to form words through his tears.

“Are you kidding? Mr. Ivan “The Perfect” Newbury with your line of Os and your prefect badge and being employed by the most reputable fucking institution in the world at nineteen? Dad couldn’t stop talking about how great you were. It drove me insane.”

For the first time this trip, Azalea saw anger flare up in her oldest son too. “Me? What about you? All I did was study. You were the Quidditch star? You followed in his footsteps and became a dueling champion. If anyone could follow him, it’s you. He talked about you to every single person he knew, so much so that sometimes it felt like you were the only child he had.”

“Yeah well, don’t you dare say Dad wasn’t proud of you, you shit.”

“Then you better not either, because I’m not going to open presents with a liar.”

And just like that, both boys fell on each other, hugging each other fiercely in their grief and sorrow. Azalea watched the two work out their emotions as only they could, with hugs, jabs and the occasional curse before they were both crying softly. In truth, they were both wrong. Jake had been equally proud of all his children. Even the ones who didn’t know him. She had seen his adoration for his sons in every single thing he had ever done, and some day, they would come to believe it too. Childhood pettiness would fade and they would realize how valued they had been, and that fondness wasn’t measured in sums of addition and subtraction. It didn’t need to be diminished from one person to be added to another. Jake cared for them all without limits, and that was the only truth she knew.

“Guys, got room for me in there,” she asked quietly. Both boys stopped before pulling her into a three way hug, their strong arms locked around their mother as if protecting her from the world. Because they knew it was now up to them to do so.

The three Newburies talked, cried, ate, reminisced, opened presents and cried some more, all through the day. And by evening, it had started to snow again.

1967 words

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Subject: Re: Azalea's NaNoWriMo - 2022 Fri Nov 25, 2022 9:49 pm

Chapter Twenty Three
Life in Essence

The New Year was a quiet one for Azalea and the boys, yet it felt like a much needed occasion. Spending the week with just her sons, talking of their father when they felt like it and staying silent when they wanted to, it was all a little therapeutic, at least for them. And despite all the mixed feelings of grief, loss, isolation and regret between them, all three had agreed on one thing; how much they hated Jake’s funeral and wake. Andrew had found it too stuffy and formal, Ivan had found it too impersonal and Azalea… well, she hadn’t been in any state to find anything in any way. They all agreed that if Jake had gotten a say in his send off, it was certainly not what he would have chosen.

“Nanny was just doing her best,” Azaleas defended Alexis to Andrew out of habit more than anything else. “She was probably feeling the same thing we were, probably magnified.” A little white lie wouldn’t hurt, and Azalea didn’t hold a grudge against her mother in law in any way. She just simply knew no one could ever miss Jake the way she did, the way continued to do.

“But what do you think he would have wanted?” Ivan interjected thoughtfully. “At the palace… there are plans in place. Protocols for all the family members’ deaths.” He shuddered at the mere notion of the Clement family succumbing to such an event. “His Lordship and the Lady Clement have long since secured a single grave site. I wonder how the ground crew will manage for the one who dies after…”

“That’s creepy,” Andrew voiced out. “Do all Clements bury couples together?”

“The current Lord and Lady Clement will be the first ones, actually,” Ivan responded matter of fact-ly. “And the Heir Apparent has no intent of continuing the practice from my understanding.”

“Still creepy,” Andrew insisted and talk turned to some of the more odd customs practiced by the French family. They never did work out what Jake would have wanted but at least it was now on their mind. The boys deserved their own way to say goodbye to their father, whatever that way might be.

They watched the Fireworks sitting by the pool. It was too cold to even try to swim, even if anyone had wanted too. But Ivan’s handy insulation charm and several sweaters did the trick just for sitting. The new year was heralded in fuzzy and out of focus as they toasted, cried and told stories of New Years passed Like the time Andrew had gotten so drunk, he had vomited all over the barbecue, and as much as Jake had tried to frown, he couldn’t help being slightly proof of his eighteen year old. Or the time Ivan had saved the day by calling out an unfortunately timed firework and made sure everyone was at a safe distance before it exploded. Together, Azalea and her sons sat out in the chilly night until well past two in the morning, not wanting to go inside even if the insulation charm was slowly losing its strength due to the caster growing sleepy.

This time, Andrew was the first to leave. His classes began on the third and he had to leave on the evening of the first if he didn’t want to be completely dead for them. His Christmas present had invigorated the boy more than ever before, making him promise his mother that he would graduate this time around.

“And Mom, please think about that interview with Jenny,” Andrew reminded her as they stood on the front step, a familiar blue car now hesitantly snaking up their street. “It’s not about her… It’s about you. Dad wouldn’t have wanted you to just lock yourself away. If you don’t want to go back to work, that’s fine,” he assured her, reaching over to give her a tight squeeze. “But you should do something, let the world know you’re still the most bad ass mom in history.” Azalea promised him she would think about it, then proceeded to wave to Jenny who had worked up the courage to roll down her window this time. The diminutive blonde in the driver’s seat turned entirely red at the wave before holding up a hand limply, learning too late that she was supposed to wave back.

Azalea and Ivan watched Andrew leave before retreating into the house once more. Her oldest son could stay a few more days, or rather, he had been ordered to stay a few more days. “Cup of tea?” he asked, making the brunette nod. She took her seat in the kitchen as the royal historian fiddled around with cups and tins and sugars. With Jacques’ departure, coffee had disappeared from Azalea’s life as well. A few minutes later, Ivan sat down a mug in front of her; she recognized it as one he had made in school when he was still Adrienne. The words “World’s Bestest Mommy” were spelled out in letters of all sizes when the nine year old had started to run out of space.

“Mom I…” he began hesitantly, making her realize tea was a pretense for tough conversations. Despite being half American by blood, the boys had grown up entirely British. “Part of the work that I do at the palace… concerns the Hall of Records,” he tried in a new way. “It’s not an easy place to access, even for palace staff… Only a certain clearance level.” He stopped, probably realizing that he hadn’t meant this as a precursor to telling her he had received a promotion.

“You know they don’t digitize anything, they’re really old school. So most books, documents, genealogies… They’re all preserved in magic.” Ivan sounded nervous now, as if he had done something he shouldn’t have, and was waiting for the other shoe to drop. “I always wondered about your close friendship with the Heir Clement. How you two were always hanging out before he got married. It was… unorthodox but no one seemed to mind it. In fact, the Lord Clement is unabashedly very fond of you…”

“You can ask the question, sweetheart,” Azalea reassured him, not wanting to see her son suffering from such self-doubt.

“Are you Lady Mimosa’s mother?” he asked, looking her straight in the eye. “And was Dad her…?”

“We are her parents.”

Not expecting such a straight forward answer, Ivan looked thrown for a moment before he composed his features into neutrality once more. “And… obviously the palace knew?” Another nod from Azalea as his mind tried to work out the details. “So that would make her… my sister?”

“Half,” Azalea corrected, not unkindly.

“So all those years… The Heir Apparent was just helping you stay close to Mimosa? As his friend and her teacher, if not anything more?” The questioning tone in his voice she had expected, but her son also sounded dejected, as if something he had believed in for a long time had just been proven wrong in no uncertain way.

“It’s complicated,” Azalea began, taking the cup of tea in her hand and bringing it to her lips. She took a sip to try and buy some time in order to arrange the thoughts in her head. “Your Dad and I… we had Mimosa when we were very young… We only learned of her existence when she had started Hogwarts. Your dad wanted to fight, to get her back…. But then we saw how happy she was at the palace.” Here, Ivan nodded understandingly, clearly he could readily envision someone finding absolute bliss at the Palace of Versailles. “And that’s all we’ve ever wanted for you kids. For you guys to be as happy as you can be, for as long as you can be. So we made the very difficult decision to not just give up custody but… To keep Mimosa unaware. She clearly didn’t need or miss biological parents, and we didn’t want to confuse her. Just because we weren’t in her life didn’t mean she had a bad one.”

Ivan nodded, clearly having some trouble processing the information. “And the Heir-?”

“As you guessed, he was trying to keep us as involved in Mimosa’s life as he could. Unfortunately that meant me more than your dad because Jake couldn’t pull off a dress as well as I could.” Her joke made him frown, not that it had made her smile either.

“Don’t remind me,” he shuddered. “I remember the… vulgarity of the gossip back then. People have such vile minds, as if the Lord Jacques would ever… Anyway,” he cut himself off, unable to speak ill of his employers even within the context of defending them. If only he knew what his precious Lord Jacques had done only a few weeks ago.

“Are you upset?” she asked tentatively, watching a slew of emotion she didn’t recognize flash through her son’s eyes.

