Title taken from Benjamin Franklin, "Three may keep a secret, if two of them are dead."

---

Stepping out of the fireplace in the atrium, Primrose seamlessly broke back into the conversation she and her sister had been having before they’d tossed the floo powder.  “I don’t care how lovely Rome is,” she wrinkled her nose, “I wouldn’t be going with Marigold and her little gaggle of friends if I got paid to.” 

She paused a moment, and sighed,  “I’m glad you had a good time though.”  She wouldn’t begrudge Maree that.  She’d been having a rough go of it, particularly with the dementors, she was glad for her.  Plus, as much as Prim loved Amaryllis, there had been a small part of her that was so glad the estate was just a little more empty than usual. 

After the original rejection of her proposal followed by the Prewett fiasco… it wasn’t only Maree that was having a rough time!  Primrose had to find time to repurpose her arguments, bolster her ideas with more legal precedent and find a way to financially make it possible.  She was familiar with budgeting, but there were many things she could not account for in this circumstance…

Her second attempt at an argument was coming up and she had sort of hit a wall… amongst other things.  On top of attempting to balance a budget she wasn’t even entirely sure was right, Prim was also trying to keep very distinct parts of her life separated.  It was mostly mortifying, followed by completely exhausting, and as it turned out, better when there were fewer people running about the estate.  Their return hadn’t deterred her endeavors to have her cake and eat it to (so to speak) though. 

For someone who projected so much self control to the world, Prim found herself lacking in that respect.  Shifting uncomfortably at the thought, she pressed the button for the lift.  Prim glanced over at her sister, expression softening, “Perhaps we’ll have to go on a trip,” she thought out loud, “without Marigold – of course.  We’ve never been to Switzerland, have we?” the lift doors opened and several of the faceless, nameless bureaucrats with whom they worked stepped out, making way for them to step in, Prim taking the lead and pressing their respective floors.  “Maybe in the summer,” she sighed, “if I finally make some headway.” 

"Switzerland would be nice--it would be great for skiing, if that ship hadn't just sailed. Or Spain!"  Amaryllis grinned. "Zinia swears by Spanish men. What did she say about them? Tragic eyes and..." she cut herself off, cheeks flushing, as she remembered where they were. Work.  Not the time to be quoting lines from friends that really should have been in Witch Weekly!

Maybe Zinia had missed her calling in life...

"Maybe even late spring!" Maree chirped encouragingly.  "You've been working so hard: you are sure to make headway." The words sounded more confident than she felt.  Hard work yielded results; that was the way the world worked, right? She had always been taught that.  "I don't know how we could possibly exclude Marigold. Maybe Hattie and Mari can take another trip." She frowned.  "We'd need to make Switzerland sound unappealing. Museums! Concert Halls!" Of course, those two things would work well enough for either Prim or Maree.  They shared their parents' taste, most of the time.  Prim liked horses like their father, Maree like music and the arts like their mother... and there was plenty of overlap and commonalities besides.  "I have heard there are the quaintest mountain towns and villages; chateaus... we might even hike a little..." she case a sidelong glance at Prim.  "Only a little, mind you..."

Before the doors could shut completely, a hand shot through, slapping on one side.

Morning had started earlier than usual—which was to say, too early, given the hour Grigory had finally crawled in the night before, and all the waiting and running he’d had to do until then. By the time he was able to leave, he was covered in scrapes and bruises, and his knee had flared up something awful, leaving him limp all the way home.

The result had been a surly, groggy Grigory who could barely string two words together, much less pick out his own clothes. Perun and Lelya had been fed almost completely on autopilot. Breakfast, unsurprisingly, had been a monosyllabic affair.

The doors parted again instantly upon touch, but slowly, dragging along like an awkward pause. He watched them open until the gap widened just enough for him to slip through, and when he did, his eyes found Amaryllis first, soft with apology. “Sorry,” he rumbled, crooking her a faint, sleepy smile.

And then, looking past her, spotted Prim, and nearly stepped on her sister.

