The holidays were always a flurry of activity, and one that Tarron quietly detested. He thought back to his Hogwarts years sometimes longingly, but even then Christmas had been a busy and stressful kind of year. It’d just been easier. His parents would go to parties almost every night, and he was of course obliged to come with them, smile politely at everyone and be bored out of his skull. Still, they weren’t all dull – he often tried to forget one memorable party where he’d gotten stuck under the mistletoe with and then nearly engaged to one of his second cousins.

Pureblood families! They had plenty of dull moments, but compared to the interesting ones the dull, long afternoons were a precious jewel of calm and serenity. He just wished he’s appreciated that as a teenager.

Now he sought his moments of quiet whenever he could, and it was costing him sleep. He sat in the library, a book open in his lap, the early morning sunlight streaming between the blinds to illuminate the lines of bookshelves. It was almost silent in the room, the soft tick tock of the grandfather clock the only sound.

It didn’t seem long before distant pattering feet gave away the fact the two girls were awake, and the smell of cooking reached his nose. They’d be here for him soon enough; thankfully, he was already suitably dressed, even if strictly speaking a lounge jacket wasn’t appropriate for the breakfast table.

He looked up as the door to the library creaked open, barely turning his head so that his pale blue eyes could see who stood there.

“Good morning, Sophia,” he said, turning a page with a delicate flick of his fingers.

Sophia was so thrilled to be home, and hadn't realized how badly she had missed her family until the constant steady rhythm returned. She slept deeper and rested more, and woke much more refreshed that she ever did at Hogwarts. It felt good to not have classes, and to just enjoy the time off. However, she wouldn't be her Father's daughter if she wasn't already in dire need of some mental stimulation, and in this she made her excuse to sneak into his study.

The morning was like any other, and she was dressed long before breakfast was finished. Her hair was brushed, but wasn't pulled back. Her dress wasn't one of her best, but it was comfortable. Sophia didn't put on her best shoes, and opted to stay in her house slippers as long as she could.

"Good morning, Father," She said from the doorway, after studying him for as long as she dared. Tarron, was as handsome as a man got, and his daughter took great pride in knowing this. However, Sophia was admiring his beauty, she was studying his health as though her concern was often on her mother--her Father wasn't free from her careful eye. He seemed well enough, and she even smiled when he turned the paper.

He wasn't going to get away that easy!

She crossed the room and seated herself on the edge of his chair to peer around his paper. She planted a warm kiss to his temple, enjoying his scent, the way his hair felt against her nose, and how steady he was.

"Anything happening this morning I should be aware of?" And in that same instance her eyes narrowed in on the paper's text to read as much as she could in case he wouldn't allow her to go any further.

 The article was one of those strangely compelling texts; its wording was dull at best, its subject matter dry and of interest only to enthusiasts into the subject at hand. And yet he found it a bit difficult to put down. There was a subtle humor to the author’s approach, and subtle humor was the sort Tarron rather preferred – and it took a careful hand to bring subtle humor into the subject of Slavic Rune-stones.

Besides, it was a lot more cheerful and engaging than what was on the front of the paper.

Sophia approached and sat on the chair next to him, kissing his temple. He put the book down in his lap a moment to return the gesture, placing a delicate familial kiss to the top of her head, his smile brief but genuine as ever.

“Mmm. Within this house? Little, I suspect, though I would not be surprised if your mother has some plans for the holiday you have remaining. Outside of it-“ Tarron picked up the paper and flicked his wrist, the newspaper closing back to its first page easily enough. The headline screamed in large text about the New Year’s shopping rush.

He looked at Sophia and raised his eyebrows, the darkly skeptical look saying far more about his opinion on that being headline news than any words could have. 

"I didn't figure as much," She said with a small smile and studied the paper's headlines, "Oh how compelling." Sophia wasn't one to admit she enjoyed the concept of shopping, she enjoyed being out and exploring even if it was in dress shops. They came with the territory of being a young woman. Someday when she had her own home she would need to pick up a few of the skills her mother used, and Sophia didn't ignore her lessons. She was content to study how to properly act, set a table, and hold political conversations. She knew she would need those lessons to excel in father's footsteps, and shopping was just one of those...

