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Chapter Text

"The Heart wants what it wants."

It used to be nothing but a silly catchphrase.

They had first learned it from the title of one of Millie’s romance novels – bodice rippers, as Christopher called them ironically. They were the kind of books the girls would usually try to hide from them because they would make fun of them relentlessly.

The book had peeked out of Millie's bag in class. Christopher seized it during the break and delighted at the cover, which featured a noble Count figure passionately embracing a bosomy ingenue. “The heart wants what it wants - Viscount James never expected to lose his cynical heart to a woman scorned by his world - but her quiet grace touches his soul in ways he never thought possible,” he read from the sleeve, and the boys snickered.

Over Millie’s protests, Christopher continued to cite a passage from the book aloud, even giving the count and the maiden different voices, and brought them all to tears with laughter. All except for Millie, who slumped into her seat and buried her bright red face in her arms.

Elizabeth, the eldest of the girls, finally came to her rescue and snatched the book out of Christopher's hands. “As if the books you read are so much better,” Elizabeth challenged him. “Like that story about a soldier and his horse. Or that one about a dog living with wolves? Sounds riveting.”

“Those are literary classics,” Christopher protested. “You should give them a try.”

“But there’s no romance in those books! That sounds so boring.”

Elizabeth pointed at the book Christopher was reading under his desk during their lessons. She knew it, as she had already read most books in the castle library. This one was a lengthy epic of landscape descriptions that Elizabeth had eventually abandoned for its lack of female characters.

“Over a thousand pages and not a single description of real passion,” she said scornfully. “How much prose do you really need for two people to throw a ring down a volcano?”

“There are things much more important than romance, you know,” Christopher said with injured dignity. “Like duty, honour…and having adventures.”

“Christopher doesn’t believe in romance,” Millie quipped.

“Why?”

“Well, I just don’t think it’s real,” said Christopher. “I think it’s something the authors of your little novellas made up. And by reading those books, you’ve all brain-washed yourselves to expect it, too. You’re setting yourself up for disappointment, is all I can tell you.”

“So, you don’t believe two people can be united in love?”

“I don’t know. My parent’s marriage was certainly not very loving. I just think there are more real and important things in life. Like companionship.”

“You know what?” Elizabeth said as she handed him back his book. “I bet you that you'll feel differently about that one day.”

And that was the last time they spoke about the matter for some time.

But the phrase “The heart wants what it wants” continued to have a life of its own from that day on. They laughed about it like teenage boys would, mockingly misusing it in their daily conversation.

“The heart wants what it wants,” Bernard would say with a shrug before taking the last piece of pie at dinner.

“The heart wants what it wants,” Conrad would mumble before letting his head drop back onto the pillows for another nap, even though he knew Flavian was long awaiting them for their afternoon class.

And Christopher, sitting next to him, would say nothing. He would only briefly glance up from his book as Conrad buried his head deeper into the pillow beside him. But sometimes, he would quietly run his fingers over the unruly strands of hair at the back of Conrad’s neck as he drifted back to sleep.

Chapter Text

Christopher’s mouth nearly dropped open when he learned the news. “You’ve got a what? An invitation to the King’s yule ball? How on earth did you get invited?”

Conrad coloured even deeper. “Gee, thanks. But honestly, I don’t get why I was invited, either.”

Christopher crossed his arms in mock offence. “Really. I’ve been living at the castle for years now, and I’ve never been invited before. I think it’s only now that Gabriel’s introducing me as his replacement that they consider me an actual person.”

He shot Bernard a glance. “Did you get invited, too?”

Bernard laughed. “Nope. Don’t worry; I’m still considered a nobody – and I’m not mad about it. Don’t really care for wearing a scratchy suit and making excruciating small talk with some dowager princess all night.”

“Glad to hear there’s still some order to the universe, after all.”

Conrad scratched his head. “I don’t know why they invited me. Maybe it’s because Gabriel told them I’m supposed to function as their representative in Series 7 next year.”

Christopher waved him off. “It doesn’t matter. Anyway, that’s actually great news you’re invited. I was expecting the night to be a huge bore. But knowing we’ll be there together…we could sneak off and explore the palace!”

The younger boy looked pale. “But I’m supposed to dance with some Belgian princess – and I don’t even know how to talk to girls!”

“What are you talking about? You talk to Millie and Henrietta all the time. And Elizabeth. She’s a girl, too.”

“No, I mean, real girls. Girls I don’t know.”

