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Caelum Lestrange scoffed as he sidestepped a child running at full speed through the alley, ice cream dripping down her face and fingers. At least, he assumed it was a her , it could just as well have been the latest unsuccessful attempt at crossbreeding a gnome and a kneazle that had escaped from the Magical Menagerie.
Merlin, how his younger self would shudder if he could see himself now. Traipsing through Diagon Alley like some common fool? He didn’t often agree with his parents these days, but he had to admit they’d had a point when they'd warned him away from working among the general wizarding populace. Since his summer internship, his standards had lowered alarmingly. He had learned the hard way that fulfilling one's dreams always demanded sacrifices. Like lowering oneself to talk to halfbloods and learning their impossible, improbable new brewing techniques against one's better judgement.
Caelum breathed a sigh of relief as he finally reached Tate’s Apothecary. Even though the shop was hardly a place the Heir of Lestrange should spend his time at, the lingering discomfort at the outdated and worn interior and the stench of the lowborn customers was easily ignored in favour of the sheer beauty of the arrayed potion ingredients. As he prepared to push open the door, he couldn't help but notice some dawdler studying the dusty potion bottles making up Tate’s window display with suspicious intensity. In all the time Caelum frequented the apothecary, Tate hadn’t bothered to switch them out even once.
If the lurking fellow was looking for what was on offer that week, he would have better luck reading the notices pinned to the door. Though Caelum shouldn't be surprised the fool didn’t realise that - he didn’t look especially bright with his faded robes and hair a particularly unenthusiastic shade of brown. It was horribly plebeian. For good measure, Caelum shot his strongest disdainful look at the back of the stranger's head, hoping he would feel at least a fragment of the discomfort he'd inflicted on Caelum with his unkempt appearance.
When he finally entered the apothecary, Caelum spotted the other customer putting away her baskets straight away and his heart skipped a beat. This was weird and slightly alarming, because he didn't immediately recognise the figure in front of him. The only person who he’d ever had this reaction to was, to his disgruntlement, one Harriet Potter. But as he got a second look, he realised that this was Harriet, still recognisable despite her new (and definitely improved) looks. Caelum had once called her the ugliest girl he’d ever seen and even if it hadn’t quite been the truth back then either, it definitely wouldn’t be truthful to repeat it now.
As chance would have it, he'd seen her before she noticed him. It was a rather fortunate coincidence that Caelum had decided to come to Tate’s at the same moment Harriet Potter was about to leave the shop, most likely for the first time in months. She looked different, of course she did, but he already knew to expect it. His parents had been quite loud when discussing the RBC case in the past month and being a Lestrange allowed Caelum to make his own enquiries - he didn’t even need to threaten anyone, in most cases at least - to acquire information that the general public did not possess.
He thanked his lucky stars that she hadn’t seen him first, because it gave him a moment to get his emotions in order. There were rather a lot of them, and it was a quite unpleasant mix at that. She'd made him feel foolish - this was only tempered by the knowledge that her and their stupid cousin hadn't only managed to mislead Caelum, but the whole wizarding world. And really, he hadn't spent nearly enough time around Rigel Black to see through his disguise - though Caelum had, of course , seen that Rigel had been a grasping fool inserting himself into circles he had no business belonging to. But he couldn't deny that the idea of Potter being clever enough to fool all of wizarding society made him feel… strangely proud? Vindicated? It was all very confusing.
Then there was the urge to laugh at the absurdity of the ruse - who would have guessed that three children could successfully trick everyone? Caelum wanted nothing more than to hear her excuses and make fun of her - surely her picture-perfect little family was quite displeased and hurt by the ordeal, her father especially. It must be hurting her too - Caelum wanted to push his fingers into that wound and tear.
Harriet Potter and what little was known of her story also made him so envious he wanted to explode. Spending years on her own, with nothing to do but brew? No parental supervision (and disdain)? As embarrassing as it was (and he would never ever admit it), he would have done anything to spend his school years as Potter had.
Mixed into that was a microscopic kernel of guilt. Caelum knew that feeling guilty was beneath him as a pureblood heir, and even more so as a Lestrange, but, in this case, he couldn't quite squash the unpleasant emotion. He had unwittingly contributed to Rigel Black being expelled from Hogwarts (and had uprooted Potter’s life in the process), even though all he’d wanted was to make his father proud. It was, quite frankly, pathetic of him. Though he had the feeling that Potter would eat his sob story right up (but he wasn't prepared to share that with her - yet).
And then there was that strange pang in his heart that accompanied everything else; some little insidious voice asking him why he hadn't been included in Potter's scheming, why he hadn't been privy to it all. Asking him why Potter hadn't trusted him enough (even though the answer was quite obvious). Somewhere, in the darkest recesses of his mind, he wanted Potter to share everything with him, to tell him all the details the public would never get to hear. He wanted to be a person Potter relied on and trusted with her trials and worries.
All in all, thinking about the whole thing was giving him a headache. It wasn't like Caelum was emotionally repressed, no. He was well acquainted with a wide variety of emotions and had perfected feeling them, and - even more importantly - expressing them , thank you very much. They ranged from disdain, pride at his own clear superiority, scorn, righteous fury, smugness, and, a particular favourite of his, schadenfreude. The problem was just that in this instance, there was too much to parse through in the brief moment before she inevitably lifted her gaze and spotted him.
As best he could, he shoved the whole unpleasant mess in the neat little box, helpfully labelled odd and uncomfortable things Potter makes me feel that I don't ever want to think about (and my mother would crucio me for) , that was stacked in the furthest corner of his mind, and which he’d learned to ignore at all times. However, the one urge he wasn’t able to squash was the need to talk to her, to look into her new, changed face, hear her voice and, most importantly, mock her for the sheer ludicrousness. If he’d wanted, he could have side-stepped her and she probably wouldn't have noticed him at all - and he’d have more time to parse through his emotions.