Sophia gave her father a very pointed look with a very childlike smile lifting her lips, "Now Father..." She ran her fingers over his hair to pet the salt and pepper strands beneath her fingertips, "You know that I will happily do all of your shopping for you," She extended her hand palm up for his purse.

"Even for mother," Lowering her hand she studied the fire for a moment, wondering if she should even bring it up, but perched there on her father's chair made her want to confess her concerns--it always had, always will, "She has been so tired lately. Pale even. Have you noticed?"

He smiled again, that thin-lipped flash of a smile. “Oh, not quite yet, my girl,” he said, shaking his head. He wasn’t about to hand his purse to the girls unsupervised – not yet. When they were older, perhaps; until then, it was out of the question. Mostly.

Perhaps for a birthday.

“Your mother’s shopping is rather more complex that mine, alas,” he said. Alas was not the word for it, perhaps, but the details of women’s shopping were rather beyond him; how one got sized for a corset or found just the right type of hoop for a skirt were mysteries he had long contented himself to be oblivious to.

He folded the paper as she mentioned Aisling, however, and looked at her with some concern. “Yes,” he said, after a moment’s consideration. “I have assumed it has much to do with the injury she received in November. The Healers did tell her to take her time to recover.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “We are not as young as we seem, my dear.”

With that, he relaxed into the chair, eyebrow quirked. “She also finds the holidays stressful, which I am assured has not helped. Your mother is not always…welcome in the same circles as I am.” Interlacing his fingers, he looked at her carefully. “Has she spoken to you on the subject?”

When Tarron refused his purse, Sophia gave him a rather amused grin. One that wasn't for anyone else! She leaned returned to her position against him, leaning her cheek to the top of his head as she perched on the edge of the arm of the chair to read the paper as well.

“We are not as young as we seem, my dear.”

Those words she knew too well, and somehow hearing them from her Father made them all the more true. She didn't want to allow them in, nor for they to stretch her concern. However that fear swelled up in her like a raging fire, and Sophia tightened her hold on him.

"I suppose it is," She answered when he spoke of the injury, but there was more...there had to be more, "But she wasn't so tired like this. She naps often, and seems rather pale." With a shake of her head she answered his next question after sitting up again to look at him.

"No, she hasn't said anything about it. I just notice these things. I'm observant. Unless you are talking about the difference between your birthright and her own. Then yes. We've gone over it a few times. And I'll hold my great opinion on the matter to myself, but I suppose you would understand it."

He reached up to pat Sophia’s arm, letting the paper sag and crumple in his hands a bit. His touch was gentle but also the same sort of stoic gesture he usually applied with his children, and he sighed as he considered her words.

She was likely right – women had this intuitive sense of each other than men did not have, in Tarron’s eyes, and so he could trust the instincts of his daughter over his own. And his own, as she had perhaps not realized she’d pointed out, were too often clouded with the facts his daughters were less aware of.

“I suppose I would, yes,” he said, frowning slightly. “Your mother continues to find such things stressful, I’m afraid. Yet if something ails her, she has not yet spoken to me of it – I shall speak to her when the time is right. Your mother is cunning, Sophia, and excellent at diverting concern.” He seemed almost amused, a casual sort of way of deflecting the girl’s worries. “I shall have to corner her.”

His amusement was certainly her own, and it brought her great joy to hear...

“I shall have to corner her.”

Sophia smiled and nearly laughed as she wrapped her arms around her father's neck to pull him into a hug, and with a kiss to his forehead she slipped down from the arm of his chair,

"I suppose you will have to, but in the mean time Papa, it's time to eat," Delivered like a little attorney already, with her hands folded behind her back, and the ribbon in his hair completely straight.

"Come along," She directed him before turning on her heel and going to see about breakfast.