“If you value your life at all, I wouldn’t tell Elizabeth you don’t consider her a real girl,” Bernard remarked from the sofa. He had lost interest in the conversation by now and returned to studying the paper.

Conrad groaned. “Anyway, the whole thing will just be a disaster. I don’t own a suit. I don’t even know how to dance!”

Christopher jumped up. “Oh, that is really simple. Come, I’ll show you the steps.”

He extended his hand towards Conrad, who stood reluctantly.

“Let’s fix your stance first. Your right hand goes on my shoulder blade. Your left takes my right. And now, just follow my lead.”

“How do you know how to dance?” Conrad asked as he stumbled along to Christopher’s lead.

“Oh, Elizabeth and I had lessons years ago. You know, before we made our entrance into society.” Christopher rolled his eyes. “She stepped on my toes so often that I had to numb them to keep going. That didn’t stop Antonio from falling for her at the very first glance, obviously. You could argue that my toes suffered in vain.”

He smiled down at Conrad. “Anyway, you’re doing much better than her already. You haven’t stepped on my toes once so far.”

“Oh,” Conrad said and considered. “But shouldn’t I be learning the leading part, though?”

“No problem,” Christopher grinned. “I can go both ways.”

He reversed the steps, and Conrad led him around the playroom a few times, a look of intense concentration on his face.

“When you two pixies are done over there,” Bernard remarked from his spot on the sofa, “you could start thinking about where Conrad should find a suit at the last minute. The ball is tonight, remember?”

“Oh, right.” Christopher dropped Conrad’s hands. “What do we do about that?”

“He could have mine,” said Bernard. Christopher shot him an indignant look.

“Do you want him to drown in it?”

Bernard just shrugged. “Not my problem, really.”

Christopher scratched his chin. “Well, all of mine would be too big, either. But what worries me most is that your suit is butt-ugly, Bernard.”

“Suit yourself.”

“Or, maybe I could just not go, after all?” Conrad said. “If I don’t have a suit…”

“Nonsense. You’re definitely going. We’ll figure something out.”

That night, as Conrad sat next to Christopher in the carriage, a sense of dread closed up his throat. Or maybe it was the tie that was too tight—it reminded him of the necktie they had to wear during their time in Stallery. Of course, the bow tie Christopher had given him—white, stylish, made from Italian silk—was much nicer than anything they had been wearing at Stallery. As was the white shirt – silk, too. And the tailcoat – well.

As much as Conrad appreciated the gesture of Christopher altering one of his own treasured suits for him to wear – by magic, something he usually considered an unforgivable sacrilege – still, he could not say he felt entirely comfortable in his getup.

As they arrived at the palace and entered the beautifully decorated ballroom, Conrad tried to shake off the feeling of being out of place. He thought he should have been used to the feeling by now. Still, this was well out of his comfort zone. He gratefully downed the glass of champagne Christopher had coaxed from one of the waiters, hoping that the pearly warmth of the drink would mask the nervous jitters he felt.

Something else was weighing on him. Conrad suspected he had been invited to the ball because Gabriel had hoped he could keep Christopher out of trouble. It was more than a hunch, truly, as Flavian had told him, verbatim, to keep an eye on Christopher. So, he would try.

He glanced at Christopher, who appeared enviously at ease in his formalwear. He appeared to delight in taking the formal etiquette and courtesies to their extremes and was already engaged in lively conversation with the noble guests surrounding them. Only Conrad could tell he was taking the mick by the hint of a smirk curling on Christopher’s lip as he listened ardently to a matronly baroness’ story about her late dog.

Conrad emptied his champagne glass. He then was unsure of where to put it, so he just kept holding it awkwardly. When Christopher finally took him by the arm and pulled him down the corridor away from the ballroom crowd, he offered no resistance. Faced with Christopher’s exuberant joy at getting to do something naughty, he knew it was hopeless. He’d go along with every single one of Christopher’s hare-brained schemes. He’d follow him on all his silly, ill-thought-out missions, just as he had always done.

He followed Christopher down the corridor, up an elevator that was clearly intended for food, not for passengers, and then through a maze of different corridors, smaller and less decorated than the ones downstairs.

Conrad held his breath as Christopher knocked on one of the doors and entered.

“Um, Christopher?” he said carefully. “These look like the king’s private rooms. I don’t think we’re supposed to be there.”

