Chapter 191: Be Careful What You Wish For (4)

The first subtle signs of dawn seeped into Catherine's room as the darkness melted into muted grey. The air grew lighter, carrying the faint chirping of birds and the promise of morning on the horizon. The girl jolted awake, her plain white cotton nightgown clinging to her damp skin. She sighed deeply, tossing aside the covers, and hurried to open the nearest window. The cool morning air swept in, soothing her flushed cheeks.

Her room was a disaster—a chaotic mess of books, clothes, and scattered belongings strewn across every available surface. So far, her summer vacation had been as dreadful as she had feared. From the moment she crossed the threshold of her family home, the atmosphere had felt stifling. Her parents whispered constantly, their furtive glances at her more frequent and unsettling than usual. Trapped in unbearable boredom, Catherine had taken to reading aimlessly and counting the days until September 1st.

Without her friends' support, sleepless nights had returned to plague her. The Dreamless Sleep Potion, taken sparingly once a week, barely dulled the edge of her exhaustion. Dark purple circles shadowed her pale, gaunt face, emphasising how thin and fragile she had become. On rare occasions, sheer fatigue overpowered her defences, and she surrendered to nights filled with terrible, bloody nightmares—visions where she stood at the centre of unspeakable pain and suffering.

At times, she considered asking her brother if she could sleep in his room, hoping his presence might help her sleep but something always held her back. Besides, Greg had his own burdens as the heir to House McMahon. Since returning from Hogwarts, he was rarely home, and when he was, he seemed as worn and weary as she felt.

Something peculiar occurred a couple of weeks after their return from school. While discussing Louisa's upcoming birthday celebration during dinner, Edward abruptly turned to Catherine. The young witch had been absentmindedly pushing food around her plate when he announced she should prepare her luggage: the family was leaving for France a few days after the party.

The news caught her off guard, but no one volunteered any further explanation, and Catherine, unbothered, chose not to press them. It would be her first trip abroad, and the thought of changing scenery thrilled her. She suspected her parents intended to leave her and Greg in the care of her grandfather, Florian Plantier, while they enjoyed some time alone. The idea didn't trouble her in the slightest. In fact, the prospect of visiting her grandfather's estate—a place she had long dreamed of seeing—filled her with excitement. Florian was known for doting on her, and she anticipated being spoiled thoroughly during her stay. The thrill was enough to outweigh the disappointment of missing yet another grand ball at her own home.

The sun now bathed the grass in golden light, the morning dew transforming the backyard into a shimmering carpet of tiny diamonds. The house-elves were already hard at work, bustling about with quiet determination as they prepared for the evening's feast. Delicate fairy lights were strung between the trees, their soft glows promising to enchant the garden as night fell. Long tables, draped in pristine linens, had been arranged neatly across the lawn, while the dance floor gleamed beside the grand fountain at the garden's heart. The fountain's golden sculptures—a lion, a snake, a badger, and an eagle—sprayed arcs of water high into the air, the droplets catching the sunlight as they tumbled back down with a cheerful, cascading rumble.

The entire castle buzzed with preparations during the whole day —no expense or effort spared for the Duchess McMahon's birthday celebration. The theme of A Midsummer Night's Dream transformed Feywood Heights into a magical fairyland, with enchantments woven generously into every detail. Select guests from the other six major Houses were invited, ensuring that the occasion was not just a social highlight but a showcase of the family's prestige and power.

Hidden in the shadows of her open window, Catherine watched the guests arrive. Her excitement for the upcoming trip to France was dampened by the sting of missing the most extravagant celebration she had ever witnessed. Though she had attended her fair share of parties at Hogwarts, they paled in comparison to the grand balls of her childhood—events she could observe from afar but never enjoy in person.

As dusk settled, the garden came alive. Music swelled, and magical lights floated through the air, like a swarm of colourful fireflies. The dance floor became the centrepiece, drawing young couples eager to display their grace, charm, and exquisite attire. It was clear that everyone, especially the women, had spared no effort in their appearances. No one wanted to risk being labelled a 'fashion disaster' by one of Britain's most renowned designers.