“Not upset…” he admitted slowly, trying to process his own feelings in real time. “I just… I’m sorry you and Dad had to keep this from us… It must have been so awful, to miss her Ladyship at important family events, yet you guys never said a word.” He shook his head, unable to imagine how his happy looking parents had managed to keep such a sad secret his whole life long.

“You and Andrew were children, what kind of parents would we be if we burdened you with all that?” Azalea asked softly, stroking her son’s hand. “Jake and I have only ever wanted the best for all of you. And I like to think we did a halfway decent job, though we weren’t perfect.”

“Well, you guys came pretty damn close,” he admitted, hanging his head shamefully. “I wish I could apologize to dad for being such a pain, but at least I can say sorry to you. And I might need to make some other amends too.”

Azalea raised an eyebrow at that. “Other amends?” Ivan looked up at her startled, as if he hadn’t meant to reveal what he had. She could see the boy’s hovering indecisiveness in his eyes as he contemplated on whether to tell her, and what to tell her.

“Okay so… this doesn’t leave the room,” he cautioned unnecessarily. No one was better at keeping secrets than Azalea, it had cost her almost her entire life. “But I have – baselessly I’ll admit – felt that maybe Lord Jacques had nefarious motives for marrying his Lady Wife. You remember how young she was when they were betrothed. But when no children followed their marriage immediately, and when I saw how… happy she was, I told myself to not believe in gossip but I…” Small spots of red had appeared on his cheekbones. “I suppose he really does care for her… He’s been trying to do his best by her since she came to the palace… He stood to gain nothing by marrying her.”

“Nothing save keeping a promise to a friend,” Azalea admitted in a whisper. Thankfully, Ivan was too lost in his own thoughts to notice. But he did deserved to now. “I convinced him to marry Mimosa… He didn’t want to… He had never seen her in that way. But I knew how happy she would be… and so I insisted, and insisted, until he relented,” she confessed, her own eyes lowered to the table now.

This time, Ivan heard her, but the gravity of the situation didn’t seem to be in his grasp. “C’mon Mom, the Heir Apparent wouldn’t take such an important decision about his family just because you insisted. There was probably a boatload of reasons. His parents were also very partial to the match as I understand it.” Azalea let it go, if he was going to absolve her of all her sins, then she wasn’t going to question it further. Perhaps her Ivan could remain the last person on earth who believed Azalea deserved forgiveness.

“I have to admit, I have new respect for him now,” Ivan continued. “He took care of Lady Mimosa in whichever way she needed him to… Perhaps he is worthy of her after all...” Once again, Azalea heard that same, melancholy tone in her son’s voice. This time, she didn’t question it. She didn’t want Ivan to grow defensive again. No matter where he lived, this would always be his home, and she would make sure he felt comfortable here saying whatever he wanted to say.

And feeling whatever he needed to feel.

2096 words

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Subject: Re: Azalea's NaNoWriMo - 2022 Mon Nov 28, 2022 2:10 am

Chapter Twenty Four
Interview with a Vampire
By Jennifer Wilkins

I can’t believe the day is finally here, and I must confess I’m more excited than professional as I turn into the Newburies’ driveway, my blue Toyota freshly polished and serviced for the occasion because for some reason, that matters. It is not just my car that’s had an overhaul, my own person has not escaped close scrutiny ever since I found out I would be interviewing the remarkable Azalea Harrington. Granted, I’ve only had a few weeks to prepare but in some ways, I feel like I’ve been preparing for this my whole life. Yes, ever since I was a little girl growing up in North Carolina, I’ve been dabbling in potions. And today, I get to have a face to face with the woman who’s contribution to the field is unmatched by any other in modern history.

But I’m getting ahead of myself, even if in my own notes. Andrew had little to no advice on how to approach his illustrious mother, simply saying “she’s pretty cool”, an understatement if there ever was one. He was also no help in how I should act, be, emote, so he was basically just a normal boy about it. After which I turned to something that – unlike a boy – had never failed me before, research. I’ve admired Miss Harrington since I was eleven and in my first year at Salem, the year that the magical and No Maj world was abuzz with the discovery of a possible cure for lycanthropy. Attending Salem just made the legend of Miss Harrington grow larger than life, and I must confess I started more than a few scrapbooks of her, collecting anything from excerpts in research articles to her photos in various international newspapers accompanied by her close friend, the Prince of France, the even more illustrious, Jacques Clement.

So now, as I finally get out of my car to meet the comparatively young Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, I feel the need to pinch myself. Dressed in a pair of jeans and a light sweater, Miss Harrington doesn’t look her age. But then again, a good potion mistress never does, and she is the best. She greets me with the same polite smile I’ve seen countless times in photographs, television debates and guest lectures. Her face, her smile, her eyes, everything about her seems frozen in time as if she stopped aging twenty years ago.

“Hi jenny, it’s nice to meet you,” she greets me, an arm extended for a handshake. “Andrew speaks very highly of you.” I shake her hand as best I can, trying not to show how nervous I am. Despite this mental recording, I carry with me a notebook, a tape recorder, a quill stuck in a binder of the notebook and an additional pen in the back pocket of my jeans which – on second thought – is probably ill advised. Knowing me, I’ll probably sit on it and squirt ink all over myself. I try not to fixate on this latest nightmare scenario as she leads me past the open and airy kitchen into the living room.

I didn’t know what to expect from her home, but honestly it seems rather… normal. Instead of the many awards and accolades she has won for her work over the years, I mostly see family photographs on the mantel. A large portrait of herself and her late husband adorns the hallway wall, taken a while back probably, though the similarity of her as a teenager and her now is uncanny. She looks at the camera while her future husband looks squarely at her in the candid snapshot. More photos capture my attention until I forget it was accolades I was looking for. I only find two, an Order of Merlin First Class of hers, beside a bigger, superimposed Order of Merlin Second Class belonging to Jake Newbury. The placement speaks volumes about the kind of person she is.

“Would you like a drink?” she asks as she ushers me to sit down. I refuse politely, not wanting to take up more of her time than I have to. I had informed her in advance that I would only be asking a few questions and I intent to keep my promise. Not seven months ago, Miss Harrington lost her husband, a sweetheart of many, many years, i can’t imagine the loss she had felt, was probably still feeling as she obliges me with this interview. After a short introduction, we start off without preamble.

“I know it’s a bit cliche but… What made you decide to go into Herbology, and subsequently potions?” She pauses thoughtfully, not judging me for my lack of originality.

“I’ve always been interested in Herbology. I used to steal seeds from fruits at the dinner table to try and germinate them in my room. My Dad and Godmother were very supportive and the passion just grew. Potions was a skill I had to pick up. It went hand in hand with my chosen field and I only started getting really good at it in my later years at Salem – I was a Nightshade there, you now.”

I refrain from telling her that she as a Nightshade, a prefect, Head Girl at sixteen, part time bar tender at Greenwitch Village and taught Herbology straight after graduation. Instead I focussed on my next question. “You were an exceptional student by all accounts, yet you didn’t pursue a degree right after graduation. Could you explain why?” The brunette once again takes a moment to form a proper reply.

“I didn’t want to go to college,” she answers simply. “It wasn’t for me. And at that time, Jake was attached to the Moose Jaw Meteorites so I moved to Canada with him. The challenge of trying to grow new species in such a cold environment was far more intriguing to me than sitting in a class, taking notes.”

I nod, hoping her comment hadn’t dissuaded a million slackers out there to not pursue college. “You made your first contribution to science creating growing cells compatible with humans. The first person to try this form of treatment was the current First Lady of the United States. Could you tell me a little bit about your relationship with Mrs. Victoria Blake?”

“Justice Blake,” she corrects gently, reminding me that our FLOTUS indeed had a career before she entered the White House. “As I’m sure you know, Victoria is Jake’s little sister. Due to a childhood accident, she was rendered immobile at a T-6 level quad. Funnily enough, her injury didn’t define her one bit. She was just as curious, intelligent and lively as she is now. She was my sole motivation for pursuing the avenue of cell creation, though no one is more glad than Victoria that through her, countless people are helped daily today with the same treatment.”

This much is true, from what I’ve seen of Victoria Blake, she is a genuinely a kind individual. “Many people have commented that after your initial patent period expired on the cells, you did not choose to renew it. May I know why that was?” the Headmistress does not hesitate in her answer.

“Patents protect IPs and make it harder for people who need care to get care. The idea behind not filing for an extension with the cells, and in fact not claiming a copyright to my Lycanthropy treatment was so that other potioneers could emulate it around the world, improve it, perfect it, make it for cheaper. So it could reach as many people as possible in the shortest amount of time possible. I published the recipe online as soon as I had it, probably destroying several corporations’ goals but that wasn’t important.”

