Starlight Musings

[Rowena Jones]

It was dark. So dark. She held her hand in front of her face, wriggled her fingers. Saw nothing. The cold air caressed her face in a mocking attempt at comfort even as her eyes widened, desperately seeking some light by which to see something… anything.

And all the while there was a heat inside her. Starting in her belly, a hot white burn that intensified as it began to crawl up. Up through her chest, scorching her lungs with every breath. Panic coursed through her brain as it tried to make sense of the impossible. What was this? What would happen when that painful, awful heat escaped? It burned her throat and still she couldn’t see and now her back arched with the pain, her body contorting in a futile effort to escape the inescapable torture.

And then it was there, in her mouth and her ears and her eyes. Bright terrible light, the sound of thunder and screaming ringing in her ears and the unmistakable tang of death in the air. She’d closed her eyes against the pain, but now they opened, desperate to make sense of the situation.
The world was on fire. She was on fire.

She screamed.

And awoke to twisted sheets, sweat-chilled skin and her curtains in flame. Heart still racing, Rowena Jones rushed to the bathroom and grabbed the bucket she kept for such occasions, returning to her room and dousing the curtains with a splash. She collapsed back onto her bed, sobs wracking her body. It didn’t matter how much time had passed… she didn’t think she’d ever escape the memories of the War.

She waited for the tears to slow and her heart rate to calm, before taking a deep breath and sitting back up. She rubbed at her wet cheeks in a pointless attempt to forget the fact that it was going to be yet another sleepless night. The steady drip drip drip of the ruined curtains was her only companion as she drifted silently around the room, stripping her bedsheets and wrapping a thick wool robe around her still shaking body.

She left the room without looking in the large mirror, not wanting to face the consequences of restless nights. Her footsteps were joined by the soft padding of a large marmalade coloured cat and as they approached the kitchen, another set of more excitable paws. Despite earlier events, a soft smile briefly flitted across the witch’s face as she reached down to pick up her newest companion, a dusky white ball of fluff she’d called Yeti. Her attempts at a hug were greeted by soft meows and sharp kitten teeth, and Rowena allowed herself a few seconds of comfort before continuing resolutely to the kitchen.

Five minutes later she had a hot cup of chocolate in hand, rocking softly in her porch swing, gazing across a quiet dew covered field, illuminated by the soft glow of the moon. It was such a contrast to her fire filled nightmare that her breath caught. Despite her frustration at her lack of sleep, she found herself somewhat grateful that it allowed her the peace of these moments. For just a short while she could pretend nothing had changed. She could be just a witch with her familiars contemplating the twinkling stars and universe around her. During the day, it was all too apparent that everything was different. Despite the year that had passed, she still hadn’t gained true control over her magic. Simple spells still eluded her, powerful spells were amplified to the point of being dangerous… No. During the day, surrounded by people and their expectations, it was all too obvious that the War had broken her irreparably. It was only her reputation that kept her in society at all, that meant that she still had a job...

Rowena sighed as she pulled out her wand. Useless piece of wood. Just the other day, she’d been so caught up in her research that when a nurse had grabbed her and hastily pointed at a patient, she hadn’t thought twice. Her wand had been in hand, the words leaving her lips to fix the man’s ailment before she’d realized what she was doing. The actions of a Healer who’d been working for years. It should have been an easy fix… but of course her magic had decided otherwise and while he’d been better, she’d let out a pained gasp that luckily no one had noticed. She had had to wave off his thanks and rush back to her office. The blood had stained her shirt by the time she’d arrived, the large cut her magic had inflicted spreading from rib to hip. Thank Merlin for Potions, she’d thought to herself, knowing better than to try to use her wand again.

Pumpkin’s meow called her attention to the present once more and as she glanced at her feline companion, her gaze caught the Daily Prophet that she’d tossed out in her earlier frustration. Blazed across the front cover was a familiar face and she found herself scowling once more as she picked it up.

Max Kameren. The man she would have died for. Ducking away from the reporters, and with him another person. A decidedly female person. Rowena couldn’t tell who it was, nor where they had been spotted, nor could she understand why it bothered her so.

The War had damaged a lot of things. They’d tried. They really had and they hadn’t failed. Not completely. There was too much between them to walk away from. But they’d also been through so much and so quickly that it always felt like there was a minefield of expectations and pressure around every step. The world had been watching them. The media had hounded them and over the last year, neither one of them had really known how to deal with that. So they’d stayed in this sort of limbo. They could still enjoy each other’s company, Rowena would never tire of Max’s wit and the comfort he brought her… and she hoped it was the same for him. At the same time, they both had a life that for some reason they’d kept separate from the bubble of ‘them’.

The witch sighed, throwing the paper to the floor once more and throwing herself back in the chair. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe he’d bring it up next time they saw each other… it had been a few days. Maybe she should call him. Her fingers had found her phone and clicked call before she remembered it was a stupid hour of the night and she hastily cancelled it.

“Urgh! I’m pathetic,” Rowena muttered into the night. “What am I doing Pumpkin?” she asked but the cat had already prowled to the field, a small white shadow behind her as she stalked a rodent. A loud sigh. “Sleeping draft it is then,” she concluded standing up.

