After the runes were chosen, waiting became its own kind of weather at the manor.
Morwenna noticed the change before anyone tried to explain it to her.
The adults moved differently now. Their steps seemed slower and more deliberate, as though they were careful where they placed their feet. They lingered in doorways, sometimes standing there for several moments without saying anything. And they watched her. They were always watching. Their expressions remained calm, but their eyes often gave them away.
One morning at breakfast, she finally asked her mother about it.
The morning room smelled of toasted bread, melted butter, and lingering woodsmoke. The fire crackled in the grate, casting flickering light across the polished mahogany table.
Jane sat opposite Morwenna with a cup of tea and a letter she hadn't turned over in several minutes. Her gaze seemed fixed on something far beyond the page. Jack held the Daily Prophet, but he had been staring at the same column for nearly fifteen minutes. Every so often, he rustled the paper, as though pretending to read it might fool anyone.
Saoirse spread marmalade across her toast, scraping the knife against the bread without seeming to pay much attention to what she was doing.
Morwenna set down her silver spoon with a small clink against the ceramic bowl. Her green eyes moved from one face to another.
"Maman. Everyone looking."
Jane's hand stopped halfway to her mouth. Her teacup hovered for a moment before she carefully returned it to its saucer.
"We are just happy you're here, ma chérie."
Morwenna frowned slightly, considering the answer. Then she looked at her father. Jack was still staring at the newspaper, though the moving photographs had repeated the same actions dozens of times by now.
She turned to Saoirse, who responded with a grin so sudden and wide that it seemed to have no reason behind it.
"Mm," Morwenna said.
For the moment, she accepted their explanation and returned to her honey-sweetened porridge.
. . .
The Floo flared emerald green on a Wednesday morning.
Morwenna was in the library with Aldric when the flames burst into life. She sat on the rug with her bestiary open across her lap, her small fingers resting on the smooth vellum pages. Cinder lay curled against her leg, warm and content, making a faint, pleased sound in his throat.
At the first flare of green light, her head lifted sharply. Her fine white hair slipped over her shoulders, and Cinder's ears pricked towards the fireplace as his body tensed.
"Gran-da?"
Aldric closed his book and set it aside. The old leather binding creaked softly.
"That will be your grandmother and grandfather. They have arrived from France."
Morwenna was already on her feet before he finished speaking.
The heavy bestiary slid from her lap and fell open on the rug, its gold-leaf illustrations catching the morning light. She left it where it lay and hurried towards the door. Cinder scrambled after her, his claws making faint clicks against the polished stone floor.
She reached the entrance hall just as the last of the emerald flames faded.
Celestine stood inside the stone hearth, composed as ever in deep indigo silk robes that shimmered when she moved. Her dark burgundy hair was pinned back neatly, not a strand out of place. She brushed a speck of ash from her sleeve and raised her eyes.
The moment she saw Morwenna, her expression softened.
The flames surged again, and Lucien stepped through the fireplace.
His arrival brought a subtle change to the room. Nothing dramatic, nothing anyone could easily point to, but his presence seemed to warm the air, as though a breath of spring had slipped inside from the French countryside. His dark, wavy hair caught the light as he turned towards the archway, and his amber-gold eyes brightened when he spotted the little girl waiting there.
Morwenna stood still for a heartbeat, Cinder pressed against her legs with his ears flattened as he studied the newcomers.
She looked at Celestine, then at Lucien.
Then she walked forward.
Straight towards Celestine.
She lifted both arms towards the indigo silk.
"Up, Grand-ma."
Celestine didn't hesitate. She bent down and gathered Morwenna into her arms, one hand instinctively supporting the back of her head. Her robes carried the faint scents of lavender and old parchment, and Morwenna's white hair spread across the dark fabric as she settled against her.
« Ma petite, » Celestine said softly.
Her voice remained steady, though a hint of emotion slipped through at the edges.
« Tu as tellement grandi. » (You've grown so much)
Morwenna leaned back in her arms, bracing her little hands against Celestine's shoulders as she studied her face. She examined the green eyes so like her mother's, the fine lines at their corners, and the white strands beginning to show among her dark burgundy hair.
