Akiva almost always got home first.  She walked through the floo, finding it was the only suitable way of traveling for the time being, considering her weak stomach, and commenced with her daily ritual.  First, she ran upstairs to the loo – taking a few minutes to compose herself and brush her teeth, washing her face, and got a little more comfortable than her work clothes.  These days, comfortable tended to mean cloth shorts and a t-shirt, and this day was no different. 

Then, she headed downstairs again, once she felt refreshed, to let Lady out into the backyard, and put food down for Gordon while pinching her nose (the smell of cat food was really sickening).  Then, finally she gathered the mail.  There was usually nothing more than a few advertisements for cauldron polish or beauty potions, maybe some neighborhood thins – and even occasionally a letter from Fauna. 

As she cycled through the mail on this particular afternoon, she tossed each of the trash letters into the bin, one by one.  It became mechanical, at least until she saw an odd envelope.  Usually, envelopes were marked, weren’t they?  The wax stamp on the back was messy too, definitely not an official letter.  Since it was unmarked, Akiva broke the wax seal and it unfolded in her hand – it appeared to be a howler. 

The howler didn’t speak in a scream though; it hissed and bobbed menacingly, like a cobra’s head, spouting its veiled threats – references to articles in the Prophet, repeated reminders of “what would happen,” anti-muggle sentiments, things Akiva did not expect to hear – not now.  It made her stomach twist, and she swatted the thing to the floor with a petrified squeak, knocking it shut.  It gave her a moment to process while it was silent.

She was silent as well, balling her fists in her hair while a thousand thoughts flew around inside her head.  How did whoever send it know where they lived?  How many of these things constituted reminders of previous threats?  Why hadn’t she been told?  Wasn’t she worth the explanation – the knowledge of this being part of their lives?  She was aware Dree’s work was not popular, but this was taking “not popular” to another level entirely. 

A million other thoughts seemed to cloud her mind and she bent down, picking the thing up from the floor and felt an aching in her chest as she looked at it, letting Lady in before bolting the door and then checking the front door again.  If they knew enough about where they lived to send a letter, they could certainly show up.  That was bigger than just professional problems and dealings. 

It referenced other warnings – there were things going on that she wasn’t aware of – things that she should know.  She fiddled with the paper in her hands and walked into the living room, looking at it the whole way.  She didn’t like secrets.  She didn’t think there should be secrets.  They were getting married in less than two weeks – they were starting a real life together and this was going on?  Secret keeping?  Protecting her wasn't a valid excuse, being oblivious wasn't helping her any - and the way her heart beat in her chest now, the adrenaline racing through her veins finding out this way was definitely not any healthier for her or the baby than him sitting her down and being honest. 

Akiva felt hurt –and left out.  She told him everything, even insignificant details.  This was so big, so impactful to both of their lives.  She couldn’t even just sit down on the couch, like she normally would.  Akiva tossed the howler on the table and paced – a slew of emotions bubbling below the surface.  She didn’t really know which of the feelings she had would come out first. 

It had been a long day at work--not as long as some, because Dreogan was now making it a point to break away earlier to 1) help with wedding preparations, since it was only a week away, 2) help with any cooking or food-preparation, as Akiva still felt under the weather when fragrance came into play, and 3) prevent any accusations from his mother--and, Heaven forbid, Akiva--that he was not doing his utmost to be sensitive to his fiancee's needs in these two areas.

The fortunate part about living in a wizarding neighborhood was being able to Apparate at will, right to one's doorstep. This made one's daily commute less of a pain in the backside, and much more along the lines of a "blink of the eye."  Habitually, Dreogan wiped his feet on the rough hemp mat that lay outside, though really, his feet had not touched anything remotely resembling dirt all day.  He stooped over to gather a handful of kosher salt from the earthen jar resting just to the right of the mat.  He sprinkled it over the threshold and reached up to  touch the mezuzah reverently. His other hand went for the handle. The door yielded an inch before it stopped dead, with the heavy metal sound of an extending chain.