Meanwhile, the older guests mingled, strolling leisurely through the gardens and indulging in the finest food and drink. Catherine knew from Greg that these moments were more than just social pleasantries. Behind the polite smiles and glittering glasses, deals were struck, alliances forged, and secrets traded. As the night deepened, and the wine flowed more freely, the shadiest agreements were often made—when attention wavered and inhibitions loosened. The girl, however, had little hope that the alleged cure for werewolves, the topic she was most interested in, would come up in these secret talks.

What did pique the young witch's curiosity, though, was her mother's gown. Louisa had been in and out of the house all day, and by the time she retired to her room to prepare, the guests were already arriving. Catherine hadn't even managed a glimpse of the Duchess, whose sartorial choices always drew admiration and whispers.

From her vantage point, the girl could see part of the dance floor where her mother would undoubtedly appear at some point, but the angle was poor, and the distance too great. Frustration bubbled within her until her gaze fell on the old apple tree below her window. She hesitated for only a moment before making her decision.

With practiced precision, she swung her legs over the windowsill, using the rough stones of the castle wall as footholds and gripping the edges with her hands. A quick, measured descent brought her to the highest branch of the tree, and she landed silently among the dense foliage. Hidden within the rustling leaves, Catherine found a perfect perch that gave her an unobstructed view of the fountain and the brightly lit dance floor.

Her heart raced, her face glowing with the thrill of rebellion. For once, she had defied her parents' rules, slipping out of her room to claim this secret spot. She took a deep breath, the cool night air refreshing against her skin, and nestled into her leafy hideaway. Confident that no one had noticed her escape, she allowed herself a moment of quiet triumph, ready to take in and enjoy the real-life spectacle unfolding before her, reminiscent of a scene from the Muggle movie My Fair Lady.

The band was playing Rod Stewart's "Sailing" when the Duchess finally appeared, accompanied by Greg, who seemed to draw nearly as much attention as his mother. Louisa wore a gown crafted from layers of sheer, iridescent fabric that shimmered like moonlight, shifting subtly between shades of silver, lavender, and soft gold with every movement. Delicate floral embroidery, adorned with tiny, sparkling crystals, cascaded down the bodice and into the gossamer skirt, which trailed behind her like a whisper of stardust. Her slender heels, designed with intricate silver vines and blooming flower motifs, peeked out as she glided gracefully across the dance floor.

A tiara of interwoven golden leaves and tiny glowing gemstones crowned her head, while long, dangling earrings resembling droplets of morning dew framed her high cheekbones. Around her neck rested a simple yet striking necklace of jade and diamonds, reflecting the brilliance of her green eyes and completing the look of a queen straight out of a fairytale.

Catherine had always known her mother was breathtakingly beautiful, but now she saw how others reacted to her. Many of the men couldn't take their eyes off Louisa, their expressions filled with something dark and possessive that the girl couldn't quite name.

Greg, meanwhile, showcased impressive dancing skills, guiding his mother effortlessly across the floor. 'I can't believe he's taller than her now.' – the young witch thought, her attention drawn to a nearby group of girls around her age. They giggled and whispered among themselves, their eyes fixed on Greg with no attempt to hide their admiration.

'I suppose it's normal, considering he's the future Head of our House.' – the black-haired girl mused, though she couldn't shake the creeping sense of inadequacy welling up inside her.

When the song ended, Louisa and Greg bowed gracefully to each other. Almost immediately, another man stepped forward and invited the Duchess to dance. The band transitioned into a hauntingly beautiful ballad titled "The Enchanted Rose." It was an ancient melody, inspired by the magical roses that bloomed only under the light of a crescent moon.

Louisa's new partner, despite his advanced age, was an accomplished dancer, moving with the practiced elegance of years of experience. Catherine noticed her mother smiling—genuinely this time—as they conversed animatedly, their steps seamlessly in sync. For the first time that evening, Louisa appeared entirely at ease, the weight of her noble title momentarily forgotten in the magic of the night.

"Don't you think we should find a more private place?" – a rough male voice muttered from under the tree.

Catherine froze, her breath catching in her throat as her blood seemed to turn to ice. Peering through the dense leaves, she spotted Duke Adrian Borealis standing just a few meters below her. He was impeccably dressed in a light grey linen suit, a flute of champagne casually held in one hand. Beside him stood Marquess North Redmond, his sharp eyes darting around as though he expected spies to emerge from the shadows.

"Speaking out in the open is far less suspicious than skulking in the bushes, my dear friend." – Adrian replied with a smirk as he sipped his champagne, gaze fixed firmly on the dance floor.

