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Wren poked and prodded at the porridge in front of her. It wasn’t her favourite meal, but it was a proper breakfast, and one that the house elves favoured when overworked. She wasn’t the only one hoping for an end to the summer months and the return to Hogwarts. On the rare occasions that she hid from her cousins in the kitchens Wren had caught the elves frantically trying to meet the family’s needs as they obeyed orders from every direction. It was much easier to be caught between two masters when said masters were the only thing to worry about. Her cousins had taken to giving impossible tasks to some of the younger elves. Said tasks left the poor things in tears.
“Is something the matter, Florence?” Her mother’s voice echoed across the long stretch of table between them. “You’ve hardly touched your breakfast.”
She could feel the heavy weight of her mother’s gaze resting on her. “No, ma’am,” Wren spoke with absolute politeness. Ellenworth Selwyn had taken great issue with Wren’s manners, given the issued warning from her outbursts the previous year at Hogwarts, and thought a suitable punishment would be a strict rigamarole of Etiquette and Political Niceties. “I find myself without much of an appetite this morning.”
“I see.” there was a ‘tsk’ under her mother’s words, which quickly broke into a fit of coughs.
Wren’s eyes flicked up in worry. Her mother had once been a regal paragon of beauty in her youth. With her curled, dark hair, pouty lips, and silvery eyes, Ellenworth had been pursued by various suitors for more than just her family name. But now she was frail looking, streaks of white and grey framing her face, a sallow shadow under her eyes, and sunken cheeks. Ever since Wren’s father had… died, Ellenworth drooped inwards, wilting like a flower. The shaking of her hands was new. “Mother, are you ill?”
“I’m fine, starlight,” Ellenworth reassured her, a measly smile flashed in apology. “Just tired.” Her gaze flickered towards the cup in front of her, tea swirling in with cream. Wren had found it odd. Her mother was rarely interested in sweeteners or cream in her tea, but ever since she’d returned from Hogwarts, there always seemed to be a cup of tea with cream at her side. “Preparations for the Lughnasadh ball are as tedious as always. We’re expecting the Minister as well as some international figures this week.”
“International figures?”
“Yes, I believe you are aware of the World Cup later this month?” At Wren’s nod, her mother continued primly. “It seems the Minster has tried to cultivate connections outside of Britain for the…” Ellenworth winced and shook her head. “It is not of importance to you.”
“What do you mean-?”
“I will speak no more on the subject.” The older woman’s expression was fierce in a way that had Wren doing her best to not shrink. “While your grandparents think you are ready to be aware of such things, you and I both know that you are not ready.”
“But-”
“ No buts,” Ellenworth snapped.
Wren flinched at the harshness in her mother’s tone and dropped her gaze. “Forgive me.” she barely bit back the sneer in her voice, though an echo of loathing could still be made out. “I should know better than to speak out of turn. After all, children are supposed to be seen, not heard. What valuable input would I be able to give?”
“Do not speak with that tone to me, young lady. You’re in deep enough trouble as it is. Picking fights at school is not a sign of an Heir to the House of Selwyn.” Ellenworth sat back in her chair, hands resting on the table like a snake waiting to strike. “You are far too angry to be considered for any spot in politics. You need to learn to control yourself before you will be let anywhere near the seats on the Wizengamot. If you play your hand too eagerly, you will only become a target.”
“At least I would stand up for what I believe in instead of caving like a coward.” Wren found the courage to meet her mother’s eyes with an insult burning in her own. “Maybe then, Dad would still be alive!”
The table cracked as pressure filled the room.
“ Florence Maude Swelyn ,” her mother hissed, face cold and eyes stony. “Get. Out.”
Wren had half a mind to stand her ground, if only to prove her point, but as she felt the magic in the room turn even more hostile she decided it was best to beat a hasty retreat. She turned on her heel, slamming the doors behind her. Storming off in a huff with her footsteps pounding in the silence of the halls, the anger that had been boiling inside her all summer was begging to get out. Her magic itched to hex someone–anyone–to make them pay. A riotous mix of indignation at being treated like a child and self-hatred for bringing the treatment upon herself with every outburst.
She bit her lip, barely flinching as the taste of iron flooded her mouth. Her eyes burned as the edges blurred.
Merlin , did she wish that she could talk to Professor Snape.
But no .
She had to go and get grounded for her outbursts during third year. And for finally fighting back when her cousins’ torment became too much. And for yelling at Uncle Silas. And-
Okay, maybe she’d been a terror this last year.