The deadbolt was on.

"Kiva?!" Dreogan called, voice raised--anger, panic; it was neither of these things, precisely; more to raise his voice to a level that, if she was in any sort of distress or anxiety, she'd be certain to hear it. "Kiv--it's. . . Kiv it's me--Dreogan. Open the door?!" He implored, filing through a list of Things that Could Go Wrong that was never too far from the forefront of his thoughts.

Akiva had been pacing.  She hardly noticed any sounds at the front door – least of which being the arrival of Dreogan, at least until the chain pulled hard against the bolt.  She jumped, just slightly, turning to gaze at the door – her breath hitched in her throat and heart sped up in her chest.  It was that brief moment of silence that sent her blood pumping through her head and beating in her ears.

She only barely heard Dreogan’s voice over the pulsating.  With her heart still pounding in her chest, Akiva slowly approached the door, wary of potential tricks – Dreogan’s paranoia had, to an extent, rubbed off on her.  But, she rationalized no one but Dreogan and she, with precious few exceptions, could get through the wards on the doors.  It had to be him.

Of course, she had considered not opening the door – a flash of anger that was partially irrationally as a response to their current situation.  But, she pushed aside her own anger at him and strode toward the door, albeit slowly.  “Coming,” she said, though her voice had a slight edge to it. 

Closing the door with a little more force than necessary, she unbolted it and opened, stepping aside to let him in.  Unlike a typical arrival, Akiva did not open her arms wide to hug him, nor did she rush in for a kiss. She just watched him for a moment, still all clean and pressed from work, she didn’t even know if he had intended to tell her anything about it. 

“You’re home in time for the post,” she said without any distinct emotion or tone.  It wasn’t a question, it wasn’t an accusation.  It was just the fact of it.  “Quite interesting – what we got today.” Perhaps throwing him a bit of an accusation mixed with bait to see if he was going to spill it all or if she would have to actually pick the thing up from the floor and show him. 

Dreogan crossed the threshold to their home slowly, observing as he went. Neither Tabitha or Lady were there to greet him, as he was accustomed. and neither was Akiva. Not in the way he was accustomed.It didn't take a Seer, though Dree certainly was that, to know that Akiva wanted a fight. Indicator 1 was the door closing roughly on his quite-near face. Indicator two was the eyes. Waiting. But not for an explanation, because she hadn't asked for one. She was waiting for something for something to jump on. That was the red flag. One he hadn't seen in Akiva before but had seen in several work associates fairly routinely.

And so, Dreogan responded as his training dictated--with the cool-headed reason of a negotiator. He did not go as far as to mirror her posture or echo the chill in her voice, but he kept his face from showing any worry, any doubt. The post could carry in it any number of things. Dreogan did not use his private address for work matters, but there was still the chance something had been rerouted there. A pressing bit of mail on the Saudi witch trial, or perhaps a personal letter from Aleron, or even the Penns. He would hope Akiva would not open any of these. Then there was the possibility it was something from Sasha. Or Kibbutz Erez. Which could be bad. Expression impassive, posture erect, he glanced across the room--scanning the entry table, the couch, and then the floor. Seeing nothing, he held out his hand for it.

 "Alright," he said, voice mild, "Let's see it, then."

Perhaps it was her hormones, or perhaps it was something else, but Akiva found herself irritated that Dreogan did not automatically own up to the fact that he was getting threatening letters.  Of course, in the back of her head she knew her anger was irrational, at least at the fact he didn’t immediately own up to whatever it was he didn’t even realize was going on – but she could still be mad at the fact it was coming to their house and she didn’t know about it!  That, she reasoned with herself, was completely legitimate. 

It was just she didn’t want him to be so… passive about something that seemed so important to her – and even if he didn’t know what it was, wasn’t it obvious it was bothering her?  It was her misfortune that his job predicated that he was far more levelheaded about things than she was at times, and however much patience Akiva had for whatever came with Dreogan’s passions, this was not one of the things she was willing to accept without a peep.  And sometimes, there were some things Akiva felt like would never get talked about if they weren’t brought up.