I note this down, not adding that it’s easier to shun corporations and monetary gain when she had the financial backing of the Clement family. Miss Harrington has not bene shy about who supported her research financially during the early 2030s. “And would you say the treatment is perfect now?”

“No treatment is perfect,” she cautions, looking pensively at a photograph behind me. “However, as researchers, we try to refine the process as best we can. When I first stumbled upon the formula, it posed a forty-sixty risk of not working. Then we started testing venom individuality markers in werewolves, and found that an antidote containing the same venom that had infected the victim stood a higher chance of fighting the mutation. The chances then increased to sixty-forty. More debate and testing over the last decade has streamlined the process further and now, there is an eighty percent chance of recovery if one is bitten by a werewolf – adjusted for age and pre-existing health conditions. Higher if the same venom is obtained. The treatment isn’t – if you’ll forgive the pun – magic. It’s a precise process of ingesting the cure over a three month period to slowly dilute the mutation until it can safely dissolve. It does require some strength from the patient though.”

I can see she is trying to simplify the extremely complicated process of washing the lycanthropy gene mutation out of a human’s DNA and while I wish she wouldn’t, I can also see the need for it. “You’ve always been very open about who financed your research into Lycanthropy, but you’ve neglected to speak on the nature of your contract with the Clement Foundation. Would you like to explain it now?”

She seems taken aback by the question. “I neglected to mention it because there wasn’t one. When I first expressed an interest in the field, they were extremely supportive and furnished me with everything I needed. In a way, they believed in me before I believed in myself. They were also very encouraging of me publishing the recipe online as they didn’t care to reap monetary benefits from such a breakthrough discovery.”

I laugh nervously at her explanation. “Well, they are the Clements, monetary concerns are not high up on their list.” For the first time, the slender brunette narrows her eyes slightly at me.

“It seems that there is a public belief that wealthy people must be awful in private. Over the last few decades alone we have seen countless people try to discredit the Clements yet there is a reason they never succeed. The Lord Clement is genuinely one of the warmest, most sincere and humble man I have ever met. His son goes even a step further. Over my many years of friendship with the heir apparent, I have never known him to make assumptions about those he does not know. I only wish he and his family were afforded the same courtesy.”

I backtrack quickly, not wanting to offend anyone. “Of course, my apologies. That didn’t come across right.” I fidget with my notebook, trying to get to the next question. “Speaking off… your friendship with the young Lord Clement… There was a lot of buzz in the tabloids that you two were romantically involved around the same time your research went public. Can we safely say those were just rumors?”

She nods firmly. “Very safely. Jacques Clement is a very dear friend, and always has been. I count myself lucky to have had his support in all my endeavors and he and his Lady Wife remain some of my most preferred people in the world.”

We bring the interview to a close with a last question. “So, what’s next for you? I understand you’ve been on a sabbatical, and God knows you deserve one, but do you plan to return to the world of academia some day?”

Once again, her chocolate eyes grow cloudy as she considers my question. “I don’t believe I’ve left the world of academia, though I suppose there are those who would disagree…” I want to interject, to reassure her she hasn’t, but she continues before I have the chance. “It’s been… difficult trying to return to my old routine. How can I when I’m not the same person anymore… Eventually I hope to find a way back to some other kind of normal… But for now, my next big venture will be attending Andrew’s graduation in March. Where you too will be graduating, if I remember correctly?” Her interest causes me to turn a little pink as we wrap up the rest of the interview.

She walks me back to my car, insisting on sending me home with a box of chocolates and warm wishes. And as I drive back to my hotel, I wonder how such a remarkable woman can exist in such an… ordinary life.

2112 words

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Subject: Re: Azalea's NaNoWriMo - 2022 Mon Nov 28, 2022 1:10 pm

Chapter Twenty Five
We’ve Got to Stop Meeting like This

Time might have flown until March, or it may have trickled slow, but Azalea was of the opinion that it had done both. On days when she was busy, working on more documentation, research and peer review, it got away from her, turning sunrises into sunsets quite easily. On days when she couldn’t dedicate herself to a task, it slowed to a halt, counting each second with loud ticks of a clock that only existed inside her head. The Herbologist wasn’t sure which one she preferred. On her busy days, she was left guilty because she hadn’t missed Jake enough and on her slow days, missing him was all she did, leaving her more incapacitated than before. She supposed it was a dilemma she would have to live with for the remainder of whatever life she had left to live.

March came into being and the packing for Andrew’s graduation loomed ahead. Originally, Jake and Azalea had planned to surprise the boy with his own car on the occasion but at that time, Andrew had been studying local and now, Azalea had no idea how to pick out a car. She supposed dinner and cash for a vehicle would have4 to suffice in Jake’s absence. It was bad enough that she would be the only one attending – Ivan opting out at the last minute because the Clement twins had also somehow developed twin colds – and Victoria couldn’t make it due to scheduling conflicts. Alexis and Henry had offered to take their grandson to dinner the day after, wanting a celebration of their own.

Azalea didn’t plan to be in the states for more than a few days, only as long as her son would have her around. Her third child had already pronounced that he was going to start his summer early. Jenny and Andrew were planning on a trip to the Amazonian region (or what remained of it) in search of rare fungi. Somehow, Azalea suspected the plan was young Miss Wilkin’s and Andrew was just along for the ride. He was very much like his father in that way. The boy planned to be back somewhere in August when he intended to move back home and still apply for the post of flying instructor at his alma mater. Unsurprisingly, Jenny Wilkins intended to apply for a potion apprenticeship in the UK too.

Once again left in charge of her own travel, Azalea had packed a small bag and booked the most affordable flight she could find well in advance. So when the day to fly finally donned, she was ready. Instead of taking a cab, she drove herself to the airport and checked her car into the holding lot for the duration of her stay, figuring it would be easier to drive herself back when she returned. As always, the woman arrived in plenty of time to queue up for her departure gate, a copy of the February issue of Botanical Introspection in one hand purely out of habit. Once she was seated in the boarding lounge, the brunette finally glanced at the magazine in her grasp, quickly moving past the pink Valentine’s front page to the contents within, surprised to find her own interview somewhere around page twenty, as submitted by Jenifer Wilkins. She hoped the girl had been fairly compensated. It was a fluff piece more than anything but Botanical Introspection wasn’t a hard core research publication. At best it was a summary of what was going on in the Herbology world these days.

The lounge slowly filled up around her, Azalea catching snippets of conversation from the people coming in. the arguing elderly couple, the mother overwhelmed with four young children and no husband, the uncle travelling with two teenaged nieces, she heard the conversations around her without looking up from her magazine, until she caught an excited whisper, presumably from one of the teenagers.

“It’s him, I told you it’s him, Look at the palace Insta account, it’s clearly him!”

“O-M-G should we go say hi? Is that even allowed?”

“Here, try and take a picture- No, you idiot! Of me, try and get him in the background.”

Azalea didn’t have to look up to know who they were talking about. There was only one “he” at the palace that could generate that kind of buzz at a local airport. And sure enough she heard his voice a moment later, smooth as butter with the infectious charm that had yet to fail him.

“Can I help you ladies?”

The girls were rendered speechless at being addressed, but only for a moment before one of them stuttered. “Could we… selfie?” To their surprise, the heir to House Clement smiled conspiringly at them.

“I know, I’ve been working up the courage to ask too, but I think she’s busy,” he winked, nodding towards the brunette stubbornly refusing to look up from her magazine. “It’s not every day I get to travel with a celebrity.” The girls merely looked back at him blankly, and then towards Azalea, one of them silently mouthed “is she someone famous?”

“She most certainly is,” Jacques confirmed with a grin. “You should google her when you get the chance. Though better get that selfie first, she looks like someone who wouldn’t say no to young people. I’ll be in the picture too.” And just like that, he set the teens into action, one of them approaching Azalea much more confidently than they would have the Frenchman. She brazenly asked for a picture and for a moment, the Herbologist entertained the idea of asking the girl how she knew of her. But decided to let it go. They were just kids being put up to a trick by a man who really should know better. She agreed, upon which the girl invited her “two friends” over and the picture was taken. Thankfully the girls disappeared after that, probably off to crop Azalea out of the frame and tell all their friends they had just met Jacques Clement.

The Auror took the liberty of remaining seated next to her. “Your fame precedes you,” he spoke softly in greeting and Azalea could hear the cheeky grin in his voice.

“Very funny,” she replied, tucking away her magazine. “Flying coach again? Have the palace jets been decommissioned?”

His smile didn’t waver at her tone. “Non, Mimosa and the children took them. They’re going on a week long holiday so I thought it best to employ their service with the family.”

“Holiday?” Azalea raised, an eyebrow raised. “I heard the twins had the flu.” In fact, it was the whole reason Ivan was missing his brother’s graduation.