[Max Kameren]

It was the early hours of the morning in the world outside. Homes along the narrow streets of Godric’s Hollow were dark and quiet, with only their occupants’ slumbering breaths pushing out into the still night air. But in one home, cloaked by protection spells to hide away from the public eye, a light stayed on. A fire glowed in the living room’s hearth. In an adjacent office, cauldrons bubbled with simmering potions. And from the way the house’s lone occupant sat reading in the living room, it was hard to tell it was evening at all.

After everything, the pieces left behind of Max’s life had been whittled down to a series of sensible, safe decisions. The trail of his captors had gone cold; it wasn’t safe for him to return to St. Mungo’s. With his captors able to hide him in plain sight at the Ministry with no one the wiser, London also became unsafe. His family’s home at Godric’s Hollow was much more manageable to surveil. With Arianna away on a research residency and the girls at Hogwarts Max had the house all to himself, except for Willow begging to be let out to chase gnomes in her newfound backyard oasis. At least she found freedom in their new arrangement; to Max it was the opposite. He’d moved from one prison to another; the measures they’d taken to try to distance him from the trauma of the last few years had instead left him entombed.

At least in isolation he didn’t have to lie in bed all night, staring at the ceiling to give the illusion to his loved ones that he was sleeping soundly. Max never slept at night anymore. Even in London, when the auras around him settled into a slumbering hum the world became too quiet. In the dark the walls surrounding him would constrict and reach skyward. At night he was back in the box, or in the Catacombs. Fear would keep him stirring until the grey of morning relieved it.

Instead he lit the house up like Christmas Day. He kept himself occupied, brewing potions and chasing Willow around until the sunrise relieved and exhausted him. Just in time for Eden to stop by with coffee and a muffin, or a business would floo asking after a potion he was brewing for them. There was little time to rest, if he wanted to keep his struggles a secret.

But if he wanted to return to the real world - which he desperately, desperately wanted - he couldn’t sleep the day away. Eventually he would find a rhythm, given time and freedom. Tonight felt like the closest he’d come so far; it was quiet, reading with the distant bubble of cauldrons and the hum of their neighbors’ sleeping auras keeping him company. And there was always Willow stretched across the couch, snoring and drooling contentedly into Max’s lap. Whenever he turned a page of his book she would stir, grumbling drowsily and huffing at her restless master.

Bzz. Bzz. B-

Neither man nor dog was prepared for the buzz erupting into their quiet night from Max’s phone. Max jolted, accidentally launching Willow from his lap into an upright position. He tossed his book to the side and juggled the phone. Its buzzing ceased seemingly at his touch, the call fading from his screen as soon as he turned it. Who was calling at this hour?! Only two people ever tried to contact him using muggle methods: his mum and Rowena. He could venture a guess at who would be awake this early in the morning.

Without looking he pressed the name he assumed it was, Willow resettling next to him as the phone’s tone echoed metallically through the silent living room. When it was picked up, he didn’t bother with a greeting. “Alright there, Ro?”

[Rowena Jones]

She’d barely gotten through the front door before her phone vibrated in her pocket.

“Shit.” Rowena fumbled, before answering the call.

“Alright there, Ro?”

“I’m so sorry. Did I wake you? I forgot it was…” she glanced at the clock on the wall and cursed again. “3am… Sorry!” she rambled, feeling the burn of embarrassment in her cheeks. “I was just awake and realized we hadn’t talked in a while and was just… thinking about you…” she finished lamely.

Rowena balanced the phone between her shoulder and ear as she reached up to open her potions cupboard. “Anyway, I’ll let you go back to -

Multiple eyes stared back at her from in between vials and broken glass and she slammed the door shut.

“-Oh for the love of!” the witch ranted throwing her hands in the air in exasperation, forgetting about the phone which clattered to the floor. “Bloody doxies.” Her wand was in hand, the words on her lips and then her brain caught up and she paused. The spell might work… or in a best-case scenario, she’d set her house on fire.

Rowena picked up her phone, her golden gaze narrowed, watching the cupboard carefully as she backed away. The last thing she needed was Doxy poisoning. “Max? Are you still there? I have a teensy tiny Doxy problem…” Not to mention a now lack of sleeping potions… but she didn’t need him to know how reliant she was on those these days. “Can I come over?”

She closed her eyes and slowed her breathing as the Druids had taught her. Common sense would tell her that she shouldn’t use magic at all now that it was so unpredictable for her, but Rowena would be damned before she gave up her magic. It was all a matter of control. And anyway, apparition seemed to be one of the few skills that hadn’t been too affected… well as long as she didn’t count the occasions she’d lost her arm or her right foot… and that other time when she’d ended up in the middle of the English Channel… nope. Best not to dwell on those. It would be fine. She twisted on her heel, thought of her destination… and found herself up a tree.

“Balls.”

It seemed nothing was going right and as she glanced down, she realized something else. Rowena noted, for future reference, that she really shouldn’t do anything at all at 3am. As it was, she now found herself stuck up a tree in the English countryside… dressed in nothing but a fluffy dressing gown. The witch sighed, letting her head fall back to thump against the tree trunk. At least it couldn’t get any worse.

As if she was testing the limits of the universe, there was a sudden creak and the branch beneath her cracked. “No…” she whispered, eyes going wide as they looked down again to check how high she was. Too high to jump, not so high she’d die. Not for the first time, Rowena cursed at how useless she felt. If she could trust her magic, she’d cast a simple cushioning charm and be down in a few seconds… of course, she wouldn’t even be in this predicament in the first place but that was besides the point.