Maybe not the most… productive way to bring it up, but Akiva didn’t really feel like there was much actually productive about this situation.  Silently drawing her wand from her side, Akiva flicked the letter from the floor behind the counter and levitated it over to Dreogan – the blank envelope bobbing up and down in front of him for a moment before she released the magical hold over it and let it drop into his hand. 

Of course, it did not stay sitting – at the slightest hint of touch, the letter jumped off his hand, hissing and threatening like it had originally with her – the obviously altered voice hiding his or her identity.  Akiva cringed as it spoke, hating the sound – especially someone who knew where they lived – but he’d have to see it.  She certainly did. 

“How long has this been going on?” she asked, normally soft, gentle brown eyes turned hard and slightly accusatory.   

Dreogan's hands met in the middle, determined to tear the thing in two, before he stopped abruptly and tucked it in to the inner pocket of his robes. 


"I'll take this to the Aurors first thing tomorrow." He began to run through the list of procedures he'd considered for such situations.  He wanted her to be sure--very sure that he had a plan for this. That he could take care of them.  That he was not his father.  "They didn't get inside the house; they couldn't. They didn't probe the wards. I'd have felt something if they had," he stated.  "We'll contact the Aurors immediately, and they can begin searching. The house is safe, and tomorrow, we can both go into work, and we'll sort this out before we come home tomorrow."


He looked at her, taking several steps and reaching his arms out to hold her, but she drew back, arms folded and stern.


"Kiva," he said, brows knit sadly. It wasn't that easy. There was never a start to this.  It had always been. "There have been a few--mostly in September, after my article to the Prophet. And some after I met with some Wizengamot members on the possibility of a Muggle Affairs committee. They came to my office. This is the first directed to the home. But before that, I got some threats a year prior, and two before that.  There were more at Laevenstrome, when I taught and published." He gave a sad smile. "I got some when I was a student, at Beit Gaddol. Misaddressed, and intended for my father..."


"I get angry letters--some like this--on a daily basis because of my job. Many people do. I cannot quit because people get upset that we don't let things go their way. Now, yes," he said, emphatically, reading her face, "this was directed to our home. This is different. And this is for the Aurors to deal with, because that is what they do. And we'll make it through that. We've made it through before. . ."


He looked at her, pale, angry, and trembling. Pregnant. "Kiva, let's go into the kitchen and sit down, alright?"

Akiva didn’t want a hug.  She wanted to be completely aware of things like this before they happened.  It felt like she only got to know things like this until they were happening – there was no preparation time, no actual warning of its existence.  No acknowledgment that she was kept out until it was absolutely necessary to bring her in.  She knew that Dree’s work was not well loved by many people – that much she was aware of, but the extent to which it would impact their lives, she felt like it just hadn’t been given to her as candidly as it was being given now. 

“Why don’t you just tell me about these kinds of things, Dree?” Akiva asked, practically pleading with him to understand just why she was upset.  “I don’t think there’s anything I haven’t told you about me and my life – and – and you just…” she sighed, dropping her hands to her sides, palms up.  “You keep secrets.” 

She paused, just to let him hear her say it.  She didn’t know if she ever explicitly told him that – but it’s what she perceived about the things in his life that he didn’t want to talk about.  It was like the hidden recesses of whatever part of his mind he put his memories were just locked to her.  She tried to tell herself, at least before, that it was alright – that it was okay to have secrets and things that weren’t shared – but at this point, it was beyond secrets. 

“I’m not some kind of porcelain doll, Dreogan,” Akiva found herself saying before she fully thought out the sentence.  It just felt like she was being appeased, being given solutions after the fact – as though her constitution was not strong enough to handle any of it – like she could break.  She had been given the opportunity to break so many times, and came out of it unscathed.  There was no reason for this.  “You don’t need to protect me from reality – yours particularly – and now ours. I'm not going to fall apart - I haven't yet.” 