“They did, but they are safely in recovery. Ivan just worries too much. He insisted on staying with them. He’s one of the few staff members travelling with them to their holiday destination actually.” Azalea remained quiet at this latest bit of information. After what she had heard in her oldest son’s tone over Christmas, this made more sense. She also knew Andrew should not be told about this. The boy didn’t need another thing to begrudge his brother.

“And you?”

The man paused now, probably deliberating what to tell her. “I couldn’t go: prior commitments. As it is, I’m speaking at a convocation ceremony in Illinois.”

“You’re not,” Azalea finally looked up at him, surprise flashing in her dark brown gaze for a moment. “Are you?” He didn’t have to reply for her to know it was the truth. It wasn’t surprising that he had been invited as the keynote speaker at Andrew’s graduation, she just wondered to what extent Jacques had contrived for it to happen, and in what time frame. Though she supposed it didn’t matter in the end. Be it France or America, the world just easily bent to the will of the Clements.

“I’m sorry if it upsets you,” he finally conceded, his tone serious now. His own brown eyes bore straight into hers, daring Azalea to doubt his honesty. “Would you believe… It was the only way I could think of to see you again…”

“You could have come to the house.”

“Am I still welcomed there?”

The woman didn’t answer, unsure what the right answer even was. The last time she had seen him; her silence had made it clear she didn’t want him around anymore. And he had respected that, instead doing what he had always done, looking out for her from afar. Sending Ivan home for Christmas, the continuous work that seemed to find its way to her doorstep, the house maintenance that continued on days she couldn’t take care of it herself… His presence in her life had never really ceased and what was more, she had never made any tangible attempts to cease it either.

The announcement for business class passengers to board rang overheard and a few people began to move. Jacques did not. “You’re really flying economy again?” she asked, trying not to sound amused.

“Well, you refuse to book business, so my fate is sealed. My back and kegs will eventually forgive you.”

“I think they’ll manage,” the witch noted dryly, taking in his impressive physique. “You aren’t forty yet.”

“A curse I must live with,” he quipped back, mischief returning to his tone. When the announcement for economy class to begin boarding finally sounded through the departure lounge, the Frenchman got to his feet. “May i?” he asked, offering her a hand. The brunette thought for a moment before taking it, rising to her feet and coming to stand by his side as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

1617 words

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Subject: Re: Azalea's NaNoWriMo - 2022 Tue Nov 29, 2022 1:53 pm

Chapter Twenty Six
Evenfall

They landed at O’ Hare at nine at night, British time, which meant they were greeted by bright late afternoon skies at Chicago’s three o clock. Having spent most of the flight sleeping – Azalea’s body giving in to the temptation of natural sleep after surviving on sleep potions for the last two months – the brunette found herself both oddly tired and vividly awake. No stranger to jetlag however, she wasn’t unduly concerned. Jacques took her hand easily as they exited the plane, and then lined up at the immigration points, then at baggage claim. Once again, her one bag was the only thing they retrieved, the Frenchman appearing to have travelled without any luggage. It was as they were heading out to the main airport lobby that she asked her next question.

“So, do you have a room at the Langham or something?” It wasn’t mean really, not if it was true. Though to be fair, even if he didn’t have a room at Chicago’s finest luxury hotel, she doubted they would refuse him one if he just showed up. The Clements were the kind of guests one made room for in their establishments.

“The family does,” he answered sheepishly, probably not seeing the point of denying who he was. “But I’m not in the mood right now.” Leading her out towards the taxi stand manned by several idling yellow cabs, he added. “As it happens, there’s a quaint little place near the university. Maybe you’ve heard of it. Hyatt Place?”

Azalea looked up at him blankly, undecided on whether she should find it amusing or infuriating that he was staying at the same two and a half star hotel she had booked herself in for the next three days. “Isn’t that a little beneath your high standards?”

“On the contrary,” he replied, the smile back in his voice. “It’s been known to host the world’s greatest Herbologist. If it’s good enough for her, it’s certainly good enough for me.”

“You’re impossible,” she admonished, trying not to be amused at his antics.

“Only because I try so hard,” he quipped before reaching out a hand and hailing a cab. “Would you mind terribly giving me a ride? Carpooling is good for the environment, you know.” Together, the two got into a cab and sped off towards their hotel, exchanging light banter and though Azalea didn’t want to admit it, she was in a better mood by the time they pulled into the lobby of the hotel. Check in was easy enough since they were there well after peak hours and she noted Jacques had the courtesy to book his room on a separate floor from hers. But of course the Frenchman walked her to her own suite first, making sure her bag was safely in, and that she was safely in, before bidding her a good evening.

He looked tired, she noted after the Frenchman had left. Perhaps he hadn’t managed to sleep on the plane as well as she had. The thought made her guilty somehow, him watching over her as she slept. No one deserved to go through that kind of trouble at her behest. Trying to avoid thinking about it, Azalea disappeared into the shower, attempting to wash the day’s journey away from her body under the warm spray of water. Stepping out of the bathroom twenty minutes later, she wrapped herself in the subpar quality hotel robe before reaching for her phone.

The first person she called was Andrew, and judging by the loud music and shouting in the background, he was out partying. After informing him that she was safely at the hotel and would see him tomorrow at the convocation, she hung up, hoping his hangover wouldn’t keep him from walking on stage. Her next call was to Victoria, and the brunette had to wait several moments to be patched through to the First Lady. As expected, her sister in law was all warmth and apologies at missing Andrew’s big event. Though she had already sent Andrew’s present over, a brand new top of the line broom Azalea hadn’t heard of but which would make Andrew the envy of every flyer who didn’t own the same model. The two chatted about Andrew, Victoria’s children, how happy Jake would have been to be at this occasion and about Alexis and Henry for the next fifteen minutes before Victoria had to go. Once again, the First Lady had tried to invite her to their Milwaukee residence and once again, Azalea had said she would think about it.

It was nearing seven by the time she had finished unpacking and putting everything away. The day’s exhaustion was catching up with her as she reclined in a chair, not hearing the soft knock on her door the first time. The second time, it was a little more insistent, making her look up from the Convocation program she was studying. Andrew’s name had been spotted and highlighted a while ago, now she was looking at Jenny’s. The girl was graduating summa cum laude and got a whole page to her accomplishments. Putting the leaflet aside, she rose to her feet and made her way to the door, having a pretty good idea of who was on the other side. She was not disappointed.

“Come on, I’m starving. Let’s go get something to eat,” Jacques said in way of greeting, making the brunette frown.

“I’m not dressed,” she motioned to her robes. “And I’m not hungry.”

He had a counter proposal to that as well. “You could get dressed, and watch me eat.” Both too tired and amused to argue, she nodded, closing the door on his face. His lock of mock disappointment didn’t escape her as the door shut, but it was gone ten minutes later when she emerged in a dark red skirt and black blouse. Her hair styled in a simple ponytail, the woman had only brought two pairs of shoes, the plain black heels of which she wore now.

“So, where are we heading?” Azalea asked as they walked to the elevator, looking for all the world like two normal people going out to eat. This part of Chicago had its benefits that way. Few paparazzi or even people to recognize them. And by them, she clearly emphasized the “him” part of them. Azalea had gone unrecognized even in the most remarkable places and events, most noticeably the Met Gala some eleven years ago that she had attended with the very man who now walked beside her in stonewashed jeans and a plain white t shirt, his snow white sneakers contrasting starkly against the dark carpet.

“There’s a little floating restaurant on the river, it came highly recommended by the front desk,” he replied casually as they walked. When Azalea didn’t object, he held out a hand for her, taking the lead. The duo walked in companionable silence, making their way out the hotel door and into the post sunset streets coming to life with artificial lights and sounds all around them. String lights hung over them as they walked, turning everything soft and glowing, and the sound of slow jazz eventually made itself known as they drew closer to the river. Despite the month, it was warn enough to not need additional layers but windy enough to not worry about the mugginess.

“Jake and I once passed through a place like this,” Azalea commented as they reached the pier. “We were in school… I don’t remember which year. But we had the bright idea to travel from Greenwitch to Minnesota on his bike. Just a long road trip, camping around and travelling, and stopping.” The memory was fuzzy now, but the feeling it had evoked in her was all too clear.

“That must have been fun,” he hummed, helping her step onto a small canoe that carried patrons of the restaurant back and forth from the floating eatery.

“I don’t know what we were thinking,” she admitted fondly as she sat down in the canoe, her thoughts lost in another lifetime. “But that’s youth for you. No limits and boundless optimism. But everything with him was an adventure worth having.” And she meant it too. The good and the bad, it was all worth it if it meant she and Jake could share in it together. If she had several dozen more lifetimes to relive, she would happily dedicate them to him over and over again.