Clinging onto the trunk with one hand, she reached for her phone. This was going to be embarrassing.

“Max… I need your help.” Rowena finally looked at her surroundings and let out a small sigh of relief. Her apparition hadn’t been that bad after all. She could see the house to the left, which meant that she was… “You know that big old oak tree near your house? Could you meet me there?”

[Max Kameren]

“Alright there, Ro?”

“I’m so sorry. Did I wake you? I forgot it was… 3am… Sorry!” She rambled, “I was just awake and realized we hadn’t talked in a while and was just… thinking about you…”

Max chuckled, leaning forward and covering his mouth to try to stifle the wide grin Rowena brought to his face. Despite himself, she could still pull that reaction out of him.

When the dust finally settled from the battle and Max had healed from his captivity they’d tried again, but everything was different. They didn’t know each other as well as they thought they had; in the wake of what they’d been through it was difficult to tell if their bond had been formed by love or circumstance. Add to it the outside pressure of their newfound notoriety, the press following them around looking for a tabloid-ready conclusion to the ‘love story’ they’d fabricated. It would have been too much even before the Shadowloved; after, it broke them. They’d petered out, their romance sputtering into a sort of… ambiguous friendship.

They hadn’t been golden together in a while, but every now and then a ray of her sunlight would break through the clouds and warm him.

“Anyway, I’ll let you go back to –“ Her curses piqued Max’s curiosity and he sat up, eyeing the floo powder on the fireplace mantel as he heard her phone clatter to the floor. “-Oh for the love of! Bloody doxies.”

“Ro?” Max was fairly sure he’d been forgotten. He pushed himself up from the couch and paced, listening for more cursing to alert him to Rowena’s condition. “You need help? Don’t get bit!”

“Max? Are you still there? I have a teensy tiny Doxy problem… Can I come over?”

“Yeah, ‘course you can.” The words were out of his mouth before he thought about it. He grimaced as he glanced around the house with a fire roaring, lamps lit, and potions bubbling in his father’s adjacent office. It was hardly the quiet home of someone sleeping normal hours. Max scrambled to turn off lights around the house, leaning the phone into his shoulder to put his simmering potions in stasis.

“You coming with Floo? Or – fuck.” She’d already hung up. When the potions were settled Max dug out his healing pack. As much as he admired Rowena for persevering despite her unreliable magic, he wouldn’t be thrilled to have to mend a splinch tonight. Or worse: to have to run Rowena to St. Mungo’s to have it mended at 3 in the morning, when the rumors were finally dying down.

This time when he phone buzzed he picked it up on the first ring. “You alright? In one piece?” He crossed to the front door, slipping into unlaced boots and opening the door for Willow to bound out ahead of him.

“Max… I need your help. You know that big old oak tree near your house? Could you meet me there?”

“On my way.” He tossed on his jacket and grabbed on of Arianna’s from the coat closet for good measure. It took him a moment to catch up to Willow, who was already well on her way to investigate the rustling oak tree disturbing the still neighborhood air. It was hardly the first disturbance the Crazy Kameren Family had caused for their neighbors in the wee hours, and wouldn’t be the last.

Willow beat Max to their destination and honed in on her target, standing on her lanky back legs and leaning against the tree and huffing at the branches rustling above her. Max came to stand next to her and squinted up into the foliage, trying to make out the shape of Rowena between branch and dressing gown. “Ro, is that you or another madwoman climbing trees at night in her bedclothes?”

He backed up, taking his hands out of his pockets. “Let go and I’ll cushion you!” He let her down easy, coming evenly to her bare feet. Max closed the space between them, draping Arianna’s coat around the witch’s bare shoulders. He wrapped his arm around her to keep her warm on the trudge back to the Kameren home. “Glad you’re in one piece, at least. Maybe stick to Floo in the early hours…”

[Rowena Jones]

“Ro, is that you or another madwoman climbing trees at night in her bedclothes?”

Rowena snorted in amusement. “You make it sound like a common occurrence!” she called down before another rather loud crack echoed in the darkness. “Not that I’m not appreciating the view or anything, but could you get me down?”

“Let go and I’ll cushion you!”

Regardless of their history, or perhaps because of it, she trusted Max completely and so Rowena pushed off the creaking branch and into the air, only to gently touch the ground without any harm done, except perhaps to her ego.

“Why thank you, my knight in shining armour,” she teased, before elbowing him gently. “Not sure about the part where you insinuated I was mad though!” The witch grinned up at Max as he tucked her into his side and they walked towards the house. She ignored the skip of her heart and the way her skin warmed to his touch because his friendship meant the world to her. They might not be together anymore, but Max Kameren would always be her light in the dark, her rock and safe space and there was nothing she would do to risk that.

“Glad you’re in one piece, at least. Maybe stick to Floo in the early hours…”

“The Floo! Right. Forgot about that.” Thankfully they’d arrived at the house and Rowena could hide her blush by crouching down to say hello to Willow as Max opened the door. “Just keeping things interesting for you…” she mumbled into the dog’s fur. “We have to keep him on his toes or life would just get too boring isn’t that right beautiful girl?”