Christopher turned around in the doorway. “Are you kidding? Of course, we’re not. Wait here and watch out for anyone coming, okay? I just need to find something…”

He disappeared into the room. Conrad was left standing in the hallway. As he tried appearing inconspicuous – how did one appear inconspicuous, though, when one was clearly invading the King's private rooms? – he heard steps coming towards them and felt his heart drop into his uncomfortable leather shoes.

A stern-looking older man in a butler’s livery turned the corner and, upon seeing Conrad, quickened his step. “Oi. What do you think you’re doing here?”

“Oh…um…my friend was just looking for the restroom,” Conrad said.

“These aren’t the public restrooms.”

Christopher appeared in the doorway. “Terribly sorry. I had a bad canapé. You know how it is. Could you point us to the public restroom, then, please? I don’t know how much longer I can hold it.” He smiled at the butler innocently, holding his hands to his stomach.

The butler seemed to weigh his desire to question them further against the risk of Christopher throwing up in the King’s private suite. “It’s down those stairs there,” he said gruffly, pointing down the hallway. “And I don’t want to see the two of you again tonight!”

They hurried down the corridor, Christopher still clutching his stomach. As soon as they had reached the stairway, he straightened up and pulled out the item he had been hiding under his jacket.

“There! I knew it!” Christopher cried out triumphantly and waved something that looked like a dead ferret in front of Conrad. “The king - he wears a toupee! And Bernard owes me 50 pounds!”

“You stole the King’s toupee?” Conrad’s mouth dropped open. “What do you think you’re doing with it? We'll be in so much trouble if he finds out!”

Christopher laughed. “What can he do? He can hardly accuse us of stealing the hairpiece which existence he denies, will he?”

He threw one of his legs over the bannister. “Come on, grandma!” he exclaimed. “Live a little!”

“I think I am going to be sick now,” Conrad said as he watched Christopher slide down the bannister, the toupee trailing behind him like a flag.

“Oh, but you’ve seen nothing yet,” Christopher said. “I’m not done. Watch me.”

Of course, it was mayhem. The ladies of the ball did not react well to a live ferret running loose around the ballroom. A mass panic broke loose, resulting in the huge Christmas tree toppling over. The fact that, once the offending animal was caught and doused with a bucket of water, it turned into a wet mop of mousy hair did nothing to soothe the guests.

Christopher and Conrad had taken care to avoid the crime scene. They now sat on the stairs of one of the side entrances. Carriages were starting to appear at the main entrance, magical ones and ordinary ones, to pick up the last of the ball guests who were still in various states of distress.

Christopher fished a pack of cigarettes from his suit pocket and lit one.

He took a drag and offered it to Conrad, who carefully took a drag more out of politeness and quickly handed the cigarette back to Christopher. He still hadn’t quite caught the hang of smoking. He suspected Christopher just did it to look cool ‐ and also because it annoyed Elizabeth.

“I don’t think we’ll be invited back again next year,” Conrad said as he watched Christopher take another drag.

Christopher chuckled. “You think?” He closed his eyes, smiling, and leaned back against the stairs, exhaling smoke. He sat up abruptly.

“The only thing I regret about tonight…you didn’t get to show off your new dancing skills! The princess of Belgium will be inconsolable.”

“Oh. That’s alright.”

“Well, it’s not midnight yet, Cinderella,” Christopher stood, stubbed out the cigarette with his food and held out his arm.

Reluctantly, Conrad took it. “Here? Really?”

“Of course. Do you hear that? They’re playing a Chopin valse. It is actually one of my favourites.”

Conrad shook his head as Christopher took him by the arm and led him into the now-empty grand hall. “Can’t believe I’m doing this.”

 “Just don’t fall in love with me, Grant,” Christopher joked as they waltzed under the thousands of twinkling lights.

 “Yeah, sure.” Conrad laughed.

It was nothing. Just them being silly.

But before Conrad could realise what was happening, it was already too late.

By then, he had caught them. Feelings.

Chapter Text

“Kiss me, Grant. Just once.”

Christopher’s face loomed over me. I could smell the alcohol on his breath. I pushed him away. “No. You’re just drunk and horny, and there aren’t any girls around for you to chase.”

“That’s not true,” Christopher protested. “For example, I’ve never, ever wanted to kiss Bernard. And he’s around just as much as you are.”

“That’s hurtful,” Bernard said lazily without lifting his head from the leather chair he was lying on.

Christopher threw himself on top of me again, his face dangerously close to mine. 

“Do you find me gross or something?”