“Not all teenagers,” Jacques interjected softly, not meeting her gaze. “I would have given anything for these kinds of adventures… But one can only get so far with guards watching them all the time, no matter how unobtrusively.” Azalea nodded, it was weird even now to think of anything that Jacques couldn’t have. Not because of his family and what was at their disposal, but because long ago Azalea had simply decided that he deserved everything in the world. That feeling had not changed with time.

“All the fast cars, jets, boats,” Jacques continued wryly, his eyes on the dark waters below. “All to create some illusion of freedom where there wasn’t any, not really.” It was rare that the Frenchman ever complained about his circumstances, always more humble than reaffirming of his status in this world. But when he did grow wistful, Azalea knew he was hurting. She had become familiar with that side of him over the course of their friendship. He had limited freedom then and he probably had even lesser now. The irony of it all, the one holding him back from being happy was himself.

“Jacques.., Why did you come here?” she asked, her tone serious as she leveled her chocolate eyes his way.

“To… quell a selfish impulse, I suppose,” he answered honestly, his own eyes meeting hers. “I tried to convince myself it was wrong… to want anything for me. I should exist for my family. For Mimosa, for our children, for Maman and Papa. That should make me happy enough, to live a life in service to our house and our name… And yet, it doesn’t.” Staring firmly at her, he added in a soft whisper. “So I came to seek out the thing that does make me happy.”

The canoe docked softly at the restaurant, Jacques standing up and helping her out of the wooden structure as her heels clicked against the wooden slats. They were seated at a candlelit table set underneath more string lights. The jazz music swelled now and the food arrived sizzling hot. They spoke little through the meal, both merely content with looking at each other, lost in their own thoughts. Once again, Azalea found herself wishing she could be privy to what he was thinking, and more so, she wished he could see what was going on in her head. They finished their meal without fanfare, walking back the way they had come.

The streets were brighter now, coming alive with sound, music, cheers, shouts and lights. A fire show was going on somewhere and a street artist was performing stunts. Jacques picked a single dahlia off a bouquet from a flower vender (passing her a bill that made the seller grin toothily) and with a soft touch, tucked it behind Azalea’s ear, woven simply amidst her dark brown locks.

When they returned to their hotel, the Auror once again walked her to her room, stopping at the door to give her a small kiss on the cheek by way of saying goodnight. But when he moved away to take his leave, he found he couldn’t go very far.

For Azalea’s hand remained firmly on his, soft but insistent.

“Are you sure?” he spoke, barely above a whisper. The brunette nodded, guiding him into the room. No she wasn’t sure, not by a long shot. She hadn’t been sure of anything since last June, not even of herself. Especially not of herself. But for the first time in so, so long, she really wanted to be.

The door closed softly behind them, concealing them from the outside world.

2018 words

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Subject: Re: Azalea's NaNoWriMo - 2022 Tue Nov 29, 2022 10:18 pm

Chapter Twenty Seven
Orpheus and Eurydice

Azalea woke up to a feeling she had almost forgotten, the feeling of being held by someone in her sleep. Her hazy brown eyes opened to soft light filtering in through the bland white curtains adorning the windows of her hotel room, dousing the world in a soft, ethereal glow. She woke up to find him already awake, and looking down at her with something dangerously close to boundless affection in his gaze. She closed her eyes again, not sure she deserved such a welcome after what had happened last night.

“Bonjour,” the man holding her whispered, leaning down to place a soft kiss on her bare shoulder, making her realize anew the condition she was in. The only adornment her body held from their dinner last night was the single dahlia that still remained in her hair. “Did you sleep well?”

She had to think about it. Yes, she had slept well. She had slept remarkably in fact, lulled into slumber by soft touches and tired bones. Everything soft and tender their previous encounter had lacked was made up for in this one, ending in both of them falling asleep more peacefully than they had in months. But now that she was awake, Azalea wasn’t sure if sleeping, if feeling this restful was yet another act of betrayal she had instigated against herself. The woman didn’t respond, instead pulling the covers up to her chin, as if that would help now. Jacques frowned, letting her go.

“Would you like some space? I can go back to my room.”

Once again, she had to think on the question. A part of her did want him to leave, just so she would stop feeling this comfortable and elevated. She should be left alone to wallow in her shame for what had happened. She certainly deserved that. But… even a night after last night, Azalea hadn’t intrinsically changed. She was still here. And while her companion had been a gentleman in every way imaginable, he still hadn’t been able to make her forget who she was. That feeling was reserved for only one person, and she feared it was a high she would never get again.

“You can stay,” she finally managed, deciding that his comfort mattered more than hers right now. For whatever reason, Jacques Clement had pinpointed her as his source of stolen happiness… and perhaps she could learn to live with that, however long time might take. “But only if you make breakfast.” She felt his soft chuckle against her skin as he dropped another kiss to her body.

“You’re going to trust me with cooking anything, you’ve grown brave, Azalea.”

“Downright reckless,” she corrected, snuggling into the covers. She had nothing to lose now after all.

“True, you’ve always been brave,” he conceded, a lazy finger sifting through her fine brown hair with no other agenda than to do just that. And as much as she wanted to deny it, Azalea missed being touched this way, as if she mattered. When Jake had gone from this world, he hadn’t left alone. He had taken all that made Azalea her with him. Perhaps Jacques knew this to a certain extent, perhaps he was trying to bring her back. “What are you thinking about?” he asked, once again displaying uncanny insight into her thought process.

“Orpheus and Eurydice,” she answered honestly, realizing that was indeed what she had been thinking about. The notions to coming back from the dead certainly seemed to apply here.

“I must be very boring for you to turn to Greek Mythology early in the morning,” he posed, not at all offended. In fact, the Frenchman sounded more amused than anything else.

“I don’t know, it is early?” the brunette asked, eyebrows raised at the abundance of light in the room.

“Quarter to eleven actually,” he answered, sounding somewhat smug. A quick calculation in her head showed she had slept for well over twelve hours. She only hoped he had slept for at least half that time. “So what role did you play, the heartbroken bard or the unfortunate soul who never made it back?”

Azalea parted her lips slightly to reply, and then closed them again. One could argue she was both and neither, and at any rate, it wasn’t important. So she asked a question that was. “What does… all this mean? Where do we go from here?”

The man didn’t enjoy being asked such a serious question, as was clear in his attempt to steer the conversation back to mischievous waters. “I was thinking brunch, and then you have to get ready for Andrew’s program. If you need anything, I do have some services on retainer.”

“Jacques,” she admonished softly, finally turning to him, face to face with the Frenchman she had spent the night with. “We can’t just not talk about it.”

“Why not?” he pouted, affecting a man much younger that his age and much less dignified than his station. “Why can’t this just be enough for now? We were friends before any of this, why can’t we still be friends after? What will talking achieve?”

“Because friends don’t do what we did,” she sighed, reaching out to stroke his arm soothingly, not wanting to offend him but equally wanting him to understand the gravity of the situation. “You’re still a married man, married to my daughter. And… No one can ever replace Jake in my life. Attempting that is pure folly.”

“I never intended to do that, Azalea,” his serious tone now matched hers, his own brown eyes searching for something in her gaze. “I only want to take care of you… The way you’ve taken care of me, my whole family, for nearly half your life now. I didn’t fall in love with your because of your looks, you know. I did that because you took on the responsibility of being associated with our house and name with such flawless grace and valour, I couldn’t believe such a person existed. I’ve seen you fiercely defend each one of us at no personal gain… Is it too much to ask that you allow me to do the same now?”

The brunette closed her eyes, colour blossoming over her features slightly. She hadn’t stood up for the Clements out of a need to make anyone happy; she had simply always felt as if she belonged to the family. Perhaps it was because they had raised Mimosa, perhaps it was because she had received such undeserved respect and recognition from them, whatever it was, she owed it to herself to serve, and that service she had seen reflected many times in Jacques’ gaze too. It was one of the many things they had in common, realizing that some things were bigger than them.

“I don’t… know how to let you do that,” she confessed, her voice cracking softly. The only person who had ever taken care of her was Jake. And she didn’t even know how she could navigate such a route again without him, or with anyone else. Being here, being this contented physically and emotionally, it still felt like a betrayal of epic proportions, but she was so tired of not existing anymore. Jacques wanted to make her exist, maybe not as she was, but a version of something she could become down the line. “I don’t now what I’m supposed to be for you.”

He paused at her question, reaching out to brush the soft pad of a finger to her cheekbone. When the tear had escaped she had no idea. “Could you just find it in yourself to be there for me?” he asked softly. “I could never ask for more.”

The woman nodded softly, curling into him as she cried. To his credit, he held her securely as she wept, stroking her head and patting her back as she let the tears flow. Azalea was past caring if he saw how broken she was because deep down, she knew he was equally broken. She had lost Jake barely a year ago but he had lost everything for a decade now, and had been forced to live without acknowledging it. She at least had the luxury of open grief.