Rowena straightened and followed Max into the house. “Right, well it’s late… or is it early? Either way I’ll just catch up on some reading until I can get someone to come and sort out the Doxies and you can get back to…” she paused, a small crease appearing between her brows as she considered the room. There was a warmth in the air and a distinct smell from an adjacent room that had her questioning her assumptions.

“Max… did I wake you…?”

Some would say they’d ended because they didn’t know each other well enough after all, but Rowena would be inclined to disagree. If anything, they knew each other too well. They knew exactly how to get under other’s skin, knew what would make the other uncomfortable and also how to keep secrets from each other. They’d both miraculously escaped the War with their lives, but they’d been left bruised and scarred from the ordeal, and you’d be hard pressed to find anyone more independent and stubborn than Rowena Jones and Max Kameren.

Rowena hadn’t wanted to burden Max with her problems, and she had a feeling he’d done the same… and the pressure of pretending everything was ok, of trying to hide nightmares and anger and depression, had ultimately led to too many lies and untruths and excuses. Coupled with an incessant, unforgiving Press who wanted to see their new found celebrities running into the sunset, preferably with some very public I Dos… well it was no wonder that they’d both agreed it wasn’t working. And Rowena had decided long ago, that she’d keep his friendship over nothing at all. It didn’t mean that deep deep deep deep down, on quiet nights when she was all alone, that she wouldn’t admit to herself that she missed the more that they’d once shared. It was a truth she’d take to the grave if needed. No one else knew… except for Eoin thanks to the Druid getting her beyond drunk one night. Speaking of…

“Oh before I forget! Eoin told me to tell you that there’s a storm coming up soon and you still owe him actual participation.” She grinned at her ex, knowing all too well what had happened the only time Max had gone along to Eoin’s activity back when they’d still been a couple. She’d heard it from both men, one mortified that he’d seen far too much ‘windmilling’ happening and the other rather miffed that he’d ended up dancing alone.

[Max Kameren]

“Let go and I’ll cushion you!” With her compliance Max raised a hand and supported her as she let go, letting her drift gently like a down feather to the ground. When she was stable he approached, offering her Arianna’s coat and his arm to tuck under against the cold.

“Why thank you, my knight in shining armour,” she teased, before elbowing him gently. “Not sure about the part where you insinuated I was mad though!”

“Well, if the shoe fits...” He squeezed her with a shrug, a devilish smile warming his cheeks as they started off for home. He shook his head as he looked her up and down, his gaze sharpening on her thin bedclothes. “Speaking of which, where are your shoes? Glad you’re in one piece, at least. Maybe stick to Floo in the early hours…”

“The Floo! Right. Forgot about that.” The duo arrived at the house to Willow meandering in a wide circle, whining for Max to open the door. As Max fumbled with his keys — he left no door unlocked anymore, not even for a moment — Willow sidled up to Rowena and leaned her lanky frame against her. “Just keeping things interesting for you… We have to keep him on his toes or life would just get too boring isn’t that right beautiful girl?”

Her tail wagged with contentment for Rowena’s attention just long enough for Max to get the door open, when the dog sprung forward for her one true soulmate: the hearth. It pulled a chuckle out of Max, holding the door for Willow and then Rowena to file in. “Can’t trust her. He love is fickle.” Willow huffed her indignance from the corner, too comfortable to sustain her haughtiness for long.

“Right, well it’s late… or is it early? Either way I’ll just catch up on some reading until I can get someone to come and sort out the Doxies and you can get back to…”

Max let Rowena get comfortable in the living room as he crossed immediately to the kitchen. He set the kettle to boil and found the tea drawer, his fingers rifling through tea packets until a shift in Rowena’s aura slowed him. He leaned back into the doorway, raising a questioning brow at Rowena’s pause.

“Max… did I wake you…?”

He blinked. He’d made a half-hearted attempt to cover his tracks, but by now he should have learned there was little he could hide from Rowena Jones. Even with Empathy, she had him figured out well before he could decipher her aura. She predicted his movements quicker than he could come up with a lie about them. “No, was up reading.” Perfectly vague. It was true, it just wasn’t the whole story. He smirked. “Could never have gotten me out of bed at this hour otherwise.”

Saved by the whistling of the kettle. Max turned to remove the squealing pot from the hot burner and prayed his explanation was enough. “Tea, Ro? I might have hot chocolate rattling around somewhere if you’d prefer…”

Drinks prepared, Max returned to his ex and presented her with her mug. He sank into his father’s armchair, the wood-and-leather recliner making a familiar creak that brought out unsettling memories. He moved to the couch, where Willow twitched a single ear to greet him from her comfortable position.

“Oh before I forget! Eoin told me to tell you that there’s a storm coming up soon and you still owe him actual participation.”

Max barked a gruff laugh into his own mug of tea. “Think I’d rather take my chances with the doxies.” Rowena’s roommate was an…. Interesting person. The Druid brought Rowena joy and helped open her back up to the outside world, but when it came to the male bonding activities he’d suggested for Max he was a bit too open. If he recalled correctly – which he may not, as there was alcohol involved simply to get him to go along with it in the first place – Eoin’s ‘purifying ritual’ had dissolved into the naked Druid trying to wrestle a drenched Max out of his clothes. Lucikly he’d only gotten the shirt, but the ensuing melee left Max with a far more detailed knowledge of Eoin’s anatomy than he’d needed.