Pale blonde hair running down her back, cheeks dusted with a light shade of pink, eyes so very blue beneath the set of her brows—beautiful, as always. Grigory quickly caught himself and shot Amaryllis another, hasty apology as he filled up the spot on her other side. Since he and Prim had begun seeing each other, the only other Woolfolk he spent any amount of time with was Calvin. The others—her mother and sisters—he never saw. What he and Prim were doing and what her family knew were two very different, separate things, and now…

Now, it reminded him of all the thoughts he had begun to have. Ones he felt guilty over, because as much as they didn’t – fit what he and Prim were, they were still so very–

“Sorry,” he said again, clearing his throat. Despite his better efforts, he found his gaze drifting over Maree’s head before it darted away. This close, the resemblance was plain, in both features and the clean, classic look they seemed to favor. “I’m still – wake up.”

Grigory rubbed his jaw, keenly aware of his split lip and the bruise that had blossomed on his left cheek. He hadn’t been able to shave, either. Normally he could care less about how he looked compared to others, especially when he was working, but with Prim and Amaryllis – one he spent more time around naked, the other they were currently hiding that from – he found himself unable to think of little else.

That said, he wasn’t used to ignoring Prim when she was in such close proximity. It was all he could do not to look at her, when he jerked his chin at the elevator buttons in front of her. “Four, please.”

Prim laughed as Maree suggested Spain, raising her eyebrows (as well as wondering which if Maree’s friends Zinia was – Prim could never keep them straight).  “Which is Zinia again?” she asked with a crooked smile.  Prim only really needed to know because some of Maree’s friends were not exactly the most trustworthy for their vacation judgment and by the sounds of it… Well, Prim already had a pair of droopy eyes in her life that made her stomach twist.   

The prospect of that was a much more immediate respite than the idea of a spring vacation, though.  It also seemed much more likely than making any breaks in her career, she thought glumly.  As distressing as the seemingly insurmountable obstacle was, at least Maree had an optimistic outlook on things, and an unending list of things they could do – even if she didn’t see how they could leave Marigold out.  “I could find a way,” Prim commented, a brief grimace on her face.  Prim’s smile grew again and became more genuine the more Maree spoke.  She was able to picture bits and pieces of the trip.  Though the hiking bit, Prim scrunched her nose.  “I’m intrigued by most of that, but we’ll see about the hiking,” she laughed lightly and reached forward to press the respective buttons for them both.  Prim didn’t generally do much walking on her own – she preferred to see the world from the back of the horse, thank you very much. “A trail ride, though: I could be convinced.”

Her head turned in surprise when the doors of the lift were suddenly stopped, a hand jutting in to catch the ride with them.  That was not unusual, it was just about the time for a rush, but when the door actually opened… Prim tried her best to stay resolved: of course this would happen.  Honestly, she should have known just from his hand coming through the door, being intimately familiar with them (as much as the rest of him) at this point. 

Grigory Gonchar, tall but hunched, mussed brown hair and those eyes… Prim felt her heart speed up a little bit and even though she had been smiling before, she was sure there was a difference.  At least for a moment, until it registered that he looked tired – and was that a bruise?  And a cut?!  On top of that, his voice sounded so exhausted, he pretty much said as much.  The desire to ask about it bubbled in her throat.  The best thing she could do was start biting her lip; forcibly keep in the urge to inquire.  “It’s not a problem,” Prim finally decided on as the most neutral thing she could say, trying to discreetly peek around her sister to catch a glimpse of his face again to see how bad things actually looked. 

The doors started to c lose again and there was a moment of intense anxiety before an umbrella swung forward and the doors again rushed open.  This time, an older witch positively swimming in purples of all shades stood outside, bustling in.  The feathers on her hat bobbed and jerked with her movements, the chain on her glasses jingling as she shuffled into the lift and used her size to move Prim back. 