He didn’t do it. Instead, he put on his best sneer and opened with, "If it isn't little-miss-homeless."
Caelum was of the opinion that the best kind of defence was a good offence. If Potter was at all aware of what exactly had happened during Voldemort's failed ritual, she probably at least suspected his involvement, and therefore wasn’t very happy to see him. This was confirmed by the surprised but apprehensive look on her face as she took him in; the unimpressed curl of her lips.
He decided to press (and affirm that he found her new appearance just as off-putting as before). “Somehow, you're even uglier than you were, Halfblood.”
“Lestrange.” Her voice was flat, but, embarrassingly, it sent a thrill of excitement down his spine. She was talking to him.
Caelum had to admit, the conversation could have gone better. He’d gotten a bit carried away, but just as he knew how to provoke Potter, she also was quite adept at pushing his buttons.
Teaching you was a mistake , echoed in his head and he felt like he was in a daze as he blindly picked ingredients from the shelves. He didn’t even double-check their quality. How dare she! Caelum had been the only one able to recreate her stupid overcomplicated brewing method (Snape didn’t count, he was a prodigy and a Master besides).
He didn’t understand why she was being this dramatic - it couldn’t have come as a surprise to her that Caelum had ended up on the opposite side of Rigel Black. He’d never hidden his dislike for the boy and she was well aware of his views. Sure, he’d upset her and kinda, not really, helped destroy her life, or at least part of it, and forced her to confront the consequences of her own actions. And yes, he had created a twisted, malicious concoction using her imbuing technique. He wasn’t proud of that, brewing that vile excuse of a potion had nauseated him beyond belief and his magic hadn’t felt right for days afterwards.
Alright, he had to concede that Potter’s animosity was, at least in part, deserved. But surely she wouldn’t go as far as ending their association. Surely, she’d still want to brew with him. Caelum felt vaguely ill at the thought of being delegated to the role of a spectator to her life, to her successes. Only reading about her ridiculous achievements in Potions Quarterly, only finding out about her breakthroughs through exaggerated headlines like Youngest Ever Potions Mistress Revolutionises Potions Again with New Way of Slicing Ingredients!
Caelum hadn’t even noticed he’d approached the counter and vaguely wondered if Tate had heard his argument conversation with Potter. The shop’s owner was looking at him expectantly, slight amusement in his gaze. Caelum flushed an angry red at the realisation he’d probably stood around gormlessly looking into space for at least a few seconds.
“Well, get on with it,” he snapped at Tate, thrusting his basket at him. Tate’s lips twitched, but thankfully, he remained silent as he charged Caelum for his purchases. The total was higher than expected and Caelum had the sneaking suspicion he might have picked out more ingredients than he’d intended coming here. However, he had to remain in control of the situation, so he just handed over the required gold stoically (and ouch, his wallet was feeling suspiciously light) and accepted the offered paper bag.
As he wound his way back out of the shop, he mentally chided himself for the unexpected expense - he had to check at home what exactly he’d picked up. Hopefully it would at least be useful to his brewing.
When he pulled open the door, he immediately saw the lurker from before still standing in front of the shop. And he wasn’t alone. Clasped tightly in his arms, as if he never wanted to let go of her, was one Harriet Potter, face buried in the stranger's shoulder, arms thrown around his neck.
Caelum froze.
He hadn’t expected to see her again this soon and the conflicting emotions their argument had caused rose up in him like bile. And there was a new feeling too; an ugly, twisted sensation that crawled its way up his throat at the sight of the filthy loiterer’s arms around her. It was… it was almost indecent how tightly they were pressed together. Caelum wanted to avert his eyes from the sickening display, but for whatever reason, he couldn’t tear his gaze away.
What would James Potter say if he saw his daughter now, canoodling with some common sluggard in broad daylight for all the world to see - the whole Rigel Black fiasco had already damaged the reputation and trustworthiness of the Head Auror enough, Harriet should really take care not to undermine her father further with such scenes of gross public indecency.
Disgusted, Caelum made to take a step away to stop blocking the door when the dirty fellow lifted his head slightly and looked right at him. To Caelum’s immense shock, he recognised that face. It was the good-for-nothing wastrel son of Aldermaster Hurst he’d occasionally seen loitering around the Guild. He’d had the vague sense that Potter knew the Aldermaster’s family more than was appropriate, but he’d never have guessed at her relationship with his son. Upsettingly, he couldn’t even accuse her of getting into the Guild because of favouritism; it was achingly clear how talented a brewer Potter really was.
Turning around decisively, Caelum finally tore himself away from the smug gaze of Hurst junior - it was as if he could see right into Caelum’s head, see all of the conflicting things he so carefully kept locked away. There was no doubt in Caelum’s head that that uglier, lesser version of the Aldermaster saw this as a victory and for some unfathomable reason, Caelum felt the loss keenly.
As he left the apothecary behind, shouldering his way through the crowd without a backwards glance, Caelum was aware a war had just started. He would make Potter see reason. She could do so much better than that washed-up, filthy excuse of a wizard who probably didn’t appreciate potions at all. Had he wanted it, he could have already had a stable job at the Guild, with his father being the Aldermaster. But as far as Caelum knew, he had squandered all of those connections and good genes to do nothing at all. What a waste.
Caelum knew then that his Mastery thesis wouldn't be apology enough. What he needed was some grand statement to persuade Potter to see how valuable it would be for her to continue associating with him (and make her see that there were better things to do than cosying up to men like Hurst’s son).