“Maybe next time I’ll pick the activity. Think Eoin could stomach a pint and some muggle football?” Max grinned at the very thought of the ethereal wizard ducking into a pub for a drink with him. With his scars even Max couldn’t blend in anymore, together they’d look like visiting carnival attractions. “Or potions? We could whip you up some doxycide – Wait.”

Max reached out and touched Rowena’s arm as a thought occurred to him. His eyes rolled upwards as he took mental stock of his ingredients. There should be enough, he mused with a perplexing combination frown-and-nod. “Why don’t we just make doxycide? I have an empty cauldron and enough ingredients; You can take it with you in the morning. Plus it smells like hell; you can use it on Eoin if he’s a pest too.” Max smiled wryly, the door to his father’s office opening behind him with a tilt of his head.

[Rowena Jones]

“Max… did I wake you…?”

“No, was up reading.” Rowena wrinkled her nose as she considered his answer. Possible, even likely… and yet she wondered if that was the full story. Wasn’t this why they’d sputtered and failed after all. Half truths. Knowing that neither was being totally honest with the other and yet not wanting to push because then she’d have to come clean too.

“Could never have gotten me out of bed at this hour otherwise.”

Rowena glanced in Max’s direction, her eyes crinkling as she looked at him fondly. She knew the truth of that far too well, remembering some of the best of their moments they’d shared. It felt like a lifetime ago that they’d shared the same bed, of nights when she’d read things that she couldn’t possibly wait to tell him about, turning to her sleeping partner and trying to wake him to share her finds, only to be faced with stubbornly closed eyes and soft snores. Her smile faded. That glorious feeling she’d once shared with Max, the one he’d described as golden, it felt so far away in moments like this.

A sharp whistle pulled her from her melancholy.

“Tea, Ro? I might have hot chocolate rattling around somewhere if you’d prefer…”

“Tea’s fine…” she answered, trying to rally her spirits. “3 sugars please, no milk.”

She waited in silence as her ex prepared the drinks, smiling gratefully as he passed her the hot mug. The witch curled her legs under herself and settled deeper into the sofa as she cupped her tea in both hands, still somewhat caught up in her thoughts. Max sitting in the armchair, then quickly moving to the other end of the couch had her quirking a bemused eyebrow at him even as her heart ached at the distance between them. His fidgeting reminded her of her friend… speaking of…

“Oh before I forget! Eoin told me to tell you that there’s a storm coming up soon and you still owe him actual participation.”

“Think I’d rather take my chances with the doxies.”

Now it was Rowena’s turn to grin. She took a sip of her too hot tea, wincing as it scalded her tongue. “Oh come on, it wasn’t that bad. He’s just an open kind of person.” Indeed, Rowena had had her own fair share of seeing far too much of her friend, but she’d quickly discovered that Eoin just wasn’t a fan of clothing. As he put it, it interfered with his connection to the Earth, and well… who was she to get in the way of his connections? “I’ll let him know you’re busy that day,” she conceded, “but he does keep asking about you. Apparently, you haven’t been around enough lately…” There was a reason for that but Eoin was like the annoying brother she’d never had and seemed to not care or understand that Max and her had called it quits.

“Maybe next time I’ll pick the activity. Think Eoin could stomach a pint and some muggle football?”

Rowena’s smile turned into a laugh at the very idea. Her friend was magic to his very core and looked the part. She shook her head as she pictured the red headed druid with a pint in hand, loudly commenting that the players would be much better with no shoes on and that really, it needed a few more balls to make it interesting. After all, what was a game without some potential brain injuries from flying balls? “He’d probably prefer Rugby to be honest…” she mused, pretending to seriously consider it.

“Or potions? We could whip you up some doxycide –“

The witch leaned over to put her now empty mug on the coffee table as Max spoke, turning to him questioning as he paused.

“Wait.”

Once again, she had to ignore the spark at his touch. Rowena wondered if he ever felt it anymore. He certainly acted as if he’d moved on, but then Max had always been better at keeping his emotions in check. He had to, she supposed, whereas she’d always been an open book. She wondered now if he could feel the hurt that throbbed dully in her chest at the thought… but it was what they’d agreed. He’d have to move on at some point, even if she thought she’d never find someone, anything like what they’d had, again. She sighed, hoping Max wouldn’t notice and made a mental note to not see him at this time of the night again. Obviously, she couldn’t control herself enough when she was this emotional, with the memories of the nightmare still lingering.

“Why don’t we just make doxycide? I have an empty cauldron and enough ingredients; You can take it with you in the morning. Plus it smells like hell; you can use it on Eoin if he’s a pest too.”

“Great idea!” Rowena agreed, and it was, because if she were to sit here for one more minute with nothing to distract her, she was going to ask him to hold her and she wouldn’t be able to keep from him the truth behind her sleepless nights. “Not the bit about Eoin!” she rectified realizing how her comment might sound.

She got up quickly, needing to put some distance between them and moved towards the office. “Coming then?” she asked with a grin. This would be perfect. This she could do. Just her and Max working on a potion together, like back in Hogwarts when they’d been forced to partner together and made every project a competition… ok, she’d made it into a competition. Rowena would like to say she’d changed, matured into someone who didn’t care about being better… but if she was honest… she still loved finding any opportunity to show off.

“Ok. First things first. Bundimun? And Streeler shells.” She chuckled, turning to look at Max. “So do you want to get the Acid or the Poison? I forgot how fun this Potion is. “ …and by fun, she meant dangerous.