Not exactly an ideal place to get another look at Grigory’s face, Prim noted with a frown, even if the view from the back was not a terrible one.  And much more discreet.  “Pardon me, running a bit late!” the woman warbled with laughter and hit her button.  Prim felt relief: seven?  That was the next floor.  But, when the woman reached up to adjust her glasses, she frowned, “Oh! So silly of me, I swear that five button just jumped out from under my fingers!” she said cheerily, looking around at those in the elevator.  Prim laughed uncomfortably.  The longer they stood in this lift, the closer she was to bursting and the harder it would be to appear nonchalant in the face of her sister and the man she was "sneaking around with" as their mother put it. 

Prim had been thoughtless before[1] and she couldn't risk another slip like that.  The longer the older woman stood, staring at the panel of buttons and deciding her actual destination while muttering things about meetings and paperwork, the harder Prim's heart beat and the more uncomfortable she felt.  “Let me try that again,” the purple cloud of a witch declared and used her free hand to adjust her spectacles.  Her gnarled finger stretched forward and with her shaking hand, hit both five and six.  Practically every single floor was hit.  It took all of Prim's restraint not to scream.  This was going to be the longest lift ride in history, and it had barely even started. 

1.	Seedlings to Sunflowers: in which Prim's mother confronts her indirectly.

"Sorry." A man--probably about their age--who looked like he had a bit of Durmstrang in him or--she looked down at the large shoes, the large hands, large everything really, even a drop of Hagrid in him... But probably not. It sounded like he was more from Durmstrang. 

"Oh, it's fine," she said, leaning forward to press number four for the new arrival.  Prim seemed to agree.  Not everyone could be a morning person.  Marigold certainly wasn't; Amaryllis usually made it a policy to wait at least an hour into consciousness before engaging Mari in conversation.  Prim was definitely the earliest riser, though everyone in the house had noticed she must have had a hard time sleeping recently. Going to bed later and later.

That would not work well.  If she and Marigold ended up on the same schedule, sleep-deprived at the breakfast table in the mornings, they'd be fighting like kneasles and crups.

The newcomer to the lift was... nice. Clearly upbeat, but she lacked a certain sort of Monday competency that Amaryllis would have really appreciated from a Monday colleague. Three buttons? Amaryllis gave her sister an encouraging smile; she seemed on edge.  Work had been taking more and more out of Prim. She shouldn't be at all surprised that her sister looked like she wanted to be anywhere else but en route.

The tension was mounting.  "Let's plan on Switzerland, then," she said in a pleading tone to her sister. "We could both use a break.  And I'll even go on a trail ride," she batter her lashes, sealing the deal.  "We don't even need to wait until then, though, for that." Blue was not rideable, but they had plenty of other steeds at the ready.  Prim had been nearly inseparable from the stables from what she could tell--anxious for Blue and the foal, but... "It doesn't seem like you've been riding as much," Amaryllis said, her tone anxious.

"Do you ride? I love carpets!" the witch in purple chipped in, looking at both the young ladies approvingly.

Maree's eyes widened as she met her sister's.

Tired brown eyes – nearly black with exhaustion – blearily took in the last passenger, who appeared to their owner as a short, fidgety blob of purple and Monday cheer. Aside from the witch’s unusual good mood and chatter, Grigory thought nothing out of the ordinary. In fact, despite the chatter, he barely registered anything beyond the Woolfolk sisters at all.

So when the witch began to press buttons – buttons – like it was open season… well. Grigory could only stare. And blink. And then blink again, incredulously, as if that might undo (or at least clarify) whatever the hell just happened.

Suddenly – horribly – the witch’s chatter took on a distinctly hellish quality.

Grigory glanced at Prim, helpless and hoping that he might find some kind of explanation (for there were still things about the British that mystified him, and whatever he and Prim were, she was still the friendliest person he knew in the lift) or at least some measure of commiseration. But then the younger Woolfolk engaged her sister in some kind of continuation of an earlier conversation, and so he was left to stare at the useless witch on his own.

…wait. Switzerland?