Then she announced proudly, "Made stitches."
Celestine blinked, momentarily caught off guard.
"Stitches?"
Morwenna reached into her green serpent pouch and pulled out her little knitted rectangle. The navy wool was crooked and uneven, with dropped stitches and small holes scattered across it. She held it up for her grandmother to inspect.
"See?"
Celestine accepted the piece. The rough yarn brushed against her slender fingers as she lifted it towards the light from the tall windows, examining it with the same attention she might give an old and valuable manuscript.
« Ce sont de très beaux points, » (These are very good stitches) she said warmly, running a fingertip over one of the straighter rows. « La tension est excellente ici, ma petite. »
Morwenna leaned closer, nearly touching the wool with her nose.
"Perfect?"
« Presque (Almost). » Celestine's lips curved into a small, knowing smile. « Encore quelques mois de pratique, et tu pourras faire de vraies choses pour le manoir. » (A few more months of practice, and you will be able to make proper things for the manor)
Morwenna nodded, satisfied with her grandmother's assessment. She tucked the wool back into her pouch and patted it once to make sure it was secure.
Lucien had moved closer during their exchange. He knelt beside them on the stone floor, lowering himself until he was at Morwenna's eye level.
Up close, his warmth was more noticeable, but there was nothing overwhelming about it. He simply seemed to bring a little sunlight with him.
« Bonjour, ma petite, » he said.
His voice carried the gentle melody of his Veela heritage, each syllable flowing into the next. It wasn't a French accent so much as a natural musical quality that made his words pleasant to hear.
Morwenna studied him for a moment. Then she reached up and touched her own ear, feeling the slight curve that marked her inheritance. After that, she reached towards Lucien and touched his ear in the same place.
It was a small, private gesture of recognition.
Lucien's smile came slowly, warm and full of affection.
« Tu te souviens (You remember). »
"Remember," Morwenna agreed with a firm nod.
He lightly brushed the tip of her ear in return.
« Très bien, » he murmured.
Jane appeared in the archway a moment later, her hands clasped tightly in front of her.
« Maman ! »
She crossed the hall and embraced Celestine. For a moment, neither seemed inclined to let go. They exchanged a few quiet words in rapid French, their voices soft with the relief of seeing each other again.
« Tu es bien arrivée ? Le voyage s'est bien passé ? Tu es fatiguée ? »
(Did you arrive safely? Was the journey all right? Are you tired?)
Jane eventually drew back, her eyes glistening, then turned towards Lucien.
He opened his arms, and she stepped into them without hesitation.
« Papa. »
Lucien held his daughter close, one hand resting protectively against the back of her head. His embrace was gentle but firm, carrying the quiet certainty of a father who had missed his child.
When they finally parted, Saoirse's voice floated down from the grand staircase.
"Did someone say the grandparents have arrived?"
Celestine looked up, her composure settling neatly back into place, though the warmth in her eyes remained.
"Saoirse. I see you are still here."
"Still here," Saoirse replied, already halfway down the stairs and taking them two at a time. "Someone has to keep things interesting around this place. Your daughter is terrible at it."
Jane made a small sound of protest, but Saoirse merely grinned as she hopped off the last step.
Jack emerged from the study a moment later, with Aldric following behind him. Greetings soon filled the hall. Handshakes turned into brief, firm embraces, and familiar voices overlapped as everyone caught up.
Morwenna stood in the middle of it all, Cinder sitting patiently at her feet. She watched her family gather around one another, as though several missing pieces had finally returned to complete a picture.
She lowered her hand to Cinder's head. He leaned into her touch without hesitation.
Once the greetings were over, Morwenna insisted on showing her grandparents to their rooms.
The journey took considerably longer than it normally would have, largely because she insisted on explaining everything along the way.
She walked ahead of them, her little boots tapping against the stone floor.
"Green room. No one sleeps there. Blue room. Gran-da reads there."