He made her no promises as he held her, because he wasn’t free to make her any. Nor did she want him to, knowing full well that her place in his life would always remain secondary to his duty. She wanted that too. The ideology that had bound them together so many years ago was stronger than any feelings that could ever develop between them. And it was exactly that which would keep the tenuous balance in their newfound dynamic. Duty above the self.

Eventually she stopped crying, she composed herself, she forced herself back to the present and she made herself think of the tasks that lay ahead. She had needed to cry, especially in front of him. But now she had to be strong. She had to watch Andrew fulfil a milestone they had waited so long for, and she had to put on a happy face for it because her son deserved that much.

And it helped that Jacques would be by her side for all of it. It helped more than she could put into words.

Yet, he seemed to understand.

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Subject: Re: Azalea's NaNoWriMo - 2022 Mon Jan 02, 2023 5:16 pm

Chapter Twenty Eight
We Were Only Freshmen

As it turned out, she did need something from Jacques as she got ready for her son’s convocation ceremony: she needed privacy to get dressed. To his credit, the Frenchman was more than willing to grant her a few hours. Well aware that she was attending her twenty something year old son’s graduation event, Azalea had picked a dress suitable for the occasion. The simple green gown that adorned her narrow frame regardless looked tailor made, something Azalea wished it didn’t. She had still not gotten into the habit of dying a few strands of her hair silver to look her age and as a result, that reflection that looked back at her in the mirror bothered her slightly. She looked like Andrew’s sister more than his mother, generously speaking.

When she met Jacques in the lobby later that evening, he greeted his with a smile. “You look nice.”

“I know,” the brunette replied unhappily as they moved to the front entrance where – of course – a car awaited. It seemed Jacques was no longer keeping up the pretence of European boy on a gap year. But as he opened the door for her to get in, Azalea realised the vehicle may have been sent from the university instead. Feeling guilty, she resolved to apologize to him in some other way later tonight.

“Green for Slytherin?” he asked eventually, an eyebrow raised at her in curiosity. He seemed a little amused, and didn’t manage it hide it well at all.

“Belladonna,” she corrected with a soft smile of her own. “Whenever I wore green, everyone always assumed it was house spirit, especially when I was Head of Slytherin,” she explained as the car took a turn and sped off towards a roundabout. “But it was always for Belladonna. I used to wear his Jacket to support him for matches.”

“Well, I must say it suits you,” he smiled, no ill will towards her or the story. This was perhaps the best part of their newfound dynamic, being able to talk about Jake with him. Talking about Jake without worrying that she was causing the listener pain. Azalea had no doubt that her sons, Victoria and any number of people would volunteer to talk to her about her late husband, but no one would make her do it as easily as Jacques Clement.

They arrived at the university in convivial spirits, Jacques being whisked off towards the VIP lounge and Azalea finding her way to the main hall and her seat. She had already politely declined the man’s invitation to accompany her to the speaker’s area. She was here today as Andrew Newbury’s mother, not Jacques Clément’s date. And she planned to sit with all the other parents, joining in their nerves, excitement, joy and wistfulness as they watched their children walk onto the stage and receive their diplomas.

The proceedings began with Jacques’s opening remarks followed by the valedictorian’s speech and Azalea watched Jenny Wilkin’s face reflected off the giant screens surrounding the main stage. The girl gave a speech about honour in education, the power of change it could manifest and the importance of dreams. Normally, Azalea would have considered it pedestrian but today, he nodded and clapped along with all the other parents.

Andrew’s name was far down the lists by virtue of the alphabet order, but when her son did walk out in his robes (which he had somehow managed to slightly wrinkle in the hour or so he’d worn them) Azalea stood up and clapped, beaming at her son. Leafy had been called into service discretely, holding up her phone and taking pictures as Andrew collected his diploma, turned to the audience and grinned sheepishly towards her. She could make out the words “Hi Mom” from his lips before he was ushered off stage.

“Is that your son?” an elderly gentlemanly sitting beside her asked. Azalea nodded unnecessarily. The man smiled. “We’re Turners, gotta wait till the very end,” he motioned to his wife beside him.

“Don’t worry, his girlfriend is a W, so I’m waiting too,” Azalea smiled back. “My Husb-“ she paused, having automatically turned to the seat beside her as if Jake would suddenly appear. Adjusting her expression, she turned back to the couple. “My husband wouldn’t have missed this for the world.” The man’s wife caught up before he did.

“We’re sorry for your loss, Mrs-.”

“Newbury,” she replied a touch of tenderness in her voice now. She had never really taken Jake’s name professionally. And before today, Mrs. Newbury had always just been Alexis. Azalea had never belonged to anywhere as fiercely as she had to Jake, so much so that it had never emitted legalizing on paper.

The three parents made awkward conversation until the Turner Twins came on stage. Now it was Azalea’s turn to watch her companions jump up and down, the mother openly crying and cheering while the father took the photos. Not ten minutes after, Jenny Wilkin walked the stage. Azalea noted no one had come from her home to cheer her on. She had never considered Jenny to have any problems at home, but then again, Azalea hadn’t thought much about the girl after the interview.

The ceremony wrapped up soon after and Andrew came bounding from backstage towards her, giving her a big hug. She could smell alcohol on his breath and didn’t grudge him that. He was allowed to drink today. “I’m so proud of you, kiddo,” she spoke earnestly as she hugged him. “And your dad is too. He would have taken you out for a drink if he was here, but I hope you’ll let me do the honours.”

Andrew shook his head. “No more drinking for a few days please, they already made me do a shot backstage. I want some real food please, Mom.”

“Whatever you want, darling,” Azalea agreed and they began to walk. But before they had reached the line exiting the hall, Andrew spoke up again.

“Mom… Is it okay if Jen comes with us? She… doesn’t have any plans after this. She says she’ll be okay but I don’t want her to go back in her dorm and just read all night.” What Andrew didn’t say was that he was worried about the young lady in question, but he didn’t have to. There was a lot of Jake in his son and Azalea understood both men perfectly without them needing to say the words.

“Why don’t you go get her and I’ll meet you guys outside,” Azalea suggested warmly, making Andrew launch himself at her again.

“Mom, you are like, legit, the best.”

“You remember that when I’m nagging you the next time,” the brunette grinned and sent him off with a wave. For the first time in her life, she was starting to understand Alexis more. Andrew wasn’t at that point in his life when his romantic partner would become more important than his mother, but he was getting there. Azalea only hoped she would handle the transition with more grace than her mother in law had.

Jenny turned out to be equally grateful at being invited, citing both her parents being too busy. From the little that the girl revealed, Valedictorian was not considered much of an achievement at her home, both her parents being fortune five hundred CEOs who only had time for real achievements. And though it remained unsaid, Azalea got the gist her parents were not ecstatic that she had chosen Andrew to have a relationship with at this point. “I wouldn’t worry too much, these things have a way of working out,” she assured the two young people cryptically.

After Andrew and Jenny had been wined and dined, Azalea said goodbye to them. She reminded Andrew of lunch with his grandparents tomorrow, an event at which Jenny would probably not be welcomed as easily and congratulated both kids once again. Sending them off their dorms, she hailed a cab and made her way back to the hotel, only to find a familiar face waiting for her in the reception lounge.

“What are you still doing up?” she asked with a smile as Jacques put down the paper he was reading.

“Waiting for you, of course,” he replied with a mirroring smile.

“Nothing better to do?” she teased, walking over and sitting down beside him. Her legs should feel tired, but they didn’t. Fatigue was not easy to come by no matter how hard she tried to capture it by going through the motions.

“Nothing I’d rather be doing,” he replied simply, reaching out to take her hand in his. Azalea didn’t move, didn’t try to dislodge his hold on her.

Because she could feel the fatigue settling in now. The ache in her feet from hours of standing in heels that had been absent merely seconds ago was now being felt. The curve her back that always remained so unnaturally straight was starting to bend backwards and her eyes were starting to grow tired.

Like Jake, Jacques Clement too had the rare quality of making her feel human.

1525 words

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Subject: Re: Azalea's NaNoWriMo - 2022 Wed Jan 25, 2023 2:28 pm

Chapter Twenty Nine
Somewhere Only We Know

“And don’t forget to bring those chocolates along for Nanny and Grandpa,” Azalea reminded her son through the phone, picking up a sweater she had wistfully brought along with her on the trip. But then again, she had come across the potential for cold. “And mind your manners while at dinner, be sure to say thank you to them both.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Andrew’s tone conveyed the eye roll Azalea couldn’t see through the phone. “Why do I have to give them something anyway? They’re the ones taking me out for dinner.”

