Chapter 81: Shadows (3)

The crisp, cold air echoed with the bustling of last-minute shoppers, wrapped snugly in their finest winter attire - thick coats, vibrant scarves, and hats of all hues. London's Oxford Street and its shops, from the famed Selfridges to small niche boutiques, were adorned with twinkling Christmas lights and elaborate decorations, casting a warm glow over the hurried patrons. 

As the day gave way to night, the illuminated facades of the department stores shone even brighter, their windows attracting the looks by both children and adults. A couple of teenagers left one tiny shop, specialising in hand-painted accessories. The tall blond boy was obediently carrying an impressive number of bags, following the red beret of his sister, guiding their way through the crowds. 

"At this point, I'm not sure whether you're enjoying the shopping or torturing me." – Greg McMahon lamented as they reached Bond Street, stopping in front of the De Beers jewellery store.

"You were the one who offered to accompany me." – responded the girl nonchalantly.

"To buy you a gift, not to serve as your personal pack mule!" – groaned the young wizard.

"Fine! Stop complaining!" – the witch retorted, rolling her eyes – "Let's go back to the hotel. It's getting late."

As they made the short trip back, Catherine walked in silence, her mind consumed by thoughts of her friends, especially Remus. His sickly face before they separated at Kings Cross station deeply troubled her, despite the awareness of the upcoming full moon. The whole Christmas affair felt unnecessary and superficial to her. While she was glad to see her grandfather, his hurried demeanour, once again rushing off on another expedition, left her longing for the cozy familial warmth she had heard about from classmates like James and Lily. Yet, Catherine found solace in the thought that things could always be worse; at least she wasn't obliged to spend her time with Sirius' family, unlike him.

After about ten minutes, the two Hogwarts students arrived at the majestic Claridge's hotel, where the attentive staff promptly assisted them with their luggage. The penthouse on the top floor was luxuriously appointed, with plush carpets and heavy curtains matching the opulent decor. In the main room stood a magnificent Christmas tree, towering three meters high, its lush branches adorned with an array of sparkling ornaments, twinkling lights, and delicate tinsel cascading down like shimmering ribbons. Meticulously wrapped gifts lay nestled beneath the tree.

Duke McMahon sat comfortably in a burgundy armchair, savouring eggnog from a festive mug. Beside him, his wife nestled on the sofa next to an elegant wizard in his fifties, whose gentle facial features defied the passage of time. His jade-green eyes, reminiscent of Louisa's, lit up as they fell upon his grandchildren, returning with their purchases. 

"Marguerite, on dirait que tu as froid! Viens t'asseoir à côté de moi et prends une tasse de chocolat chaud!"[1] – he said, taking out his wand and summoning a steaming cup from the nearby tray. 

"I'm fine, thanks for asking." – murmured Greg mostly to himself, taking off his hat and gloves. 

"Papounet, tu as deux petits-enfants!"[2] – Louisa remarked sulkily, as she got up from the sofa, embracing her son who was now almost as tall as she was.

"Mais une seule fleur, mon trésor!"[3] – Florian Plantier answered, and he wandlessly conjured a delicate daisy with white petals, which he gave to Catherine with a smile.

"Still not a reason to spoil her at Greg's expense!" – objected the Duchess, irritated. 

"Someone 'as to do eet in zis family." – Florian said calmly but his voice showed clear displeasure. 

"What's that supposed to mean?" – asked Louisa, her eyes flashing.

"Don't worry, my nymph!" – Edward interjected, leaving his empty mug on the table – "As usual, when your father switches to English, it's primarily to criticise me."

"It's not creeticism, raather an observation." – the older wizard replied calmly - "You detch-ed my poor flow-air in zat barbaric school in ze middle of ze mountains wizout any support or care to ensure she receives prop-air education!"

"Hogwarts is a renowned institution, and Catherine's doing great there!" – insisted the Duke, feeling annoyed despite his firm decision not to allow his father-in-law's snappy remarks to affect him – "Regardless of whether you approve or not, she's my daughter, and her ancestors are the Founders of Hogwarts. It's her birth right to be there! It's in her blood!"