At the next doorway, she stopped and pointed towards a portrait hanging on the wall.
"Funny man room. Chicken head."
Celestine glanced at the painting. It depicted an old Keith ancestor wearing an elaborate feathered wig that did, indeed, bear a striking resemblance to a disgruntled hen.
« Je vois la ressemblance (I see the resemblance), » Celestine murmured.
Morwenna continued down the corridor until they reached the final door. She pushed it open with both hands and stepped aside.
"Your room, Grand-ma. Best window."
Celestine entered the suite. The house-elves had already lit the fire, filling the room with welcome warmth. Beyond the east-facing window stretched the manor's gardens, where the first snowdrops were beginning to emerge from the damp earth.
Celestine looked out at the flowers, then turned back to her granddaughter.
« Merci, ma petite. »
Later, in the kitchen, Tilly appeared with a tray of tea and biscuits before anyone had even thought to ask. He carried the silver tray with great care, his ears trembling with excitement at the importance of the occasion. He bowed so deeply to Celestine and Lucien that his nose nearly touched the floor.
"Welcome, welcome. Tilly is honoured to serve the guests."
Celestine thanked him with the same effortless courtesy she showed everyone. Lucien returned his greeting with a smile, and Tilly's ears immediately turned a pleased pink.
After tea, Morwenna took Celestine by the hand and led her to the library.
She went straight to the lower shelf and pulled out her heavy bestiary with both hands. It took some effort, but she managed to drag it to the low table before letting it drop with a dull thump.
Opening it to the right page without hesitation, she pointed at the illustration of a serpent.
"Snake sleeping."
Celestine leaned closer to examine the picture. The serpent was coiled around a moss-covered branch, its scales picked out in shimmering gold leaf and its eyes painted shut.
"It looks very peaceful."
"Yes. I told it."
"You told the serpent?"
Morwenna nodded solemnly. "In sss." She demonstrated for her grandmother, letting out a soft, careful hiss through her teeth.
Celestine answered in kind, lowering her voice to a whisper as she leaned closer. "What did you say to it?"
Morwenna held her gaze for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, at last, she smiled.
"I said it could sleep. I will wake it later."
Celestine fell silent for a moment, taking in the child's words. The fire crackled softly behind them, while a lone bird called somewhere outside the library windows as the daylight faded.
"That is very kind of you," Celestine said.
Satisfied, Morwenna closed the heavy book. She tried to push it back towards the shelf, but it was too heavy and barely moved. Celestine reached down, lifted it with ease, and returned it to its proper place.
Morwenna watched her, looking thoughtful.
"Grand-ma."
"Yes, ma petite?"
"Moon room. In France. Is it real?"
Celestine knelt beside her on the rug, her indigo skirts pooling around her.
"It is very real."
"Got a window?"
"It has a large window facing the moon. On a clear night, moonlight fills the entire room until everything looks as though it is made of solid silver. The bed, the floor, the walls. Everything."
Morwenna considered the image, her eyes wide.
"I want to see it."
"When you are five. I promised you, did I not?"
Morwenna touched the outside of her pouch, feeling the small, lumpy piece of knitting tucked inside.
"I will be five soon."
"Soon," Celestine assured her gently. "Very soon."
...
Lucien found Morwenna in the garden an hour later.
The snow had retreated into stubborn patches beneath the hedges, leaving the rest of the ground damp and heavy with the scent of rich earth.
Morwenna crouched beside a stretch of bare soil where the snow had melted away completely. Both her small hands rested in the mud, her fingers spread as though she were trying to feel a heartbeat beneath the surface.
Cinder sat a few inches away, his tail neatly curled around his paws as he watched her with calm, amber eyes.
Lucien paused at the edge of the gravel path. His boots made little sound against the wet stones as he watched her.
For a long moment, he simply stood there, observing the way her palms rested against the cold earth without the slightest hesitation. She tilted her head to the left, as though listening for a whisper from somewhere deep beneath the roots.
Morwenna didn't look up, but she knew he was there.
"Gran-père," she said softly. "Things grow here."