"Or perhaps you just want to keep an eye on that half-breed?" – the older wizard sneered, his tone laced with disdain. Catherine bit the inside of her cheek, her fists clenching around the branch to keep herself from unleashing a torrent of fire onto the Heads of the two Houses.

"I'm capable of multitasking." – Duke Borealis hummed lightly, though a dangerous edge undercut his words – "Besides, it's important we present ourselves as gracious guests. No need to draw unnecessary attention to our plans."

"I'm sick of pretending." – the Marquess snapped, his frustration spilling out in a hiss – "Though, given Carsilion's absence, I'd wager I'm not the only one tired of playing a role."

"Such a shame." – Adrian murmured, his chuckle low and humourless – "But hardly a surprise. Someone as pitifully weak as Edward McMahon can't even manage his personal affairs properly. Poor Louisa. She must be drowning in humiliation. Tragic for someone so… dazzling."

"Pff!" – Redmond scoffed, his expression twisting in disgust – "She's nothing more than a creature, using the magic in her blood to lure men. Beasts like her should be studied, then locked away for good. Honestly, I've often thought Lauren Whiters might have a point—though the man could be a touch more discreet about his… hobby."

The other man's smirk vanished, replaced by an icy glare. "I'd hate to see that particular specimen fall into Whiters' hands." - he said coldly, the air around him seeming to chill - "Once we seize control, I'll handle the matter personally."

"Suit yourself." – the Marquess grunted, clearly unimpressed – "As long as we rid ourselves of these demon spawns, you can do whatever you please with the spoils."

"All in good time." – Adrian said calmly, turning towards his companion – "Right now, I'm far more concerned about your pet snake that's on the loose. I thought you had the means to manipulate him."

"I do." – the other wizard scoffed, his tone laced with irritation – "I'll admit it's a bit more chaotic than I anticipated, but chaos works to our advantage. As long as he believes he's the one in control, we're fine. The last thing we need is for him to turn against us—it'd be an utter nuisance."

"Just make sure no one can trace him back to us." – the Duke muttered, his gaze shifting once again to the dance floor. A faint smirk tugged at his lips – "I see the dance is over. Frankly, I'm surprised the old man didn't collapse halfway through."

"Such a tragedy." – Marquess Redmond replied with a mocking shake of his head – "The seed of Merlin, lost forever. Then again, what else could one expect from a House led by women? Alexander gambled everything on his daughter, and this is the result."

"It's not all bad." – Adrian remarked with a shrug, stepping out from the shadow of the tree – "If the Pact gets broken, I suspect both of us will feel some relief by the present development. Dealing with House Prince's powers is hardly a burden I'd care to shoulder."

The other man grunted in agreement, his expression dark. Without another word, the two aristocrats parted ways, each heading in opposite directions.

Catherine remained frozen in her perch, her heart hammering against her ribs. She didn't dare move, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts. What she had overheard was maddeningly vague—too little to form concrete conclusions. But one thing was clear: Borealis and Redmond were plotting to break the Pact, and her family was in grave danger, even without her existence being exposed. 

The young witch felt sickened by the way the two wizards spoke about Louisa. Their words churned in her stomach like poison, and shame quickly followed as she realised how much she had envied her mother—even tonight. Earlier, as she had watched the Duchess, Catherine had bitterly thought Sirius might have looked at her differently if she had inherited even a fraction of her elegance and beauty.

'I must be insanely vain to think this way while Mom endures such treatment.' – the black-haired girl thought, her chest tightening as she fought back angry tears. Her gaze drifted back to the dance floor, where the Louisa was now gliding gracefully with Edward, utterly unaware of the vile conversation that had taken place beneath the tree.

Catherine shifted uncomfortably on her perch. A dull, persistent ache in her lower abdomen made her grimace—a reminder of the painful cramps that had plagued her all day. 'Probably serves me right for being such an envious idiot.' - she thought gloomily, shaking her head.

Glancing around to ensure no one was watching, the girl carefully descended from the branch, climbing up the tree before pulling herself onto the wall. Her limbs ached with tension, but she pushed through until she reached her window. With one final effort, the young witch slipped back into the dark sanctuary of her room.