“It’s just polite, Andrew,” the brunette reminded her son, putting the sweater away in her suitcase. It was the easiest answer. Mostly because she doubted telling Andrew that any perceived impoliteness on his part would be judged by Alexis as a slight on her daughter in law’s upbringing was a good idea. “Besides, they’re your grandpa’s favourite. He’d like that you remembered.”

“That you remembered,” Andrew mumbled almost incoherently. The boy knew this dance well by now. “And I doubt Nanny will let him have any,” he added to lighten the mood. Henry had been diagnosed with high blood pressure some years ago and Alexis had made it her mission to diet the condition away, much to the Newbury mens’ dismay. Azalea let out a small laugh as she reached for another article of clothing that needed putting away.

“Hey mom?”

“Yes?”

“Did you see Jacques Clement yesterday?”

The skirt she had been in the middle of folding slipped from her fingers, pooling on the floor. “Jacques Clement?”

“Yeah, he was the keynote speaker yesterday, didn’t you notice?”

“He was,” the brunette replied noncommittally as she picked up the skirt, starting to fold it anew. Andrew’s voice via speakerphone from her dressing table sounded surprised.

“I thought you guys might have hung out. He’s your friend right?”

“Right.”

“Well, did you?”

Azalea paused, unsure how to respond to his question. She didn’t want to lie, but she also knew now was not the right time to reveal the whole truth to Andrew. There might never be a right time for the whole truth. “We spoke for a bit, but he was mostly busy. Why do you ask?”

“Last night when I got back to the dorms, there was a bitchin’ hamper at my door from the palace. Not Ivan, the actual palace. Complements from the Lord and Lady Clement and their three children.” The boy sounded a little in awe of his present.

“Be sure to write them a thank you note then. Lady Mimosa is very kind to think of you.”

“Or her secretaries are,” Ivan corrected before conceding. “I’m joking mom. Come on, don’t turn into Ive. I’ll write the damn note.”

“Thank you,” the brunette replied with a hint of a chuckle. The two spoke for a few minutes more, confirming her flight the next day and Andrew’s own departure to the Amazons with his not girlfriend before they hung up. Having made good use of her time, Azalea found herself mostly packed by the end of the call. Her flight was the next day, at midday, giving her almost twenty four hours to kill before heading back to the UK. Not particularly liking the idea of staying in her room, lost in her own thoughts, the Herbologist picked up the hotel’s recommended sightseeing list around the area and was perusing it half-heartedly when the hotel phone on her bedside rang.

“Hello.”

“Bonjour Mademoiselle, room service,” a familiar French accent rang through the phone, making her smile slightly.

“I didn’t order anything.”

“Oh no,” Jacques replied, pretending to be shocked. “Then there has been a grave error. Still, it would be a shame to let all this fresh food go to waste.”

“You didn’t?” Azalea laughed, only to hear a smart rap on the door.

“I might have,” the Frenchman replied, sounding very pleased with himself. Last night, when he had been waiting in the lobby for her, Azalea had been surprised to find herself warmed by his presence. The emptiness of no one ever waiting for her again that had seeped and settled into her being after Jake’s death was starting to melt. Only starting, but noticeable still. They had sat together for nearly half an hour, not talking, just holding hands, until he had pointed out that her eyes were closing. The man had walked her to her room, kissed her goodnight and stayed with her until she had fallen asleep. Azalea hadn’t heard him leave but knew he was gone when she woke up a few minutes later.

Now, she put down the phone and walked to the door, opening it to reveal the indeed smug face of one Jacques Clement. Beside him was the room service trolley he had promised over the phone. “They just let you have that?” she asked in lieu of a greeting. The French heir didn’t look even slightly chagrined.

“Surprisingly, yes, they did.”

Azalea moved out of the way to let him in, watching with amusement filled eyes as he rolled the trolley into her room. Closing the door behind him, she stood there expectantly. “Well, do you know how to serve?”

“Alas, I am no footman, more shame on me,” he replied, now looking appropriately apologetic. “But I can try.”

“It’s okay, I’ll take it from here,” she offered, moving to the trolley and lifting up the covers to reveal a small selection of fresh juices, salads and grilled chicken. Basically, everything her diet permitted. “Thank you,” she managed belatedly. “Did you get any sleep last night?”

The Heir Apparent looked at her seriously. “Did you?”

“Only until you left,” she confessed, reaching for the plates to cut him a generous piece of chicken She added salad to his serving as they talked. “So maybe a few hours?”

“We split the night,” he clarified, taking the plate from her. “Half and half, not the worst arrangement.” She wondered if he was only talking about last night or something more.

“Andrew told me about the token from the palace,” Azalea spoke presently. “Thank you, he and I both appreciate it.”

“I didn’t have anything to do with it,” Jacques replied honestly. “It was likely the Lady Clément’s doing. We appreciate all the palaces staff members and congratulate them on their and their family’s achievements…. Not that young Andrew is just a staff relative of course.”

“Of course,” she echoed, placing her own plate in front of her but making no effort to touch her food. Thinking a moment, she asked. “So what is he? And what am I?” It was a topic they had breached before in passing, but now she had twenty four hours and a very uninteresting list of sightseeing options.

“You’re the reason I’m here right now,” the man answered simply, not clarifying whether he meant in this hotel room or something deeper than that.

“I don’t know where we go from here,” Azalea admitted defeated, now not even bothering to look at her food. Jacques put his own plate down, staring across the little trolley into her brown eyes with more conviction than she had ever seen reflected in his gaze.

“Come to the palace with me.”

“As what, the woman you occasionally fuck?” Almost as soon as she had said it, the brunette regretted those words. A shadow of pain had appeared on Jacques’s features, all because of her. Despite herself, she couldn’t stop causing him pain.

“As one of my secretaries, as a guest, as a tutor for the girls. The position doesn’t matter.”

“Jacques, we can’t do that. You know we can’t.”

“All I know is I’m tired of being away from you,” the heir replied, his frustration clear as he looked away from her. “Does this make me a good, decent, man? Most certainly not. But it is what it is. And I’ve never pretended otherwise.”

“What would I even do at the palace?”

The man weighed her words carefully before replying this time. “You don’t need to do anything Azalea,” he spoke, his words measured. “I said I wanted to take care of you… That’s all there is to it. At the palace, you will be taken care of, any way you like. You can do whatever you want; the palace can accommodate any career, any research, anything at all.”

The Herbologist was the one to pause this time before she spoke. “But what if I don’t want to go to the palace. What if… I want to return to teaching?”

“Then that is what you must do,” he replied readily. “Azalea, I only want you to be happy. If not at the palace than at Hogwarts. The location isn’t what matters. What you want does.”

Azalea closed her eyes for a moment, thinking over his words. “I don’t know what I want. And I feel like I have no time to think about it all either.”

He contemplated her dilemma for a minute. “We have time…” he coaxed softly, leaning towards her slightly. “We have all the time in the world. But to start with, I’m free all of next week.”

She looked at him, trying to ascertain if he was joking or serious. Though she supposed she shouldn’t have wondered. Jacques Clement had proven that he could always make time for her.

“A week,” she asked.

“A week,” he confirmed.

“And then we decide where to go from here?”

And then you decide where we go from here.”

Taking his words into consideration, she lapsed into silence for a few more minutes before finally speaking up.

“I think I’d like to go to Milwaukee.”

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Subject: Re: Azalea's NaNoWriMo - 2022 Tue Feb 21, 2023 7:49 pm

Chapter Thirty
Drunk Calls, Drunk Texts, Drunk Tears, Drunk Sex

She felt his hand exert slight pressure on her thigh, lifting her up against the wooden tray surrounding the pool table. A groan of protest left her lips because all her body sensed was him pulling away from her. The Frenchman quieted her worries with a swift brush of his lips against hers as she felt his knee move to part her thighs. Her blouse, which had unceremoniously crumpled to the floor some time ago, had left the brunette in only her simple black bra, and his hands now moved to rid her of that offending garment as well. Had she been capable of thought, Azalea would have wondered if her current companion possessed more than two hands judging by the way he was all over her. She felt his fingers, his palms, his legs, his mouth, his skin, his what, she felt it all everywhere, at once. Peripherally, she felt the bra detach from her body and pool to the floor, her bare flesh now flush against his. When his fingers reached out to pinch and roll the hardened peaks of her nipples, it was only out of curtesy. Her body had been ready a long time ago.

She felt one of his hands trailing down her body, setting its path ablaze as it identified its mark. A sharp gasp escaped the woman as his digit entered her without preamble, getting sucked into his own lips as they continued to kiss her as if trying to steal the very breath out of her. As his fingers continued to piston in and out of her at an excruciatingly mind numbing pace, Azalea let herself forget.