He stepped off the path and crossed the damp ground, crouching beside her.
"Yes. In a few weeks, you will see the green begin to return."
"How do you know?"
"Because the plants can feel the light coming back," Lucien explained. "Even the little roots know when it's time to wake."
Morwenna fell quiet, thinking about his words. She pressed her fingers deeper into the soil, feeling the cool dampness seep into the lines of her skin.
"I choose grow too."
Lucien smiled, warmth brightening his dark eyes. "Every day, ma petite."
They remained there for a while, their hands resting close together in the earth. Cinder leaned forward to sniff a fresh clump of dirt, then sneezed sharply, his whole body giving a sudden jolt.
Morwenna burst into laughter, the clear sound carrying across the quiet afternoon garden.
Lucien looked at her with a soft smile.
Near the far edge of the garden, half-hidden beside a moss-covered stone, a single snowdrop had pushed through the mud. Its small white head drooped towards the ground, fragile in appearance but stubborn enough to bloom despite the lingering cold.
Morwenna caught sight of it. She got to her feet and made her way over, taking care on the slippery grass. Then she crouched beside the flower, studying it intently.
"Gran-père. Look."
Lucien came over and knelt beside her on the damp lawn. "A snowdrop. The very first one."
"Can I pick?"
"If you pick it, the flower will die. If you leave it here, more will grow to keep it company."
Morwenna studied the bloom. Its slender green stem stood among the mud, and its pale petals looked almost translucent in the grey light. She thought about the other seeds hidden beneath the soil, waiting for their turn to grow.
In the end, she left the snowdrop where it was.
That evening, after Morwenna had been tucked beneath her quilts, the adults gathered for a late supper in the morning room.
The atmosphere remained relaxed, and conversation flowed easily from one subject to another.
Morwenna came up in their conversation several times, always with affection. They discussed her progress with knitting, how she had sensed the thestrals in the meadow, and the snowdrop she had decided to leave untouched.
After the meal, Jane accompanied Celestine to her guest suite.
They walked slowly through the long corridors, their footsteps softened by the stone floors. Painted portraits watched them pass, their eyes following the two women, but none of the ancestors spoke.
When they reached the suite, Celestine paused and turned to look at her daughter properly. She noticed the faint shadows beneath Jane's eyes and the tension that remained in her shoulders. Even now, Jane held herself unusually stiffly.
"Would you like to come in for a moment?" Celestine asked.
Jane hesitated, one hand hovering near the doorframe, before finally nodding.
Inside, the room was warm and welcoming, the fire already lit by the house elves. Amber and golden light shifted across the walls as the flames flickered. Celestine's trunks stood unopened against one wall, waiting until morning. A small glass vial sat on the bedside table. Jane noticed it but said nothing about the medicine.
Celestine gestured towards the armchair beside the hearth. Jane sat down, her body finally sinking into the cushions as though she had been forcing herself to remain upright through sheer willpower. Celestine took the chair opposite her.
For a while, neither spoke.
The fire crackled in the grate. A log shifted, releasing a faint hiss as a handful of sparks rose towards the chimney.
Then Celestine spoke.
"You are afraid."
It was a simple statement, not a question.
Jane kept her eyes on the flames, their shifting gold and orange reflections dancing in her green eyes.
"Yes."
"Of the ritual?"
"Of watching it." Jane's voice was low and strained. She clasped her hands in her lap, her knuckles turning pale. "Of standing right there and not being able to touch her. I keep imagining her looking for me and seeing me only a few metres away, unable to do anything to help."
Celestine let the silence linger, giving her daughter time to sit with what she had said.
"When you were little, you had a very high fever once. The healers told us there was nothing to do but wait for the crisis to pass."
Jane remembered it only vaguely: the unbearable heat, the blurred shapes around her, and her mother's face appearing and disappearing through the haze. She remembered the cool cloth against her skin and a voice that never wavered.
"I sat beside your bed for three days," Celestine continued. "I couldn't stop the fever. All I could do was stay with you."
Jane raised her eyes to her mother.