I considered. I had been with Christopher in any sort of scenario possible; I had seen him with snot running from his nose, with vomit in his hair - I even had him burp in my face on several occasions - all of which should have made imagining intimate mouth-on-mouth contact with him repulsive. But that wasn’t the case. 

He was still the most beautiful, attractive person I‘d ever been around. And I was doomed. 

I didn’t let him kiss me that evening. He was drunk. I was drunk, too - though not enough to not care anymore. I didn’t know what he was after - a diversion from whatever was going on with Elizabeth, an affirmation that he could have anything and anyone he wanted whenever he pleased - or was he trying to mock me? Did he guess the extent of my feelings, however hard I had tried to hide them from him? I had no idea.

All I knew was that Christopher wasn’t usually one to share his toys. And the announcement of Elizabeth’s engagement had put him in a foul mood. 

There was a whole big old ball planned at the castle for Elizabeth and Antonio later in the month. But we had decided to have our own little party for Elizabeth that night. Not that we usually needed much of an occasion to get drunk together. But it was the perfect opportunity, as Gabriel was away on business, taking Miss Rosalie with him. That only left Mordecai and Flavian to look after us. Mordecai didn’t care what we did, and Flavian didn’t care about anything as long as Mordecai was there. So, we left both of them in the library and met up with the girls in the playroom.

We all got raging, black-out drunk that night. We played truth or dare, which was always great fun. Bernard ended up streaking the lawn, and Henrietta picked the truth and finally confessed to having had a full-on crush on Flavian for the largest part of last year.  (This wasn’t exactly news to anyone but Bernard). We made fun of her for it, nonetheless. It was her turn to choose next. “Christopher,” she said.

“Dare,” he said.

“Kiss…Elizabeth,” she said. Elizabeth protested, as did Millie. “She’s engaged to be married,” said Millie. “It wouldn’t be proper, Hennie.”

Henrietta rolled her eyes. “Fine. Christopher, kiss Millie, then.”

“That would be like kissing my sister,” Christopher complained. Millie turned red and didn’t say anything. Elizabeth looked at Henrietta pointedly. She ended up making up a different dare for Christopher. He had to put on a blindfold and smell all of our feet to rate them from best to worst. He said Bernard’s smelled like Munster cheese and Millie’s like cinnamon.

At one point, the girls all left for bed, and Bernard, Christopher and I continued lying around on the chairs and the floor, drinking the rest of the whiskey and talking nonsense, as we had often done before. 

But before, Christopher had never tried to kiss me. He usually wouldn’t even touch me. Not with Bernard around, at least. It took me by surprise a bit, and it didn’t feel right then. 

The moment passed, and afterwards, both of us pretended that nothing had happened. He later threw up on the playroom floor and again in his bathroom, and then he got into bed next to me, just like always. 

The next morning, I must have overslept because he was already at breakfast when I woke up. 

I raced to the playroom, my head pounding. I knew I mustn’t be late for lessons. Our policy with Flavian was that he would pretend not to notice anything as long as we didn’t give him a reason to. So, we could get drunk as much as we wanted to, but if we were late for lessons in the morning, that would be a problem. 

Christopher was sitting at the breakfast table with the others when I entered. Despite last night, he looked sleek and clean, like a well-fed cat. His clothes, which he always kept immaculate, didn’t dare to wrinkle in his presence. Meanwhile, I was well aware that my hair must be sticking out in all different directions, and it took me about five seconds that morning to drop a blob of marmalade from my toast onto my shirt. 

I cursed and raced back to my room to change before class. I pulled my shirt over my head, and Christopher must have followed me somehow because when I had taken it off, he was in my room, standing next to me. 

“You’ve got something on your face, too,” he said. His finger traced the corner of my mouth. My throat had dried up. I was so very confused, and my head was pounding, which didn’t help. 

“Christopher, about last night…”

“What about it?”

“I know you were drunk and just joking and all. But I just wanted to say…in case you…”

“I actually wasn’t joking,” Christopher said, in that earnest way that I could never tell was genuine or just him pulling my leg again. “I really wanted to kiss you. But it’s okay if you think that’s stupid.”

“No,” I said, flustered. “I don’t think it is. And look, I don’t think you’re gross. At all. Actually, I feel gross right now. I haven’t showered or even brushed my teeth last night, and…”

“Surprisingly, I don’t even care.” He took my face in his hands. And we kissed. He tasted like coffee, and I probably reeked horribly of whiskey and cigarettes, and part of me felt super conscious of that. But the larger part of me was just…well. It was Christopher. And he was kissing me. 