Sighing, she ran her fingers through her hair.  She suddenly felt her stomach take a flip-flop, and Akiva, rather than taking the time to go to the kitchen as Dree suggested, sat on the couch. “We're getting married,," she said pointedly, "You need to talk to me before the topics become impossible to put off for another day - especially about the things that affect us." 

Her hand rested on her forehead as she took a few deep breaths, eyes closed and attempting to settle her stomach.  Clearly, the topic was unsettling enough to disturb her stomach.  She opened her eyes slowly, licking her dry bottom lip.  "I want you to do what you love to do, Dree, but it's not just you now.  Keeping me in the dark," she shook her head,  "isn't going to make anything better - or make us," her hand hovered above her stomach, "any safer."

“Why don’t you just tell me about these kinds of things, Dree?”
 
"Because, Kiv, I honestly didn't--"
 
“I don’t think there’s anything I haven’t told you about me and my life – and – and you just…” she sighed, dropping her hands to her sides, palms up.  “You keep secrets.”
 
Dreogan looked staggered for a moment. "Kiva. . . I don't keep secrets. Not anymore. I mean--maye I did a little, at first. . . before we, you know, that one day we talked about. . ." he felt his stomach tighten, "my father. But I honestly didn't know," he said, his own voice pleading, "that this would happen. I tried, I earnestly tried not to take the same risks." He wet his lips. The same risks as his father. "I had several people read my articles. They said they were discreet enough. They were published through the Prophet. But it was only a few articles. I haven't published, truly published in years."
 
He shook his head and sighed. "Akiva, I can't tell you about the particulars of my job. They contain classified facts, and issues. I'm happy to tell you how my work is going. . . I thought I did, but as far as specifics. . . It's just my job. I didn't think that work would affect our home. I've tried not to, you know," he said pointedly. "Shorter hours. . . less travel. I've tried to keep it separate."
 
He ran a hand over his face. "I guess I misunderstood. Now that I know, yes, of course I'm happy to let you know. I'm not--I'm not trying to cut you out of my life. I'm trying to cut this," he gestured vaguely, "out of our life. But I. . ." he again pressed his lips together. "I can stop that. I can tell you what I can. But as far as this letter goes," Dreogan shifted his shoulder, feeling the paper in his robe pocket crinkle, "I didn't expect it to come here any more than you did. And that's not me keeping you in the dark. Or protecting you. That's me telling you what I honestly thought." 
 
He was silent several moments, deepening his breathing to rid it of the acidic, churning feeling he was experiencing.  "You still haven't eaten anything." The mail came before she got home, and it was usually the first thing she checked. It was a safe assumption that she'd been waiting for him since she read--or heard--it.  Akiva's eating habits had become irregular; she'd been easily nauseous; she'd craved bizarre (and sometimes unobtainable) food. But Dreogan'd done what he could to get what it was she wanted. They'd been getting takeout more and more often, with the smell of cooking irritating her stomach as much as it did.
 
"Did you want me to call in for some Chinese? Italian? We can talk a little bit more about how we want to communicate in the future in the kitchen--there's no sense standing in the entry like this. . ."

“I’m not asking you to tell me the intimate details, Dreogan,” Akiva pointed out.  “I know that your work can be delicate and often requires discretion, but that’s not what I’m concerned about.”  She stood from the couch, just a little wobbly.  She was just a touch lightheaded and used the back of the couch to steady herself before she was fully up. 

“I don’t want this,” she mimicked his gesture to communicate the same unspecific unpleasantness he meant when he waved his hands about, “interfering with our lives any more than you do.”  She sighed, “But separating it out – it isn’t going to work like that.”  From what Dreogan had told her about his life, it seemed that everything he tried to do was kept separate, but somewhere along the way it all intertwined – it all caught up and sometimes ended in a way no one could have anticipated, mostly because of that separation. 