Wren let out a huff, catching sight of herself in one of the many mirrors lining the hallways. Mother said it was for reflection, but Wren was certain it was because Uncle Silas enjoyed looking at himself too much. Exhaustion was clear on her face, and the mask of a happy-but-daft Hufflepuff practically dissolved by the acidic nature of her anger. It was a good thing that Ellenworth hadn’t even blinked an eye at the sudden change from clever silence to socially blind apathy in her daughter. Wren was certain that the drastic difference was excused as grieving, but the more and more she thought about it, perhaps her mother didn’t care.
Bitterness. Resentment. Hurt.
It was hard to feel love for her mother these days when all Ellenworth seemed to see in her was flaws.
The urge to ignore her restrictions and floo to Spinner’s End hit her with certainty. She needed Professor Snape or she was going to boil over and explode. Wren turned and started stalking off towards the parlour. If she was lucky, it would be empty and she could slip out and-
“Ah, there’s my favourite granddaughter!”
Wren nearly jumped out of her own skin as the boisterous laughter of her grandfather startled her. She blinked, eyes widening as she saw Uncle Silas doing his best to glare at her while still appearing polite. The parlour was full for once, with her grandparents sitting on one side and her uncle sitting on another. A solicitor was standing just behind Silas, expression pinched and terse.
“Oh, sorry,” she sputtered, pulling up a mask of embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I can just leave-”
“Nonsense, pet,” Bedelia Selwyn simpered, patting the space in between her and her husband, Cuthburt. “Join us. We were just talking about you.”
Wren blinked. “You were?”
“Yes, yes,” Bedelia pulled Wren down and started to card her fingers through the messy tangles of Wren’s hair. It wasn’t kind, even though it was probably supposed to feel nice. Wren had to lean against the older woman to not have pinpricks of pain shooting through her scalp. “Your Uncle Silas was… questioning our decision to support your heirship.”
Silas was scowling, mouth pinched into a tight line. “I have the utmost faith in my niece,” he lied as his eyes bore into her skull. “However, I am worried that she might not be the best fit.”
With an internal smile, Wren put on a show of widening her eyes and quivering her lip. “Why not? Did I do something wrong?”
“No, pet.” Bedelia assured her with a pat on the hand. The old woman turned to smirk at her son. “It’s just the usual Slytherin pride taking a blow. I’m sure you’re familiar with such things due to your friends. Heir Malfoy tends to throw a fit when he doesn’t get his way, yes? Well, your Uncle Silas has taken your appointment as the next heir to heart because we find him and his boys to be… lacking in their social status.” Bedelia tutted, wagging her finger when Silas opened his mouth to defend his sons. “Ah, ah, ah. Mother’s talking.”
Silas’s mouth snapped shut, a look of fear crossing his face and mixing into one of hatred.
Bedelia smiled down at Wren, a clever glimmer to her eye. “A Selwyn should not be known as a bully and should cultivate every opportunity. And while your placement in Hufflepuff was a setback, your grandfather and I have come to realise that loyalty and hard work is much more valuable to our House than cunning.” Her gaze turned sharp and flicked towards Silas’s covered arm. “After all, cunning makes you think you can seek power through servitude. And that just won’t do.”
It was Cuthbert’s turn to speak up next, voice rumbly and low. “And we know you would never disappoint us like that. You are loyal to your family, and that’s the best thing we could have planned for in an heir.” His lips curled. “Even with the dirty blood in your veins, you are still quite the prize, and we know you will make us proud.”
Wren sat up a little straighter, preening at the hidden-praise. “Thank you, Grandfather.” The jab at her father was familiar to her. She knew better than to react to the dig, considering if she protested his words he wouldn’t listen anyways. “I will do my best to serve the House of Selwyn when I come of age. I won’t disappoint you.”
“Oh, we know, pet.” Bedelia reassured. “Which is why we have a surprise for you.” Her eyes twinkled as she softly bopped Wren on the nose. “I know how hard your mother has been training you in manners, but I think it’s about time that we exposed you to a little more of what lies behind the curtain of the Wizengamot. How would you feel about spending the rest of summer with your grandfather and I, hmn? We’d be the ones to drop you off at the Platform and wish you off to your fourth year. I heard it’s going to be an exciting one at that, and you have much to learn before then.”
The urge to accept such an offer was immense. Wren knew that eventually she would be taught by the heads of the family to take over from her mother eventually, but so soon? She wasn’t even out of Hogwarts yet--her mother hadn’t been trained until she was pregnant. It was a dream come true! There had to be a catch, right? Wait- “What do you mean this year will be exciting? Is something happening?” Wren frowned. She hadn’t heard anything from Draco or Neville about anything being discussed with Hogwarts’s Board of Directors.