We did end up being late for lessons that day. 

Chapter Text

As Gabriel had promised, the castle’s annual New Year’s reception was being held in their honour. Elizabeth appreciated the gesture. However, for her, it felt less like an engagement party than a farewell party. She had never understood the need to announce her love publicly to anyone. She had felt perfectly comfortable in their union already when only the two of them knew about it. The only thing she would have changed about it was the distance – the fact that it took three days of travel on the train between Caprona and the place she had considered her home for the larger part of a decade.

Elizabeth let herself be passed around for rounds of congratulations, answering the same questions repeatedly. Yes, we are very happy. Yes, the wedding will take place in Caprona. No, we will not return to England. Yes, she was very grateful to have been educated at the Castle.  

She felt like a prize on Antonio’s arm, an impression intensified by the large golden bow on the back of her dress. Oh well. 

Antonio was still engaged in an earnest conversation about the interstate relations in Italy. She squeezed his arm lightly before sliding her hand out from under it to signal him that she would go off on her own for a while. They didn’t need words to communicate, not really. Which was good, as her Italian was still not fluent. 

She spotted Christopher by the buffet, looking glum. She took a glass of water from the buffet, and without saying anything, she positioned herself next to him. 

Following the direction of his gaze, she saw Conrad in the crowd, looking as uncomfortable as he always did in formal wear. He was walking towards them. 

“Hi,” Conrad said to her, smiling shyly. “Are you enjoying the party?”

She laughed. “It’s okay. But I enjoy our private parties more. Less people, more alcohol.”

 “I guess so.” Conrad glanced at Christopher, who was ignoring them. “Well, I’m supposed to get some champagne for that lady I’m talking to…er, the large one.”

“That’s lady Cynthia DeBurgh,” Christopher interrupted him severely. “And apple juice.”

“Huh?”

“Give her apple juice.” He reached for the buffet and handed Conrad two glasses of sparkling honey-coloured liquid. Conrad took the glasses from him, looking puzzled. 

“She’s the chancellor’s wife and famously doesn’t hold her liquor,” Christopher explained. “So if you don’t want her hanging by your arm the whole night, you should give her apple juice. She won’t even notice.”

“Oh,” Conrad looked down at the glasses in his hands. “Alright. Thanks. Well, I guess I’ll see you later, Liz.”

Elizabeth quietly watched as Conrad made his way back into the crowd and Christopher followed him with his gaze, still looking grim. 

“Seriously, Christopher,” she said playfully. “Will you put that boy out of his misery? It’s painful to watch.”

Christopher shot her a glance, uncharacteristically serious. “What do you mean? We’re mates.” 

She scoffed. “Mates? You don’t look at your mates the way you look at him.”

“How do I look at him, then?”

“Er, like you wish you could eat him?”

He took a sip from his glass. “I don’t know what you mean.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right. Look, I don’t know if anyone’s ever mentioned this to you, but you’re not as low-key as you think. You can put on your vague face all you want – I know something’s up.”

He looked down at her, one eyebrow raised. “Has anyone ever mentioned to you how smug you’ve been ever since you got engaged? It’s really not as adorable as you think it is. Does Antonio like that quality in you?”

Elizabeth laughed good-naturedly. “Seriously, though. What’s going on? Why aren’t the two of you going at it under some mistletoe somewhere?”

“It’s not as simple as you think.”

She turned herself closer towards him. “Humour me.”

“Well… there are other people's feelings to take into consideration. What about Millie?”

“What about Millie?” Elizabeth exclaimed. “ I know she might have briefly had a little crush on you after the seven minutes thing, but I’m sure she’s over it now. Heck, she'd probably be elated to see you two finally figure it out.” 

“Perhaps. But I wouldn’t want anyone to get hurt.”

"Wait. This isn't really about her, is it?" She looked at him closely and considered. Finally, she put her hand on his arm. “Wanna go and talk somewhere else?”

He shrugged. “Fine.”

She pulled him with her, away from the crowded parlour and down the hall into the smaller sitting room, where the grand piano stood that Elizabeth used for practising. They sat down next to each other on the piano bench. 

Christopher looked down at his outstretched legs. “I just hate that you're leaving so soon,” he said. 

She squeezed his hand affectionately. “Oh, I will miss all of you terribly! But you will still have many friends here who care about you, right?” 

“Yeah, but well, you’re still leaving. And Henrietta is, too.”

