Potter Tutelage Ⅴ

It was past dinner time when Fleamont returned home with the tired Prince grandchildren in tow. After lunch, Madam Roze had drilled the two children and had been pleased especially to see that Rowan's talent in Herbology had not been exaggerated. Satisfied Madam Roze and Guild Master Thunberg had commenced the introduction of their guild members as well as that of their suppliers and vendors.

Fleamont had been pleased to see that Rowan and Severus Prince had been granted the honorable title of patron. The title is less than a guild member but more than that of a simple guest. It would grant them rights to use guild suppliers and other contacts but would not give them the right to participate in guild functions.

Covering his mouth, Severus yawned loudly, before sheepishly blinking afterward. "Sorry," he yawned again causing Rowan to cover her mouth to yawn as well.

Feeling the urge to yawn himself, Fleamont suppresses the urge. "The two of you had an overly long day," he sincerely said. "I apologize as I did not expect the meeting with the guild master's to go on for so long."

Rowan and Severus nodded their heads in understanding before Fleamont led them to the guest rooms. Waving good night, Fleamont leaves them be. His bones are aching from being on his feet all day. He would take some smoothing bones potion before he went to bed.

Climbing up the stairs, Fleamont's knobby knees loudly popped causing him to wince. He gazed down the hall and was relieved to see a light creeping out from under his son's door. He approached and raised his hand to quietly knock.

 "Dad?" The voice of James can be heard from inside.

"Yes, it's me, son, may I come in?" Fleamont humbly requested.

Soft barefoot footsteps can be heard as the door swings open revealing Fleamont's son in his pajamas. "I thought you would be back for dinner," James asked as he carefully observed the exhausted expression of his father.

"That was the intention," Fleamont sheepishly admitted. "However, the guild master's desired otherwise." He rubbed his aching neck from having his neck tilted back to speak up to Guild Master Thunberg. "At least everything went smoothly and for that, I am beyond grateful."

"You should rest, Dad, you look exhausted," James worriedly said.

"Yes, yes," Fleamont chuckled. "I'll tuck in these old bones into bed now,"

"Goodnight, Dad," James called out to his father.

"I'll see you in the morning, son," Fleamont turned away, before saying, "And goodnight son," before stumbling to rest in his bedroom. He would take the potion and plop into bed without even disrobing. Nimmy would be aghast at his wrinkled robes in the morning, but that is a tale for another time.

Watching his dad make his way to bed, James is overcome by how old his father looks. He hadn't noticed the first time, but this time around he clearly saw his father's age. His Dad was doing the best he could for his sake.

Glancing back at the time, James grabs a thin bed robe and tugs it around himself. He almost slips on his bedroom slippers but thinks better of it. He grabs his wand and turns off the light in the room except for a small lamp.

In the dim illumination, James waits until he deems enough time has passed. Creeping down the stairs with wand in hand, he stealthily makes his way to the guest quarters. Abruptly it occurs to him that he doesn't know in which room Rowan is staying in.

Before James can risk knocking on the door, a door soundlessly swings open. Emerging from the room is Rowan holding up a finger to her lips requesting he remain silent. Clad in blue silk pajamas and wearing slippers, Rowan almost closes the door fully behind her, before gesturing to James to lead the way.

 With great care, James led Rowan to the Potter family library, which was secluded in a part of the house. The books would also be a good source to muffle their voices. Furthermore, Nimmy would not sense his going outside nor suspect anything is amiss and awaken his father.

The library of the Potter's is large enough that Rowan is suitably impressed. She curiously eyes several times and resists the itchy urge to grab them and commence to read them. There would be plenty of time to read them another day; there were far more important things to discuss.

The moonlight is bright as it descends into the library. The two of them sit down across from each other and do not immediately speak. James's eyes are drawn to the fourth left finger of Rowan. Glittering softly in the moonlight is a golden ring with the Potter family crest, that of a knight, and a small seahorse hanging overhead representing the family's origin from Linfred of Stinchcombe, a creator of apothecary and potions. The small seahorse is formed by tiny red rubies adding further color to the ring.

"You sleep with it on?" James reflexively asked glancing down at his bare fourth finger.

"A habit," Rowan shrugged. "It is easier to remember to wear it that way," she confessed glancing down at the ring on her fourth finger. "It was awkward at first, but I suppose I have become used to it. I hardly notice it is there anymore."

Uncertain of how to respond to that, James glances back down to only notice the lingering ring mark on his fourth finger. Even if the ring wasn't there, it had left behind a mark. Whether he wanted it to be there or not. It was a part of him as well.

Breaking the silence, Rowan says, "We both have questions, and the night is short."

"Agreed," James's face grew somber, and said, "may I go first if that is not too much of an imposition?"

Seeing that Rowan is not opposed, James's hand clenches around his wand. "How-," his voice quivered before he took a breath to steady himself. "How did you know about Harry?"

"I suppose the shortest answer is that I am a farseer," Rowan drily responded for it was no lie.

"A farseer?" James said in disbelief and opened his mouth to angrily speak, before stopping. Steadying himself, he said, "If I said, I did not believe you, Rowan; and that I know that you lie, what would you say then?"

"I am a farseer" Rowan's eyes did not flicker at her response, "and it is no lie."

Turning to face the moon, James gazes up at the great moon in the sky. "Farseer or not, you should know not about Harry."

"I am not a seer, James," Rowan corrected without anger nor impatience. "I see a future that may come to be, but not necessarily the future that may come about."

"A seer's ability is much to be envious of as they witness the many and countless possibilities the future might be," Rowan frankly confessed. "Yet I can only ever see a single possibility unlike a seer-." A pained expression flashed across her face, "-and as frustrating and maddening as that is, I envy them not."

"With each choice we make, we change the future," Rowan traced a path with her finger in the air. "Some choices may lead us back to the same path and destination and others onto unknown paths and unknown destinations."

Rowan's finger stilled in the air. "This results in creating mirror worlds; worlds that are similar to ours and yet not, where fate took another turn. Perchance, they are reflections of our world or we of them. Its matter's not. What a farseer may see is a possible future but not necessarily of the one in existence but possibly that of another."