[Max Kameren]

“Tea’s fine…” she answered, trying to rally her spirits. “3 sugars please, no milk.”

“I remember,” Max replied automatically, pulling old novelty mugs from his parents’ cupboard and preparing their tea. Rowena’s was Too Sexy to be 40! Max’s was a chipped and well-worn World’s Okayest Husband. Both felt somewhat fitting, half-true if you ignored the big picture. That was something they both knew how to do far too well by now.

The weight of the room was crushing him. They’d agreed. It hadn’t been working, after the initial rush of reuniting they’d lost their step. In the dust of their lives after the battle the intensity had faded. The pressure pushed on them from all sides had been too much. They were still followed everywhere they went; only the curses Max’s family had put on their home kept them safe tonight. They’d tried and failed. Picking back up again, for the – what was it – fourth time, they would surely fail again.

But still, their history wedged itself in the space between them on the couch and expanded. It was inescapable in the front of his mind, but it was in Rowena’s too. Her aura didn’t match her facial expressions; everything echoed with a bittersweet memory, boring a hollowness into their small talk. It was an aimless conversation, a problem that had no answer, that forced itself to the forefront of all of their interactions not matter how hard they tried to ignore it. Max was steeped in it. He wanted to drown himself in his mug of tea, taking a too-long sip of the scalding beverage to try and burn his stubborn feelings into remission. It didn’t work. It never worked, damn her.

So instead, fill the silence the awkwardness demanded of them. Since their separation Max felt he couldn’t bear a gap in conversation around Rowena, an urge he’d never felt before. Anything to keep from falling into that warm, comfortable silence that made him think he was living in better days.

“Oh before I forget! Eoin told me to tell you that there’s a storm coming up soon and you still owe him actual participation.”

“Think I’d rather take my chances with the doxies.”

“Oh come on, it wasn’t that bad. He’s just an open kind of person.[…] Apparently, you haven’t been around enough lately…”

Their unwanted topic pushed to the surface again. Max cleared his throat, trying to push it aside. They could outrun it, they had been for months. “Maybe next time I’ll pick the activity. Think Eoin could stomach a pint and some muggle football?”

“He’d probably prefer Rugby to be honest…”

“Or potions? We could whip you up some doxycide – Wait.” The touch was an accident, but Max’s grip immediately dropped like he’d touched a hot stove. They needed an activity, something they could focus on that wasn’t each other or whatever reason they were both awake so early in the morning. “Why don’t we just make doxycide? I have an empty cauldron and enough ingredients; You can take it with you in the morning. Plus it smells like hell; you can use it on Eoin if he’s a pest too.”

“Great idea! Not the bit about Eoin!” Max laughed, relieved she also seemed to be eager for distraction “Coming then?” she asked with a grin.

“One quick thing!” Max scrambled to his feet and barred Rowena from the office before she could enter. “This is my dad’s old office. We haven’t been able to pack it up because we’re not sure what still does and doesn’t have hexes on it. Just… careful, please. Don’t want a repeat of the Kameren Library.” He couldn’t help but grin evilly at Rowena’s reaction to his jab; if she was going to goad him into a competition, he’d be more than happy to bruise her ego.

He pushed open the office door to reveal an office which, for its small size, was absolutely packed with magical objects. One wall was crowded with tall filing cabinets breaking to a heavy wooden desk in the center, with shelves lining up above the cabinets brimming with Auror’s surveillance and defensive tools. The opposite wall of the office was lined with bookshelves loaded with worn spines. One detail Max knew would drive Rowena mad: the books were in absolutely no order. Curse Kameren had been infamously disorganized.

A closet on the third wall held a varied Potions Master’s cupboard, filled with ingredients and tools that didn’t have the same dusty layer of the shelves or the cabinets; the closet was Max’s department in Curse’s office, the only place he’d been able to make himself at home since his return from captivity. Two other cauldrons simmered in stasis in the corner: potions for Weasely’s Wizard Wheeze’s. One was a Molasses Dung Paste for their Skiving Snackboxes, the other Amortentia for their Love Potions. Max was thankful for the sickly-sweet smell of the Molasses interfering with the Love Potion’s too-familiar scent. He pulled out a third cauldron from the closet as Rowena rattled off their tasks:

“Ok. First things first. Bundimun? And Streeler shells.” She chuckled, turning to look at Max. “So do you want to get the Acid or the Poison? I forgot how fun this Potion is.”

Max chuckled, shaking his head as he pulled ingredients and tools from the cupboard. “Think I have more poison antidote stocked than burn paste, so you take the Streelers.” He handed off a mortar and pestle to Rowena and began digging for the Bundimun Ooze he kept far in the back of the cupboard.

[Rowena Jones]

“Coming then?” she asked with a grin. 

“One quick thing!” Max scrambled to his feet and barred Rowena from the office before she could enter. She glanced at him with a bemused grin waiting for him to clarify. “This is my dad’s old office. We haven’t been able to pack it up because we’re not sure what still does and doesn’t have hexes on it. Just… careful, please. Don’t want a repeat of the Kameren Library.”