The Russian’s gaze snapped up in Prim and Amaryllis’ direction again. This time, however, his expression was stricken, one of open dismay; with tiredness threatening to strip him of even what little discretion he had left, Grigory was a mess of needs and feelings. He needed sleep. He wanted Prim. Now, thinking about both was making him think of Prim in bed, sheets draped across her hips and a hint of silk beneath the covers. With all three so far beyond his reach and only getting further with every second in the lift that crawled by, there was no masking the crestfallen cast to his expression. He had been thinking – maybe – of having a talk. Not just any talk, but a Talk. But if Prim was thinking about getting away for a while, as a break from everything… Was he part of that ‘everything’?

“But not ones made of camelhair,” the older witch continued, putting him in mind of a stout, noisy sparrow. “Those make me sneeze. My husband brought one back from Turkey – purely for decoration of course–” An airy titter. Was the elevator getting slower? It had to be. It certainly felt like it. “He had it hung right by a window, and would you know it, it just sent me into a fit, an absolute fit! We had to have the elf take it down.” She clucked her tongue. Grigory felt his eye twitch. “Such a pity. It was such a lovely shade of purple, too.”

And then the elevator stuttered to a halt. Lights sputtered. They quickly came back on – and with them, travel resumed – but when it did, it was at a considerably much slower pace. In fact, the elevator was practically crawling.

Grigory couldn’t help it; manners shoved to the side, he reached out past the witch, Amaryllis and Prim and pressed the four button himself, eyes carefully trained on the array of numbers above the doors.

It was truly lucky that Amaryllis was in this lift right now.  Her presence guaranteed that Primrose would not lose her temper on this other witch.  It also gave her a reason not to share a meaningful look with Grigory or reach out for his hand to refrain from screaming, as that was what she really wanted.

No one wanted to be on the lift for longer than necessary and she was making it near impossible to get off.  Sure, they could all get off on the next floor but then the lift would be packed from the atrium… Amaryllis was even getting desperate enough to beg.  That was not a good sign and Prim was too distracted to argue with her about it at the moment.  “Switzerland, yes,” she agreed absentmindedly, “but you’re making the plans.” 

Amaryllis would, no doubt.  And then Prim would go over all of them and change pretty much everything, but that wouldn’t be for weeks yet and it would buy her some time.  Unlike this lift ride that seemed to be eating up all of the time they had left on this planet.  Perhaps that was the purple witch’s intention: die in this elevator, talking about magic carpets. 

Prim was perturbed.  Meeting eyes with Maree, she just felt defeated.  What was she on about?  She glanced at Grigory and he looked miserable.  It wasn’t just the roughed up look, but his eyes.  There was something so sad about his expression, like he had something to say.  She would have asked, really, but… the risk was too high and Amaryllis had the best heart there was, but she also talked a lot and their mother was already asking too many questions.  At least here the lie was passive, Amaryllis was none the wiser.  She’d like to keep it that way – keep it easier.  But she also wanted to reach out and squeeze his hand, reassure him that as miserable as he was, she was doubly so in this moment. 

But, that wasn’t possible.  Not in this moment.  Even with the witch prattling off in her cracked voice.  She was abruptly cut off by the halt of the elevator and Prim couldn’t help it – she let out a scream and covered her mouth afterward.  A bright, red flush bloomed over her face.  ”Oh, dear! What a set of lungs.  You would do very well on a carpet, I should think – the air gets quite thin up there.” 

“Does it?” she asked flatly, forgetting her manners at about the same time Grigory forgot his and pressed the button again.  But, more than that, Prim realized something.  ”Oh yes, it’s quite tricky, learning to take on new altitudes… once my husband, wonderful man, got lessons from a Sherpa on the side of a Himalayan mountain,” she just kept going like there was nothing wrong.  But there was, there was something disastrously wrong.  They had gone through at least a floor… the doors hadn’t opened.  And now, the little light was clearly on the sixth floor and that button was pressed as well… and the lift was just creeping on by. 

Panic bubbled in her chest and Prim looked to Amaryllis and then even to Grigory, even though he was staring at the wall so intently that he could have attempted to burn a hole through it with his gaze.  Despite the softness of his eyes, they were very intense and she was sure he could do it.  “It’s not opening,” she grabbed Maree’s wrist and fumbled to lace their fingers.  “The doors,” she leaned in and whispered again, “they haven’t opened at all.”