She ran her hand through her hair again, letting out a deep breath.  She felt nauseous, not sure whether it was anxiety, an empty stomach, or the baby – perhaps a combination of all three.  Tangling her fingers in her dark curls, she looked at him.  “We are getting married – starting a family.  We are supposed to be a team.”  As she spoke, she walked toward him, her eyes locked on his, fumbling slightly as her hands sought his, squeezing them as she found them.  She could feel the ring on her finger, particularly as their hands were interlocked. 

“I don’t know how much of a team we can be,” her voice lowered, as did her eyes, “if you try to keep everything negative to yourself.”  It was one of her insecurities, one that she had a hard time grappling with.   Perhaps there was something she wasn’t able to do for him, that she was somehow inadequate, and that was why he separated his life like that.  It was silly, she had rationalized with herself, but insecurities have always been irrational things. 

“The point of getting married is to share everything, regardless of whether it is negative or positive – and help one another,” She looked up now, meeting his eyes – searching for some clue as to how he felt about that.  His concern was focused elsewhere though – on talking in the future, on eating – getting out of the entry.  Akiva bit her lip – she would have declared she wasn’t hungry if not for the gnawing guilt she would feel later that she had gone so long without putting something in her system – but, to be truthful, she wasn’t even really hungry and it wouldn’t have been a stretch to say so. 

She resigned herself though, to realizing how he was at least right about that part.  “I’ll just have some fruit,” Kiv finally allowed herself to say, brushing over the subject with ease - not particularly caring about that at the moment.  She was more focused on giving his hand another squeeze as she started to cross in front of him, toward the space they so often occupied together, her favorite place in the house, the kitchen.  “I want that Dree; I want to be able to share everything, good or bad - to be a team.  Do you?”

Akiva felt a stab in her chest when she saw the redness around Dree’s eyes.  It wasn’t as though she was trying to be hurtful – this wasn’t coming out of a place of malice or revenge – it was an honest inquiry, something that actually bothered her enough to need to be brought up.  Obviously, it wasn’t intentional on either of their parts, but it needed to be said.  She knew when he looked away it was because he was embarrassed.  Akiva didn’t want him to feel that way – she had no desire to upset him.

She just wanted things to work and for them to be on the same page.  Her parents’ marriage had always been so equal and open, at least from Akiva’s perspective, and as she got older, her childhood perceptions were confirmed.  She smiled at him, just slightly, to reassure him that it was okay before breaking away to go to the kitchen. 

Her stomach was growling a little, but she felt unsettled – something small would be the best choice, and neutral.  She picked up a banana from the fruit bowl, a common choice these days, and started to peel it.  It was something to fill the silence, Akiva thought as she watched her fingers peel the yellow skin away and relished in the fact that it was even an extra moment to throw the peel away. 

The silence, despite it’s only minute length was deafening.  She took a bite of her banana as he looked at her and spoke, sounding so quiet – so… unsure… if that was the word.  Very much unlike himself, at least most of the time.  She heard that tone, when he started talking about things that made him anxious or uncomfortable – clearly this conversation fell into that category for the both of them. 

“I thought we already were.”

She stopped chewing for a moment and swallowed hard.  That wasn’t the reaction she had expected – and she paused – not having come to the next step.  What was it supposed to look like?  She could feel her face fall a bit and she mulled her mouth over once, blinking her eyes as she thought.

“We are a team,” Akiva finally granted first and foremost – she didn’t mean to crush all of that, “but I guess I just feel like I should know how to deal with these things too,” she motioned to the portion of his chest that she knew the letter sat against on the inside of his robe, even if she couldn’t see it.  “How to protect myself – us – in case, though I hope not ever needed, I had to.” 

She ran her free hand through her hair – feeling very much like the sixteen year old who could never return to school or the very recent twenty-eight year old who couldn’t even bear to drink something outside of her own home for months, and thinking to the times even now when she wished to use her wand and sometimes, nothing happened – or other times, uncontrollable bursts of magic assaulted whatever it was she was doing. “I don’t want to feel powerless..." a pause, a pleading glance, "I need your help.” 

