1530 hours


The drawing room door was drawn shut behind her, though not entirely. Balfour Spectre had left a gap - presumably to reassure his son, who was waiting for Raine by the fireplace. He immediately crossed the length of the space between them, and she quickly held out her hand so that he wouldn't do one of those awful things they taught Almasys, like bowing or curtsying or--  Feliks took her hand and bowed his head, temples touching the back of her knuckles. She stopped herself from scowling.

Raine had already written and spoken to his guardians, over the past two months. To begin with, their exchange had been a practical one: how to handle setting aside half of her inheritance for Feliks until he was old enough to come into full possession of it. A Gringotts trust fund. With winter break finally here, she wanted to finally meet her cousin.

Not just because he was an Almasy but because she felt immense guilt for having been Ira's sole inheritor and recipient of affection, while he'd been put away with the squibs in Siberia.

"Privyet," the witch smiled, searching his countenance for family resemblance. "I am Raine Almasy. You may call me Raine, or Reinka."

His hair was black but Balfour had said that it was different when he first arrived; there was no denying that the resemblance was much closer to Johann Storm at present. But he had something remote about his mouth and eyes, something quiet and thoughtful and not quite physical.

           "Privyet," Feliks replied, colour high in his cheeks. "It is very good to meet you."
 
This was so awkward. If only Abby were here - it would be much more relaxed. She gestured at the armchairs by the roaring fireplace, moving to take a seat and hopefully ease the tension between them. Outside, as evidenced by the great windows behind them, it was softly snowing. The Spectre estate was everything her Almasy upbringing was not. Nearly as affluent, perhaps, and yet unusually... welcoming.

Raine found the manor disarmed her natural formality, all warmth and worn out rugs and tartan throws. Old photographs of jovial wizards and witches. Feliks blended right in with his oversized jumper and jeans and a battered old Slytherin scarf.

"So," she began as he folded himself into the next armchair, eyes never leaving her, "I am your second cousin. Your mother was my first cousin but I called her Aunt Ira. I'm sorry we did not meet earlier. You were very busy getting ready for school, I understand."

Feliks could feel his heart in his throat.

She looked exactly like what he thought she would and if he had seen her on the street, he would have known she was of the same blood. Only he wasn't exactly, was he? He was Spectre, too. He was more Spectre than Almasy, he hoped. This witch sitting in their drawing room was out of place here; like she had apparrated to the wrong destination and was simply trying to - as Papa would say - stick it out.

"Da." Feliks replied, fiddling with the sleeves of his jumper. "It has been a very busy term at Hogwarts also," he added in an attempt to find something to talk about, "but it is nice to be home."

Home. He loved saying that. This was his home. He had one, and he had his own room and his own time to do what he wanted. Parents who sat down for breakfast, for dinner. Raine nodded absently. "That's good. I'm glad you seem happy here. And at school." Feliks smiled, feeling a little sorry for how awkwardly she had said that.

"You have come to tell me about my mother?" he folded his legs up on the seat, leaning forward.

           "Y-es," she hesitated and spoke slowly, "And other things. About the clan, things the clan might have taught you. Untrue things. Like how we are meant to feel about werewolves."

Feliks fell silent and directed his attention to the fireplace, trying to get used to the idea that someone else in this part of the world knew what he knew. Or thought he knew. It felt like a dark secret, growing up at the Cottage, and he did not always tell even Papa everything that happened there. It was too much, trying to recollect your entire childhood for someone. Sometimes even to himself.

"Alright," he replied in Russian and looked back at Raine, serious now. "Tell me."

The doors creaked open slightly, and two snow white huskies gained admission by the inquisitive push of their snouts. Ivoire and Sangre, Ira's dogs. Raine watched them pad over towards Feliks at the fireplace, coming to rest at the foot of his chair as he reached down to rub their heads. Although she knew they had been given to Balfour, it surprised her to see them here.

Could they tell? What Feliks was? Did Ira anticipate all this, knowing he would have them here?

"Before I begin," she tried to bring her attention back to the conversation at hand, "I want you to know that any fondness or love you feel towards the Almasy witches.... that's fine. It's valid. They aren't always good people but they took care of you and they meant only the best, I'm sure."

            "I know." Feliks glanced up sharply from the huskies. "It is okay. I understand."

Raine considered him for a few moments. There was a wall - he wasn't going to talk about what it was like in the Cottage, she could see that now. Because she was still one of those witches, in name and maybe in character. Which was fine. She didn't come to blubber and bond and cry on each other's shoulders.

She came to make sure he received and understood his birthrights. "Okay." Raine settled back in her armchair to make herself comfortable. "Let's start with werewolves then."