She let herself forgot that she was a widow, that she was grieving, that she belonged to someone else.

She even let herself forgot that Jacques Clement for doing this for her more than himself.

***

Getting to Milwaukee had been the easy part. Once she had uttered the name of the place she wanted to go to, Jacques Clement had insisted he would make some calls. Azalea had stopped him though. Well aware how capable he was of arranging for a place to stay in any part of the world, she had been the one to insist on making the call this time. The First Lady had not been available at the time but had called Azalea back within the hour.

“I mean, you don’t even have to ask, Azalea. Our home is your home too,” Victoria had replied warmly when her sister in law had asked if she could borrow the Milwaukee house for a small but undetermined amount of time. “Jackson has been saying lately how much better it would be for you to live here, around friends and family.”

“Oh no, it’s not to stay in permanently,” the Herbologist corrected quickly before Victoria got the wrong idea. “I just need… a place to sort out my thoughts. And I figured…” What had she figured? That she would rather stay at a warm home that had seen happiness rather than a sterile, impersonal hotel? It was unexplainable even in her own head, but Victoria had never been one to demand explanations.

“It’s alright,” the younger woman soothed over the phone, her tone betraying nothing but complete understanding. “You can stay there as long as you need. Just give me a couple hours to get it cleaned and I’ll-“

“Actually, I’d like to clean it if you don’t mind,” the older brunette almost whispered. It would give her something to do, and she liked the idea of gradually opening the house up to herself and her companion. It seemed to just go with the exploratory nature of their budding… whatever. “If that’s okay of course.”

Victoria paused for a moment. “It might be pretty dusty… We covered up all the furniture when we moved here… Someone is supposed to go in every weeks and turn on the lights and stuff but George is getting on in years…”

“It’ll be fine, I promise. I’m used to living with plants remember,” Azalea reassured with a small laugh. It still surprised her when that happened, when she realized she had somehow retained the ability to laugh. “And Vic… I’m not going to be there alone.”

Another pause, perhaps a smidge longer this time. “Do you feel up to talking about it?”

“Not right now, no… Maybe never…”

She could almost hear Victoria shaking her head softly. “That’s okay, we don’t have to say anything… but if and when you do, you know I’m here for your right?”

Azalea nodded, before realizing she couldn’t be seen through the phone. “Of course.” In truth, Victoria didn’t need to ask. Jacques and Azalea were not going to make any effort to hide themselves and Jackson would certainly get a report about who was living in his house. Victoria would know when Jackson did. Still, she was trying to respect the older woman’s privacy, and that meant the world. Especially since both women knew that if Victoria insisted, Azalea would tell he all she wanted to know.

“I’ll tell them to leave the house as is. George will leave the keys in the mailbox and you can take it from there,” the First Lady reiterated and Azalea thanked her. After a few more minutes of chit chat, Victoria had to go.

“Bye Vic, tell the kiddos I miss them, and give them all tight hugs from me.”

“Yeah, I think two or three of them might still be into hugs, if we’re lucky,” Victoria laughed. “Bye Azalea, I love you.”

The secure line went dead with Azalea still holding on to the phone, realizing how much the word no linger bothered her.

***

She was on her back now, post release yet still wanting more. The rough fabric of the pool table rubbed against her skin, turning it an irritated red but only momentarily before her skin cells rushed to heal her back to perfection. Perhaps he knew how much she hated that porcelain smoothness, that perfection that made her feel alienated from everyone she cared about. Perhaps that was why he pushed into her with as much gusto as he did, moving her body up and down the table so that it would glow red once again despite the efforts of her self defence mechanisms ingrained so deeply. It was a losing battle. No matter how many marks her flesh sustained, they would all b erased in the end.

But at least he was trying to keep the thing she hated at bay.

And for now, that would have to be enough.

***

Victoria had not been exaggerating when she had said the house would be in a right state. Jacques and Azalea had arrived the very next day, just after sunrise, to discover only from the outside view that the house showed signs of neglect. Someone had made an effort to maintain the front lawn and driveway – probably the Blake’s long-time server, George – but that was where the preteens ended. More lustrous plants had been left to grow well past their space, the grass that wasn’t visible from the driveway hadn’t been cut for at least a year and the locks opened with loud creaks that denoted a well oiling hadn’t taken place in quite some time. Jacques looked at her with slight confusion as she smiled at the project awaiting them over the next few weeks.

“I take it you knew?” he deduced.

“I rather requested it,” she confessed, walking into the entryway where several ghost-like pieces of furniture stared back at her. A fine layer of dust had settled on everything and was now rushing to claim the two newcomers as well. “That’s why I wanted to get here at daybreak. So at least by evening, we could have the kitchen and one room cleaned up to sleep in.”

“You mean we’re going to clan all this?” If he wasn’t a gentleman through and through, Azalea would sure his tone would be more horrified.

“More than that,” she grinned, her face softening into a ghost of who she used to be for the first time in too long. “We’re going to fix this place up completely. We’re going to clean it from top to bottom, we’re going to fix everything that’s broken, we’re going to replace everything that is no longer functioning, of course we’re going to clean out the gardens and we are going to thank Jackson and Victoria for the opportunity.”

For a split second, she saw muted horror in his eyes. It was gone the next moment though, replaced with an innate curiosity. As if Azalea was a puzzle he wasn’t sure how to solve, or even if he wanted to solve. “Very well, who am I to question your methods, professor.”

But question them he did, especially when Azalea pulled out a pair of overalls from her bag and tossed one his way. This time, the look of horror in his eyes stayed long enough to be noticed.

***

The next few days were spent doing some of the hardest work Azalea and down in many years. True to plan, they had started with the entryway they stood in, changing into overalls and using Jacques’ wand to conjure up cleaning equipment which was a feat in itself because beyond mops and rags, the French heir had no idea what cleaning supplies looked like. Finally, Azalea and relented and sent him to the shops to pick up the things they would need. The man had returned with a roomful of items through which they had to dig to identify what was needed immediately. From there, he had let her take the lead, acknowledging that this was not his forte.

The next ten hours had been spent cleaning out the entry way, the kitchen and one of the downstairs bedrooms which presumably housed guests. They had only taken infrequent breaks for food and rest and by the time the bedroom was clean enough to sleep in, they had both passed out exhausted on the pink sheets Azalea had been able to locate in the downstairs linen closet. The next day had been very much the same, this time their target area being the living room, the dining room and Jackson’s downstairs study. The Blake couple had separated their home offices when Victoria ahd been sworn in as a district court judge and her study was now upstairs. On the third day, they tackled the two bathrooms, the scullery, and the remaining downstairs areas. Jacques proved to be a quick learner and even confessed his felt a little like being back in the army as a fresh cadet.

They had sex on their fourth day in the Blakes’ home.

Neither would call it a planned event, but it happened regardless. Exhausted after another day of work, the duo mutually came together in a frenzy of limbs and lips and heat and when it was over, Jacques pulled her close, trying to make her remain by his side. Azalea excused herself though, and didn’t return until the next morning, having not slept at all. The following day, they cleaned the basement and spoke no more of what had happened.

Over the next week, a similar pattern ensued. During the daytime, they would work themselves to exhaustion, and if the exhaustion hit hard enough, she would find refuge in is arms once more. But only for the moments of mind-numbing physical affliction. Staying with him after, as he held her close and tried to pepper her with soft kisses, felt too much like a betrayal. Sex she could explain in her head, a mutual, physical need that amounted to not very much in the end. But the rest of it, that was firmly Jake’s territory. And no matter how much time passed, no one could take her husband’s place.

Perhaps Jacques had worked that out too. More perceptive than anyone ever gave the younger man credit for, he had learned her pattern rather quickly. And had tested it out to success a fair few times. Whether Azalea acknowledged as much or not was a different story entirely. If she was too tired to protest, too blissed out to notice… Surely she couldn’t be faulted for spending some extra time with him.

Surely the universe could grant her that much….

***

Another shuddering, breath stealing, all consuming sensation overtook her, laving Azalea completely at his mercy as her slender frame finally came to rest after what felt like being ripped apart from the inside out. The green fabric underneath her was soaked but she felt none of it as she lay there, hair splayed out among the balls that had gone sliding off to all comers of the table due to the movements made by their combined efforts. She didn’t feel him gently scoop her up in his arms. She didn’t feel him move to the sofa in the corner. She didn’t feel him slide down on the soft material and adjust her in a soft embrace.

And she certainly didn’t feel him wrap his arms around her protectively, tucking her into his chest as he traced soft circles down her back, reassuring her that she was not alone.

No, Azalea felt none of that.

Because if she allowed herself to feel all those things, she would have to leave.

Because it wasn’t Jake making her feel that way.

2251 words

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