Akiva stopped chewing. Her face fell. She was silent.


Dreogan stood still in the kitchen and felt more dread than even 10 repetitions of the Death Dream could have brought. They had come this far, he had loved so much--and she didn't even feel--


We are a team.

With a sigh of relief, Dreogan's features regained some composure.   He looked away again, swallowing to relieve some of the tension in his throat, as he cleared it.  "I'm sorry, Kiva. I thought--I was trying to arrange things--the wards, the new house--so that this wouldn't happen. I should have known. . . I shouldn't have assumed anything there."


Never assume you were safe.  Complacency was the first misstep of a long fall.


Dreogan reached out, clinging to a green apple in the wire basket.  His fingernail dug deep into its skin as he spoke.  "Kiva, whatever you need--whatever you want from me, you know you have it, if you ask. . . I didn't know that you--" he gave a deep breath. No need for insecurities here.  He smiled a little more sincerely.  "But now that I do know, then yes--of course there are things you can learn.  I'm happy to show you some. And we can think of what new measures to make; obviously the ward that extended along the foundation lines wasn't sufficient. I can extend that to the back and front yards easily enough. I want to you feel safe here, Kiva."


Dreogan felt with no little pride that his house, as far as protective magic went, was probably one of the safest in Great Britain.  "Safe with me, and safe in this house. You already Floo directly from work, so that is taken care of. And as for mail, I'm sure there is a sort of screening spell--unknown senders or owls deposit in a different box, and we can both look at them together. . ." He took a bite from the apple. It gave him something to do.


He pressed his lips together, thinking.  "As far as this letter--it's going to Level Two. And I'll take the others along, too. In case they see any trends. We ought to keep a log of when these happen, any distinguishing carriers. . . Just for records." He paused to gauge her response.  "We can think this through--this. . . this is what you meant, right?"

“I know,” Akiva said softly with a muted smile, trying to be encouraging.  She knew it wasn’t his intention; no one would intend to let their guard down.  Dreogan was one of the most adept defensive spell casters she knew.  He made her feel safe, when he was around, but there were times in the house, when he wasn’t there, that she just didn’t know if she was alone if she could really do much to protect herself. 

Spending time in the muggle world after not even finishing her schooling and then working in the library… she had magic skills, to be certain, but she didn’t exactly lead a life that required her to memorize her defensive magic.  Even when she did have ambitions to become a mediwitch, or something of the sort, perhaps even a healer, it wasn’t so heavily focused on defensive magic.  And her current skills, mostly in the arts of house and book organization, weren’t going to protect them very much, except, perhaps against pathogens that thought they could grow on her counters.

It would have been embarrassing to admit to anyone else, but Akiva knew he wanted to help, and certainly wasn’t going to judge her harshly for it.  She watched him with the apple, silent for a moment before nodding earnestly, “I would like that, Dree,” half her smile tugged upward, “it’s important for us, I think, to make sure everything is taken care of,” she dumped the peel in the bin, moving to shimmy up onto the counter top.  She wanted to sit, but not in a chair. 

.  Her feet hung freely, gently swaying back and forth, watching him as he thought and spoke.  He was so concentrated.  She loved that about him.  She knew how much she meant to him, the way he let himself be vulnerable sometimes, he was the one who always had a plan, and then there were those moments where he asked for confirmation and just looked... so concerned.  It wasn’t just about the two of them anymore, she was reminded as her stomach churned a little

“That’s exactly what I meant,” she motioned him to come over to her – she was far too comfortable to get down from the counter at this point, but she wanted him at least next to her, not across from her.  This conversation wasn’t confrontational anymore, it was practical – and brought some peace to Akiva’s mind, just to even hear what was going to happen.  She didn’t feel so clueless.  “I’d like to know how to do set those things up – the wards and things.” 

“I know they might be… beyond my skill level,” she couldn’t help but blush, “but just knowing would make me feel better,” she tried not to look as embarrassed as she felt, “and I could practice, you know, when I’m not blowing something up.”