Cuthbert chuckled. “That would ruin the surprise. You’ll see when you get to Hogwarts.”
Wren wrinkled her nose, a sour taste in her mouth at the purposeful dismissal.
“Besides, you have much more pressing things to be excited about,” Bedelia’s knuckles grazed the bottom of Wren’s chin, turning her gaze to the woman. “Like an entire summer with us, pet.”
The excitement at the prospect was back. A way to escape the stifling grip of her mother and to learn about something that actually interested her. Hogwarts subjects were menial at best--Wren was an excellent self-study. What she couldn’t grasp, she could always ask her friends to fill in the gaps. Sometimes Wren would daydream of skipping school entirely to work her way through magic on her own without constraint. And then she would be swiftly reminded by Professor Snape of others who carried the same folly and would put her mind back to the importance of school. But this? This was something she knew she would excel at. The thirst to prove herself had been lying dormant under a mask of geniality and now moved to bare its teeth.
“Bold of you to assume that I’ll be letting her leave with you.”
Wren flinched.
Her mother was standing in the doorway like a stone cold gargoyle watching over its kingdom. The gaze that had already rested heavy on Wren’s shoulders sent shivers down her spine, bearing down like a boulder. It was rare for Wren to see her mother truly furious, but her frosty tone was a clear indicator that she was more than a little displeased.
“Oh come now, Ellenworth,” Bedelia hummed. “You and I both know that you can’t protect her from the world forever. Florence deserves space to spread her wings and learn to fly from the nest. We expect great things from her once she takes your place in the Wizengamot.”
Ellenworth’s jaw twitched. “She is far too young to start-”
“Nonsense.” The twitch of irritation grew as Ellenworth was interrupted by her mother. “Your father and I know what we are doing. You should have more faith in us, dear.” Bedelia’s words were followed by a firm grip on Wren’s shoulders that she struggled to ignore--her grandmother’s fingers dug in farther than she could tolerate with grace. “We’ll make sure nothing happens to her for as long as she’s in our hands. While her… heritage leaves something to be desired, we’ll have her nice and polished for her debut.”
“That won’t be for another three years.”
“You never know,” Bedelia faked a sigh, “But if you truly think she isn’t worth the effort right now we can always make different plans with one of Silas’s sprogs. Though they are rather second rate, they at least know how to listen when they’re told what to do.”
Silas tensed at the well placed jab to his parenting and barely tucked away the glare before anyone but Wren noticed. Far better at masking her emotions, Wren bit back a snicker.
“Or perhaps you want Wren closer to home? Then I’m sure Silas will do his best--despite his failings he is… a sufficient politician.”
The laughter Wren had been hiding hitched in her chest as dread steeped down her spine. She turned her eyes towards her mother, letting the veil of her mask slip just enough to expose the terror that came at the thought of spending the rest of the summer with the man that had killed her father. No. Please don’t make me learn from him. Anyone but him.
She could already imagine what lessons would look like. Her arms would be covered in welts and cuts if her uncle didn’t bother to heal them when she answered questions wrong. The lectures she would have to sit through about her dirty blood, and her disgrace of a father. Being told over and over again that it was better that he had died while she had to pretend that she hadn’t been there to see it. He couldn’t know. He could never know, or she wouldn’t be returning from whatever hell he put her through. Just because everyone thought he did it didn’t mean anyone had proof. And with the wrong slip of the tongue, or incorrect step, Uncle Silas would know. All memories of her father’s death would die with her, and her father deserved so much more than that.
I wish Professor Snape was here.
Just when it looked like Ellenworth wouldn’t budge, something in her proud frame buckled. “Very well.” Her tone was blank. Wren had never seen her mother look so… old. There was a frailness that lined her face now, an exhausted droop to her shoulders and dark smudges under her eyes.
Immediately the weight in Wren’s chest lifted and she let herself return to ignoring Ellenworth. Her grandparents, while bigots in their own right, were a much better alternative than Uncle Silas. She could handle their digs and prodding. And she wouldn’t have to hide from her cousins for the rest of the summer! Oh Merlin , she’d never been more grateful for her grandparents. “I won’t let you down,” Wren stated firmly, meeting Bedelia’s eyes.
There was a gleam to the old woman’s eyes. “I know you won’t, pet. You will be perfect once we’re done with you.”
Wren didn’t see the pinched expression of her mother’s face, nor the warring dread that aged Ellenworth in the following seconds after her acquiescence. If she had…
If she had, Wren would have known that she was facing a much more daunting enemy than her uncle.