“Well, I know for a fact that Millie’s planning on staying. And I don’t think Bernard’s going anywhere. You’re not going to be alone.”

He nodded. “I know. I just can’t help thinking that your leaving marks the beginning of the end. You know, the fabric that holds all of this together…it’s starting to unravel.”

“I know what you mean. And truly, it does make me sad to leave. But I know it’s time. A new chapter is about to start for me. As it will for you, too. Next year, you’ll be too busy to even think of us.”

“I will never be too busy for that,” he exclaimed indignantly. “But…yeah. I will miss having you around.”

She smiled. “Even though I’m like the annoying older sister you never asked for?”

“You’re the best annoying older sister anyone could ask for.”

She took his hand again. “So, as your honorary older sibling, I feel it is my duty to ask. What about Conrad?”

He shook his head.

“I see.” Elizabeth paused. “Well, you could, of course, continue to suffer in noble silence. Or, you could go over right now and tell him how you feel.”

“No. That is impossible.”

She furrowed her brows. “He’ll be leaving soon, I know. But there’s still time. What have you got to lose?”

“I don’t know…everything?”

She smiled. “You know that sometimes you just have to take a leap of faith for love?”

Christopher scoffed. “That’s easy for you to say. You’ve already found the person who loves you– and he happens to be of this world, and the pair of you fulfils every expectation regarding your class and gender. Everyone thinks you’re perfect together.”

“Antonio’s family seems to think differently,” Elizabeth said darkly.

“Oh, give them a couple of months. They will come to love you as much as we do.”

“I don’t know about that. They’re still upset that Antonio will marry some English girl and not the daughter of a prestigious Italian spell-house.” Elizabeth lowered her voice. “I think Aunt Francesca is plotting to throw me off the train on the way to Caprona.”

Christopher chuckled. “I’m sure they will grow to love you. As they should. And if they don’t treat you well, just write to me. I’ll put a spell embargo on Caprona as soon as I become Chrestomanci. That should teach them.”

“Oh great, that’s a relief. I’ve always wanted to be at the centre of a magical war.”

He put his arm around her. “I bet you, in ten years' time, all will be forgotten, and you’ll be a happy matron, surrounded by your five fat children and your loving bean-pole of a husband.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad. And what will you be doing then?”

“I don’t know. Bury myself in my work, I suppose. And maybe, with any luck, I’ll have found…a companion.”

Elizabeth snorted. “Companion. Yeah, right. I don’t know who you think you’re fooling, me or yourself.”

Christopher ignored her. “I still believe companionship should be valued higher than passion. If you happen to find both compiled in one person, then you’re just lucky.”

“I know the two of you share a bed, though.”

“So? Haven’t you done the same with the other girls sometimes?”

“Sure. But I just know that it’s different for you and him. I can tell by the way you look at him. And by how he looks at you.”

Christopher sighed. “Look, it’s already decided. He’s leaving soon. I don’t want to make things any harder.”

“But don’t you think he feels that way about you, too?”

He shrugged. “All I can say is he’s my friend. A friend I’d die for. But as it happens, I’m not allowed to. And it’s not like I didn’t offer.”

“Okay, Werther. Maybe giving up your last remaining life for him wouldn’t be the only option for him to stay? Maybe if you ask Gabriel, he could figure something out. Perhaps he could take a life off one of the cats?”

“I don’t want to go over it again. I already tried to ask him to stay. He didn’t want to, okay?”

Elizabeth bit her lip. “Maybe he’s just not sure you’re serious. About him.”

“Why would that be?”

“Well, you know. You two…you do joke around sometimes. And you flirt with other people. A lot. Maybe he’s just not aware that you truly mean it.”

Christopher gave her a playful push. “Why do you people instantly assume I’m the bad guy in this scenario? That is hurtful. Deep down, I’m a very sensitive soul, you know. It’s not my fault I’m so naturally charming.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, grinning. “Sure. I’m sorry for misjudging you. It’s probably the way you flutter your eyelashes at everyone – just makes me think you’re up to no good.”

“You like that, don’t you? You know, I noticed your man’s got a great set of lashes on him, too.”

“Don’t you dare flirt with my fiancé!”

He grinned. “Don’t worry. That man hasn’t got a queer bone in his body. And besides, he’s got eyes for no one but you.” He was serious again. “As for Conrad…yes, he knows I truly mean it. And the final answer is that he’s just not interested.”

“Christopher…”

“It’s fine. I’ll survive.” He got up, signalling that the conversation was over.