“Oh piss off,” she rolled her eyes. Merlin, you got trapped by one teeny tiny Dark Magic book and your boyfriend… ex boyfriend never let you forget it. She scowled at his smirk. How did this man get under her skin so much? She wished she could just kiss that smug satisfied look off his face… but of course that part of her life was over now… and as he pushed open the door, she was suddenly all too distracted…

… by the awful mess.

Rowena sputtered. She turned to look at Max, her eyes wide. “How. What. WHO decided this was acceptable?” she gestured at the walls. Merlin. She was getting a headache just looking at it. The tall filing cabinets with papers jutting out, the shelves straining under the weight of too many objects. And the worst of all. The books. She felt faint. “I don’t know if I can stay in here…” Rowena whimpered to herself. “This is a disaster,” she said louder, pointing at the bookshelves. “I thought the Kameren Library was bad… but this. I need to sit down. No. I need to fix it. Please tell me I can fix it. It’s not even alphabetical Max…”

She turned to look at him, her distress apparent on her face even as she registered the scent coming from one of the Potions currently brewing. It was hidden under sweet odour of the other potion, but so distinctly familiar that it made her wince and temporarily forget about the books. Max was pulling out another cauldron and if the room was going to stay a disaster zone then she could at least control their potion making.

“Ok. First things first. Bundimun? And Streeler shells.” Rowena chuckled, turning to look at Max. “So do you want to get the Acid or the Poison? I forgot how fun this Potion is.”

“Think I have more poison antidote stocked than burn paste, so you take the Streelers.”

Rowena scowled. “Wow you are on a roll today…thanks for the vote of confidence there Max.” As if she would be so careless, she thought as she reached for some gloves. Carefully taking a few shells, she placed them in the mortar Max had given her and began to grind. Her technique was perfect, she was sure. Max could not fault how she’d precisely ground the shells so that the powder was as fine as dust. There were certainly no pieces that could be considered too large, she thought as she peered closely at her work.

Before she knew it, and without understanding quite how she’d done it, the pestle had fallen from it’s careful perch and straight onto her foot.

“Shit!” she cursed under her breath, as she quickly retrieved it, wriggling her toes to make sure she hadn’t broken them and hoping Max hadn’t been paying attention.

[Max Kameren]

Curse Kameren had been a powerful wizard, a revered Headmaster, a loving father… and an infamous hoarder. It had taken Max weeks to clear out his office at Hogwarts, trying to make sense of his later father’s chaos. It was Curse’s opinion that, having a photographic memory, he didn’t need to organize. As his son, Max would dispute both the idea of his photographic memory and his organizational practices. After his passing it became his headache. Merlin – or Curse – only knew what lived in this office now.

“How. What. WHO decided this was acceptable?” Max laughed. He was getting some kind of long-suffering catharsis out of Rowena’s warranted revulsion. “I don’t know if I can stay in here… This is a disaster,” she said louder, pointing at the bookshelves. “I thought the Kameren Library was bad… but this. I need to sit down. No. I need to fix it. Please tell me I can fix it. It’s not even alphabetical Max…”

“At your peril.” Max chuckled as he hauled ingredients out of the potions cupboard. “This room is Alex’s Ministry office on steroids. Got a poison dart to the neck three years ago when I pulled a file cabinet drawer out too far, gave up after that.” He smiled slyly and shook his head; this office explained a lot about Max’s childhood and current neuroses, he thought. The creator of this lethal pile of knick-knacks was his primary caregiver for his formative years, after all.

“Afraid you’re going to have to work through it, Ro. Don't want to be brewing Doxycide in the parts of the house I’m living in.” Hopefully it would also offset the all-too-alluring smells coming from the potion in stasis in the corner.

“Ok. First things first. Bundimun? And Streeler shells.” Rowena chuckled, turning to look at Max. “So do you want to get the Acid or the Poison? I forgot how fun this Potion is.”

“Think I have more poison antidote stocked than burn paste, so you take the Streelers.”

Rowena scowled. “Wow you are on a roll today…thanks for the vote of confidence there Max.”

He glanced up from his ingredients and winked with a mischievous grin. “Have to get my best lines in while I can. I so rarely have an audience anymore.” Damn, no Bundimun Ooze. Max would have to extract fresh juice from a Bundimun he kept in another bottomless trunk. He reached around for the trunk in question and found it, pulling out an empty vial for the excess along with it. With one eye he watched Rowena carefully grind the shells, smiling to himself at her indignant pride in the delicate work.

How easily they had fallen back into their usual rhythms, with Max finding ways to tease her and Rowena admonishing him at every turn. There were so many aspects of their relationship that he missed dearly, but it was maybe this that he missed most. He loved to challenge her, and he loved even more when she pushed back at him. It turned everything into a game, from healing, to doing the dishes, even deciding what to watch on television. Every conversation turned to debate then banter then flirtation. They had closed the door on the last step, but Max couldn’t help but prod at her still. It had become second nature.

“Shit!” Rowena cursed.

A loud thud made Max jump and nearly drop the bundimun closed in his fist over the cauldron. Her surprise frazzled his sixth sense and Max shivered, watching Ro carefully as she inspected her foot. A bit too carefully, as he wasn’t paying attention to the ingredients in his own hands. “Are you al– fuck!”

In his distraction Max missed the vial when juicing the bundimun, instead squirting the lime-colored goo down his bare knuckles. It heated up quickly and his skin started steaming before he was able to shake it off into the empty cauldron. “Ugh, damn it. I’m an idiot.” He dropped the gruesome creature and the vial to frantically wipe the secretion onto his shirt. The bundimun shrank away into the closet, and Max gestured behind Rowena to a healing pack on the desk behind her. “Burn paste, second side pocket.”