"It's 'ard to forget such a thing, especially when we all know what else came wiz said blood." – Florian smirked. 

Catherine couldn't bear it any longer. With resolve, she rose from her seat and sought refuge on the rooftop terrace. Halfway through the exchange between her father and grandfather, she had begun to envy Sirius. The young witch was well aware of the tensions that had arisen between the Duke and Florian Plantier following her birth. Florian had accused Edward of deceiving his daughter by not disclosing the risks associated with having a girl with the McMahon blood, despite assurances from Louisa that she was fully informed. 

While her grandfather clearly favoured Catherine, she couldn't shake the feeling that this favouritism was only further exacerbating their dysfunctional family dynamic. All that she wanted was some nice, peaceful time without snarky remarks and thinly veiled insults. 

'I just wish I didn't feel like everyone would have been happier if I'd never existed.' – she thought, gazing out at the city sprawled out before her.

"Flame?" – the girl heard Greg's voice behind her – "Come back inside, it's really cold."

"It doesn't matter. I don't feel it." – she replied automatically – "In any case, I prefer being here than at the centre of whatever that mess inside is supposed to be."

"You're taking it too personally." – shrugged the boy, shivering from the cold – "We don't meet that often, so Grandpa feels he needs to show all his tricks so to say."

"Doesn't it bother you how he behaves towards you?" – Catherine asked suddenly.

"Sometimes." – her brother admitted – "But, I know it's mostly because I remind him too much of Dad, and also because he still hopes his 'little flower' will turn out to be a great Earth Mage who can use Floral magic like him."

"Hasn't Mom told him I'm inclined to fire?!" – Catherine exclaimed, surprised.

"Are you nuts? If she had, he wouldn't have been here." – Greg chuckled – "I think the only reason he set aside a whole day for us was because of you. Otherwise, he'd already be in Iceland."

"Lovely." – the black-haired witch grumbled. 

"Holidays just aren't a priority for Mom's family, and you know it." – the boy said with a shrug – "It's already quite an effort that Grandpa rented the penthouse and ordered decoration and presents. That's more than I anticipated! You need to adjust your expectations, sis."

"I wish I could live my life like you do, Greg." – Catherine hissed – "It must be nice not to care about anything! This way, you experience neither highs, nor lows."

The girl quickly regretted her words. The wizard appeared visibly hurt by her comment. He turned as if to leave but then paused, reconsidering. 

"You know, Flame, if you stop fixating on every way our family does not correspond to some idea you have about cloudless happiness, you might notice we're doing our best despite the hardships. Mom and Dad may not be perfect, but they are the first people in our family in hundreds of years who gave their daughter a chance to live and raised her, despite the danger they face. As for me, the fact that I don't use my magic to show everyone I'm displeased or joyful doesn't mean I don't have feelings or don't care about anything. However, let me ask you something: you often accuse us of not caring about you, but do you care about us?"

Before Catherine could respond, Greg went back inside, leaving his sister completely stunned and very much ashamed of herself. Unsure of how much time had passed, she remained perched on the terrace's edge, gripping the rail tightly as she gazed blankly at the night sky. Her trance was broken by a warm sensation on her right hand.

Looking down, the witch discovered her hand and the rail being covered with blood. She hadn't realised she had been clutching a sharp ornament that pierced her skin, leaving a deep gash across her palm. Acting instinctively, Catherine enveloped the wound with her magic. A surge of adrenaline pulsed through her as a faint blue light emanated from her hand, healing the skin completely without even a trace of a scar. As the healing magic took effect, the distant sound of church bells drifted through the air, drowning out the noise of the traffic below.

[1] Margaret, you look cold! Come sit next to me and take a cup of hot chocolate. 

[2] Daddy, you have two grandchildren!

[3] But only one flower amongst them, my treasure!