He propped himself against the piano, looking down at her. “Will you play something for me, Elizabeth? Anything.”

She positioned herself on the piano bench, running her fingers over the keys. “Alright. Let’s see. A song for Christopher. You know, I’ve often thought that if you were a piano piece, it would be composed of black keys only.”

He winced. “That sounds horrible.”

“It’s not, it’s jazz! I can’t play it, but you should go and listen to it sometimes. There isn’t any sheet music, you know. Just the musicians playing it by ear. Like you - you just don’t play by the book.”

“Interesting. Do you think of music with all of us?”

“Um, yes. For Millie, I’ve often thought of Mendelssohn's Songs without Words. You know, sweet but powerful, too. And Bernard, he’d be some march by Strauss, I think. Blunt and straightforward.” She giggled. 

“And Conrad? Would he be jazz, too?”

“Nah. He’d be something softer. Lively but yearning. Simple, yet expressive. A nocturne, perhaps. Or a valse? There’s this piece by Chopin I used to play…maybe I can remember how it goes.”

She played the first bars.

He nodded. “Yeah. That fits.”

She looked at him sympathetically. “Do you want to go back and find the others?”

He shook his head. “Nah. Can you just keep playing?”

Chapter Text

“May I have this dance?” a voice said next to my ear. It was Millie. She looked beautiful in a flowy saffron dress. 

“Oh, sure. Sorry. I was just…”

“Moping?” she suggested, smiling. 

“Yeah, probably.” I shook my head. “Anyway. You look very pretty tonight.”

“Thanks,” she said. “Even though no one else seems to think that way.” She rolled her eyes. “I mean, I only chose this particular dress because Christopher said it’s the one I must wear. And when I asked him tonight if he liked it on me, he just said, ‘Sure’. I could have probably shown up covered in pieces of toilet paper, and he wouldn’t have noticed.”

I swallowed. “Well, his mood has been a little…off tonight.”

“He’s probably still upset that Elizabeth is leaving,” she said. “I do think that on some intellectual level, he’s actually happy for her, but I think there’s still that part of him that’s five years old and just upset that she’s abandoning him.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “Sometimes I think the problem with you and Christopher is that you seem to understand him better than he does himself.” I paused. “And my problem is that I don’t understand him at all.”

Sympathy filled her large brown eyes. “Oh, Con…I’m being insensitive, aren’t I? I meant to ask, did something…happen? Did you two talk or anything?”

“You could say that, I suppose.” 

Talk wasn’t exactly the term I’d chosen to describe our exchange. But there was no need to get into it. 

“Was he being an ass? I bet he was. You know what, shall I go and kill him?”

“No,” I said unhappily. “That won’t be necessary. And actually…I think the ass in question might have been me.”

Millie shifted on her feet. “Actually…well, I wanted to ask you something. Do you think it would be okay if I went with Christopher to that witches’ Sabbath meeting in January?”

“Huh?”

“I know you were supposed to go together,” she said quickly. “But…well, earlier tonight, he asked if I’d go with him instead, and I’ve wanted to go anyway, but I wasn’t going to say yes without checking if it’s okay with you first.” She turned red.

“It’s fine,” I assured her. “You don’t have to worry about what I think.”

“Are you sure? I know that you two used to be…close. But he said that it was over?”

That was fast. I exhaled, a wave of disappointment washing over me.

“Well,” I said. “In that case, I’d be glad to skip it. You know these conferences aren’t really my thing, anyway.”

I probably deserved it.

Earlier that day, we had been lying on his bed. We had skipped breakfast, as we always did on the weekends. Christopher had his arm wrapped around me. Downstairs, somebody was practising a concerto on the piano - Elizabeth, most likely. 

“You know what would be nice - if one could listen to music whenever one wanted,” Christopher said. 

I stifled a yawn. “Well, in Series 7, we have things called tape recorders. Once I’m back there, I could send you a walkman, if you want.”

He shook his head. “I don’t want a walkman. I just want to keep lying here with you forever.” He let his fingers trail over the lower part of my stomach, and I felt my muscles clenching. 

“I just wish one could bottle up moments to relive them whenever one wanted, you know?” he said, taking my hand into his and kissing it. 

I took a breath. I always found it so hard to concentrate when I was near him. “Yeah, but you know that I need to go back someday, right?” I said. “I have a job waiting for me there. And my family, too.” 