[Rowena Jones]

Toes deemed ok, she glanced up, hoping she wouldn’t meet Max’s gaze. Maybe he hadn’t heard her… but as per usual, the universe was not listening to her and she met Max’s green eyes with her own golden ones. A blush quickly appeared on her cheeks as embarrassment made her duck her gaze away. To his hand, hovering above the cauldron. Her eyes widened.

“Are you al– fuck!”
“Max! Watch out!’ they called out at the same time, the acidic goo squirting onto his bare skin.

“Ugh, damn it. I’m an idiot.”

Rowena hummed in agreement, already looking around for something to help him. His movement caught her eye and she tutted in annoyance.

“Max, don’t wipe it on your shirt… it’s acid!” Merlin, you’d think he wasn’t almost the smartest person she knew. Sure enough, she noted the shirt fibers start to disintegrate and renewed her search for help.

“Burn paste, second side pocket.”

“Thank you,”

She turned, locating the thick orange substance quickly and crossing the room to Max’s side. She passed the Amortentia and glared at it as if she could stubbornly will it to stop smelling like coffee, smoke and a distinct odour that had lingered on her pillows and around her house far longer than the man himself. An odour that she found herself surrounded by as she reached her ex. She quickly took in the wound, old habits quickly taking over as she evaluated the damage. He’d been quick to react… but not quick enough; the skin was already blistering.

“Should have had more confidence in me after all,” she quipped as she pushed up his sleeve for more room. “Actually, just take it off before it eats through your shirt and gets to your skin there too.”

The universe really was testing her today wasn’t it? She tried to keep her mind on the task at hand, tried to stay in Healer mode, but she couldn’t help but remember past moments, of intimate touches and the memory of them fitting together so perfectly. Her hand was shaking slightly as she spread the paste on his hand, ignoring any protest. Max was a notoriously bad patient but she’d luckily… or perhaps unluckily, had lots of practice with him.

Trying to distract both of them, she glanced at the cauldron and forced out a laugh.

“Failed at the first hurdle Mr. Potions Master,” she teased. “I don’t think that counts as stirring quickly…” The acid he’d extracted before the incident was dulling as they watched, rendering it useless.

[Max Kameren]

Max had always been an adept and creative Potions Master, but that didn’t mean much for his gracefulness. Even at Mungo’s his office had been known for his cacophonous clangs of potions equipment when the healer was in session. All potioneers had scars and burns running up to their elbows from brewing incidents; Max just happened to have more. Not to mention, his clumsiness was always exacerbated with Rowena in range of his sixth sense. 

“Burn paste, second side pocket.” Max dropped the Bundimun and frantically wiped the acid on his shirt, but it was too late. He winced as the skin on his knuckles steamed and blistered on contact. 

“Thank you,” Max watched Rowena set to work. A bit of nostalgia set in as he watched her work, her hands moving on instinct and the familiar whir of her aura in motion putting him at ease. She was the one healer he trusted enough to not be an irritable patient with. Well not, too irritable, at least. “Should have had more confidence in me after all,” she quipped. 

“Where’s the fun in that?” He retorted, his chuckle turning into a shiver as Rowena pushed up his sleeve.

“Actually, just take it off before it eats through your shirt and gets to your skin there too.” 

The heat sinking into his chest was way ahead of her. Max complied, using his good hand to pull his shirt off just in time. The acid had eaten a hole through his shirt, but only left red marks just above his navel. He flinched away at Rowena’s first touch and sighed heavily during her application; even Rowena’s steady aura unable to hold his patience long.

The drop in the conversation pitched them into a tension that made Max want to squirm. Their usual tension was suddenly turned up tenfold; he even felt Rowena’s aura start to waver. His brow furrowed and he tried to think on anything but the pain in his hand or the woman holding it. He tried to take a breath but the Amortentia filled the room with rain, old book pages, and to crown of Rowena’s head. It occurred to him he had never gotten through a potion with Rowena without injuring himself or losing his shirt. It was an energy they couldn’t do anything with, they both knew, and it made Max want to shrink away from her contact.

Bless Rowena for being able to break the hold their silence had on them. “Failed at the first hurdle Mr. Potions Master,” she teased. “I don’t think that counts as stirring quickly…”

Max swore as the Bundimun ooze he had managed to get out of it curdled into a dull grey. “I swear I’m a better Potions Master than I look when we brew together.” He shook his head, opening his hands and summoning bandages from his healing kit with a muttered Accio. Winding them around his hand felt like flexing an atrophied muscle; he missed the old days. Healing, even if it was just on himself. “You distract me, Jones.”

Shit. He’d made the mistake of letting what was on his mind reach his tongue, and the tension came roaring back into the room with it. With the burn paste quieting the pain of his burn, Max was suddenly very aware of the hour, their proximity and his… nakedness.

“I’m, uhm… going to go find a shirt.” He brushed past his ex gently, ducking up the stairs hopefully fast enough that she would miss the red shade of his ears. When he made it to his childhood room – transfigured to reflect the size and layout of his old London apartment – He covered his face with his hands, shuddering with embarrassment. “Pull it together Max…”