"This is much the same," Celestine said. "You can't take this experience away from her. But you can be there. She will see you beside her, and that matters more than you realise."
Jane swallowed, her throat tight. "The Evans family doesn't do this. Blood rituals. Runes painted into skin. All of it is so..." She trailed off, unable to find the right words.
"Keith," Celestine supplied gently. "Druidic. Yes, it isn't our way."
She leaned forward slightly. "But it's hers. She is a Keith just as much as she is an Evans. This heritage belongs to her, too."
"I know."
"Knowing something isn't the same as accepting it."
Jane lowered her gaze to her hands. The rings on her fingers caught the firelight. She wore the Keith crest on one hand and the Evans signet on the other, two distinct histories joined through her.
Celestine studied her for a moment, her expression difficult to read.
"Do you remember what I told you when you married Jack?"
Jane looked up. "You said I was making a choice that would shape the rest of my life."
"I told you that truly loving someone means choosing their world, too. Not just the person, but their world, their family, their ways." Celestine's voice remained gentle but firm. "You chose Jack. You chose the Keith family. You chose this life."
"I know I did."
"And now you are afraid of what that choice asks of you."
Jane's eyes suddenly stung with tears.
"I'm afraid she will be hurt."
"Of course you are." Celestine reached across the space between them and took her hand, her grip steady and warm. "There will be pain. That isn't something you can spare her. But you can be there when it happens. You can hold her afterwards and make sure she knows she isn't alone in this world."
Jane didn't answer. She only held her mother's hand more tightly.
After a while, Celestine gently released her. "Tomorrow, we will discuss the ritual baths and the proportions of the herbs. Tonight, you need to sleep."
Jane glanced at the unopened trunks by the wall. "You brought the records?"
"I brought the records," Celestine replied. "But I also came as her grandmother. Don't confuse the two."
Jane rose and made her way to the door. With her hand on the handle, she paused.
"Maman?"
"Oui?"
"Thank you."
Celestine gave her a small, knowing smile. "Always."
Jane closed the door behind her and stood for a moment in the dim corridor, her hand resting against the cool wood. The portraits watched her in silence, and somewhere farther down the hall, a clock ticked steadily.
At last, she turned and walked back towards her own rooms, her footsteps quiet against the stone.
===
Well, I made a few improvements here, mostly related to language. I suddenly remembered that accents and word choices can vary depending on where someone is from. Then I remembered that in the movies many characters speak with a British accent. I have only watched the films so far, but maybe I will read the novels slowly later for additional details. No promises though.
Because of that, I decided to put some focus on this aspect. The Keith family and others from that side will naturally speak with a British accent and use similar word choices in dialogue. The French characters will, of course, have a French accent when speaking English. I will generalize these accents rather than making them too specific, simply because it is easier for me to manage and remember.
For Lucien, I will give him something like a Veela influenced accent or speech style. As for the narration, it will remain standard English without any accent.
Morwenna will have both accents, British and French.
The second change is about family colors. Since the Keith family already claims dark green and silver, I decided to give the Evans family their own colors as well: deep indigo and silver. The meaning and reasoning behind those colors will be revealed in a later chapter, probably when Morwenna regains her memories and her curiosity about many things reaches its peak.
The third change is my own version of Beauxbatons. I built it by merging elements from canon, well known fanon, and popular fanon roleplay interpretations. Then I adjusted everything to match my own worldbuilding and lore. Because of that, the result will probably feel somewhat unique, although you may still recognize which parts were inspired by those sources. I will include a link for that as well. In hyperlink for AO3 and Fanficiton, in comment section for Webnovel.
There is also one more thing. When it comes to languages other than English, such as French, I should mention again that I have never studied French before. The grammar and wording might be wrong. When I write dialogue in another language, I will place the intended English meaning in parentheses afterward. If you notice any mistakes, please feel free to point them out in the comments. I will fix them as soon as I see the notice. Sorry about that.
I will keep trying to slowly patch any plot holes or other gaps that I find along the way, one step at a time.
I hope you enjoy the story~