Prim idly looked in the mirror as she combed her long, blonde hair over her shoulder.  Each swipe of the brush was exactly the same as the last, a mindless task that was perfect in the winding down time just before bed.  Sitting in front of the vanity, she just watched the way the silver caught the light in her reflection and the way the bristled pulled at her hair, stretch and release before the next tug. 

Her thoughts drifted in and out as she continued to brush: first, her schedule for the following day – tedious: wake up early, tend to the barn, see to some tea and… was it Monday already?  Her shoulders dropped and she sighed, hands stilling as the brush fell from the bottom of her hair.  It was. 

Monday.  It was such an ominous thing, especially after such a weekend.   

The edges of her mouth curled up at the thought, her eyes averting her own gaze in the mirror.  A flash of the evening before passed through her mind, all grabbing hands and heated breath… She flushed slightly and cleared her throat, bringing herself back to her reflection in the mirror.  At least the bite marks had faded, she noted as she took up her brush again. 

Communicating that had to stop to Grigory was an experience.  There were only so many words that she knew to describe them… or how to give them, as it turned out.  Message received though, Primrose thought with relief and lifted her chin, adjusting the light over the sharp angles of her face.  Definitely gone, which was mostly a happy thought. 

Sometimes, Prim had to admit, over the past couple of weeks, they hadn’t been the worst things to catch a glimpse of while she was going about her daily life, and provided a burst of warmth in otherwise chilly days.  It was too risky though, her more rational side had reasoned, however.  Her father might not have been the most observant, but their mother…

She could have been head of the aurors, given her observational and inquisitorial skills.  Heaven knew they didn’t really have any other qualified applicants, rumor had it, and if anyone could get to the bottom of a situation quickly, it was Imogen Woolfolk nee Flint.

Perhaps her mother had developed legilimency skills under all of their noses because as soon as her name flitted through Prim’s head, she heard the creak of her doors and the sharp knock that only followed the opening of the door.  Their mother had perfected the art of knocking without actual intent to heed the response.  “Still up?” Prim could hear the concern in her voice. 

Shifting on the bench, Prim flashed a tired smile, “Heading to bed,” she corrected – a subtle difference that wasn’t lost on Mum, Prim noted as Imogen laughed.  They did have a similar sense of humor, she supposed.  “Why are you still up?” 

Imogen didn’t seem to mind the question as she walked across the room and immediately reached down to grab the brush from Prim’s hand.  She let it go easily and slumped as her mother started to split her hair into sections and brush.  Involuntarily, Prim closed her eyes, just like she did when she was a little girl. 

She forgot she’d even asked a question. “You’ve been going to bed late, recently,” Imogen commented thoughtfully, almost sleepily.  Prim only hummed in response: it wasn’t a wrong observation.  “Is everything alright?”   

It didn’t strike Prim as an odd question, perhaps her mind was slowed by fatigue or the positively intoxicating feeling of having her hair brushed, Prim frowned lightly, forehead creasing in thought.  “Everything’s fine,” Prim replied, still confused.  “With the filly and work….” she shrugged, her features scrunching again, “I’ve been busy.” 

“Your Papa says that little filly is fine,” Imogen retorted with a scoff, “you’ve been spending quite a bit of time down there,” how her mother always referred to the stables.  Prim thought she might have something to add, a qualifier of some sort, but no…

It just hung there: out in the open, a statement Prim could do whatever she liked with.  If she were younger and this very trick hadn’t been attempted before, Prim might have fallen for it.  The hair brushing did make it harder, she thought hazily, sighing lightly as the brush pulled at a tangle.  “I hadn’t noticed.”  Prim hoped that was good enough. 

There was a sharper tug than before.  Prim winced: it hadn’t been.  “We’ve started to suspect you sleep there,” her voice was much more fanciful than the tug of the hairbrush. 

Prim paused, her eyes slowly opening, attempting to be as covert as possible under her lashes.  Her mother was searching her face in the mirror.  Did she know something?  Prim closed her eyes again to avoid her gaze; she’d figure her out if she managed to catch her eyes.  “You know that’s how I cope with stress,” Prim tried to smile even as her mother pulled another knot.  “Work has been difficult since the vote.” 

That was true, at the very least.  It had been and Prim was stressed.  Maybe the coping mechanism was slightly different, but her mum didn’t have to know that.  “As long as that’s it…”

Prim felt a sudden stab of guilt.  Her stomach churned: of course that wasn’t it – that wasn’t even the tip of the iceberg.  But it wasn’t the time… or the place… it would warrant a longer discussion than she was willing to have on a Sunday evening.  “It is,” she finally responded, as confident as she could be – and desperately trying to hold back a yawn.

Prim felt a sudden pressure on her head, realizing moments later that it was her mother’s lips on the crown of her head.  “We love you, Primrose,” she squeezed Prim’s shoulder with her free hand and Prim heard the brush lightly drop onto the vanity surface. 

“I love you too, Mum,” Prim raised her hand to place it over her mother’s.  Both of them were still for a moment until Prim finally opened her eyes and instead of the searching suspicion of earlier, there was warmth and sincerity in her expression.  Prim felt her chest tighten.  If she hadn’t resolved to keep her life so… separated… she might have felt compelled to drop all pretenses and let her mother know just what she was up to and how good it made her feel.  How he made her forget the bigger things and just… be… like there was nothing else in the world.  Prim liked that so much. 

It was so different.  She’d seen other people before… that part wasn’t new… but it was definitely different.  Prim smiled easily when she saw him, got anxious in the best way.  She hoped that the smile on her face read as relevant to the conversation.  “You should get some sleep,” her mum finally suggested, giving her shoulder another squeeze.   

“I will,” Prim nodded and turned on the bench, letting her hand fall.  “Night, Mum.”  She leaned down and kissed Prim on the cheek.  She returned the gesture and stood, covering her mouth with her hand as she let out a delicate little yawn. 

“Goodnight, Primmy,” Imogen smiled, invoking Prim’s childhood moniker.  She finally parted ways with her daughter, walking back to the door.  Prim stood in place, watching her mother practically glide across the floor – she was always so graceful in a way that Prim could not completely comprehend.  She was solid on her feet, a bit of a hard walker, but Imogen and her other sisters, they just seemed so… effortless. 

The gliding stopped though, and Imogen turned as her hand rested on the bronze knob of the door.  She looked thoughtful for a moment and mulled her jaw – that was definitely something Prim took from her, before she smiled.  “Next time though, Primmy, do take care to remove all of your things.  Your father nearly had an attack over the state of the office.”  Prim blanched, “I took the liberty of giving your things to Gingy," the house elf. "They should be back in your drawers tomorrow.”   She paused, just long enough to make Prim uncomfortably red, “Sleep well, darling.” 

She slid out of the door and with the click it closed behind her, leaving a very startled, very red Prim in her wake.  How was she supposed to sleep now?!