Once inside, Catherine wasted no time. She hurriedly prepared for bed, gulping down her weekly dose of Dreamless Sleep Potion. The bitter taste lingered on her tongue, but the relief was immediate as she felt the promise of rest creeping in. Her head throbbed from the weight of everything she had heard, and she knew she needed a clear mind to decide her next steps. What she had overheard was dangerous, and her father needed to know about it.

But the thought of confessing her eavesdropping made her stomach churn anew. Sneaking so close to the party guests had been reckless, and the consequences of being caught could be severe.

'Maybe Greg can help me pass the information without mentioning it was me who heard it.' - she thought, her eyelids growing heavy – 'He'll be furious, but I'd rather deal with him than face Mom and Dad.'

***

Down in the garden, Duke Alexander Prince stood near the old apple tree, its gnarled branches half-hidden in the shadows cast by McMahon Castle. He rarely attended such gatherings anymore; the noise and pretence grated on his nerves. Yet, he had made an exception tonight. He couldn't ignore a personal invitation from Louisa McMahon, especially one accompanied by a kind, handwritten message.

While most of the younger fools only saw the mesmerising beauty of a Veela, Alexander had always looked deeper. Long ago, he'd noticed the resilient, headstrong girl beneath the surface—the one who had left everything behind to follow her heart to the cold, unforgiving hills of Scotland. She had endured much for the man she loved, and although Alexander didn't give credence to the sordid rumours about Edward McMahon and Carsilion, he knew well enough that the aristocracy hadn't welcomed Louisa with open arms.

In her struggles, Alexander saw echoes of Eileen's plight—except his daughter had chosen to run away rather than fight for her place in their world. The thought weighed on him, and he sighed, fatigue pressing at his shoulders. There had been no news from her since his surprise visit in the spring. He had hoped that, in time, she might see reason and contact him—not for herself, perhaps, but for the sake of her son.

'Severus…' – Alexander mused, taking a glass of chilled white wine from a passing server – 'He doesn't look like a Prince at all, but I can't deny he has quite a strong air inclination. Should I approach him directly? If Ellie remains stubborn, maybe it's time to change tactics. The boy appears sharp, and surely he must be lacking in many things, given how poor they are. Perhaps I could offer support through Dumbledore. Would he agree to help me with this?'

The wizard's sharp gaze swept over the crowd, his mind wandering to Edward McMahon's son. The two boys were likely of similar age; perhaps the lad could provide some insight about his grandson. However, Greg was nowhere to be found. Instead, his attention shifted to Adrian Borealis, who stood nearby, surrounded by a flock of ladies. The younger Duke met his eyes with a polished smile—one intended to appear polite but laced with a subtle edge that grated on the older man's nerves.

Alexander might have largely withdrawn from the world, but not so much as to ignore the increasingly suspicious activities surrounding Houses Borealis and Redmond. It was clear they were plotting something together, and as Head of the Council, the wizard had a distinct feeling their plans would not benefit the rest of the aristocracy. He knew they considered House Prince irrelevant—practically a relic—and their brazen disregard was evident in the way Adrian and North openly glared at him as he danced with Louisa.

'They'll be in for a big surprise.' – the Duke thought with a smirk, draining his wine in a single motion – 'It won't be so easy to erase Merlin's descendants.'

The thought reignited Alexander's resolve, giving him a surge of energy. It was time to uncover what those arrogant children were scheming—and turn it to the advantage of House Prince and his future heir. The wizard shrouded himself in darkness, a faint ripple of magic rolling through the air. He smiled to himself as Adrian Borealis stiffened. The Air Mage had sensed his use of the spirit of air but, lacking the rare talent of manipulating light himself, could do nothing to track him.

Passing the old apple tree, Duke Prince moved deeper into the McMahon garden, where laughter and the murmurs of tipsy conversations filled the night. Shadows stretched between the hedges and lanterns, providing ample cover as he prowled toward the heart of the gathering.

He paused briefly, glancing up at the branches of the tree he had just walked beneath. For a fleeting moment, he hesitated, the memory of an earlier impression tugging at him.

'No matter how strong one is, old age catches up eventually.' - he mused, shaking his head at his own disbelief – 'I could have sworn I saw a pair of green eyes among those branches. Just goes to show that even an Air Mage's senses aren't infallible.'

With a quiet chuckle at himself, Alexander stepped deeper into the shadows, his mind focused on the task at hand.