It was a topic neither of us had wanted to broach, but as the weeks had elapsed, I felt like it was glaring at us from every corner of every room, and we had to try harder and harder to pretend it wasn’t there. And I had had a talk with Gabriel the night before. It wasn’t like the plans for my return to Series Seven weren’t already moulded, cast, and left out to set in the open. 

Christopher kissed the spot below my jaw that made my toes twitch. “I still think you should just stay here. It’s not like it would be impossible.” 

I shook my head, trying to gather my resolve. “Look, it was always the plan that I’d go back eventually. And even if Gabriel agreed to let me stay - then what? I’ve got nothing here.”

He sat up and looked down at me, his brows furrowed. 

“Look, it might suit you for now, having someone around to shag in secret whenever you want to. But what if you decide to be done with this little arrangement by next year? I’d be stranded here with nothing,” I repeated. Somehow, the way he looked at me made me feel like I had said something criminal. But I hadn’t, had I? It was only the truth.

“And what makes you think I’d be done with this arrangement by next year?” he said. 

I wriggled out from under him and sat up, too. “Because I know you. You’re fickle. And you make everyone fall for you. It’s like you can’t seem to help it.”

What I was saying had been on my mind for a long time - and it had taken me so much courage to gain the momentum to say it; I couldn’t get myself to stop now, even though the look on his face made me regret saying it instantly. “Come on, it’s not like you love me or anything,” I said. “You just need everyone around you to be in love with you constantly.”

He was quiet. His hands had dropped to his sides. “If that is what you think,” he said finally, quietly and dangerously, “then maybe you should just get out.”

I got up from his bed. “I’m sorry,” I said. 

He shot me a grim look. “Are you, though?” He stood and reached for his robe. “I’m going to have a shower. I’ll see you at the party.” He didn’t look at me again. 

I snuck down the hallway towards my room. I had done so every morning over the last few weeks, but something told me this would be the last time. Some of my clothes were still in Christopher’s room, but I didn’t dare to go back inside to get them. I felt confused. And like I had done something terrible. But I hadn’t, had I? I had just said out loud what both of us had been thinking. It’s not like I had wanted to hurt him. I wasn’t even sure he could get hurt, to be honest. 

All I knew was that being close to him felt like being consumed by a flame. And I had to gather what little was left of me while I still could.

Later that night, Millie and I watched as Elizabeth and Antonio did their speeches, thanking everyone for their kind wishes and generous gifts. They both looked a little nervous but incredibly happy. There was more dancing afterwards, and I used the opportunity to slip away from the crowd. 

I walked down the corridor and towards the south entrance. The cold washed over me as soon as I stepped outside, a welcome feeling after spending hours in the crowded, overheated ballroom. 

A shadow moved in between the barren rhododendron shrubs. It shouldn't have surprised me that he was there. It was his hiding spot as much as mine. 

“I’m not talking to you, in case you’re asking,” he said. 

“I wasn’t going to ask,” I said. 

“Good,” he said. But he scooted over just an inch on the stone wall he was perched on to make room for me. And he offered me his cigarette. 

My ass froze as soon as it touched the stone. But apart from that, a warm feeling rushed through my chest. It was always the same - my body reacted to his close proximity, regardless of the resolutions I might have formed in my brain beforehand.

He looked straight ahead, and I studied his profile - which is gorgeous, in case you were wondering. With my eyes, I traced the shape of his lips and watched the slight dance of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed.

“I’ll confess,” he said finally. “What you said this morning upset me a little.”

My throat clenched. The strongest thing I had to drink that night had been sparkling apple juice, and I didn’t smell any alcohol on him, either. It always amazed me how Christopher never needed alcohol to tackle the hard stuff. He was just as comfortable spitting out truths when he was stone-cold sober as when he was inebriated. I envied him for that.

My thoughts seemed to get in my own way so much that I needed something - usually alcohol - to quiet them down somehow, and by the time I mustered the courage to speak up, I would have usually reached a tipping point and would be too drunk to be coherent by then. 

And that was why we never talked about things. 

He turned towards me, and I realised that an uncomfortable amount of time must have passed in which I hadn’t said anything or reacted in any way. He didn’t seem to mind. 

“You know what?” he said. “I used to believe that where there was a will, there would be a way. The distance, the matter of separate universes between us - I used to think those were obstacles we could overcome.” He laughed softly in disbelief. “But all this time, I didn't factor in the possibility that you'd just not want to.”

Again, I just looked at him. I couldn’t speak. 

“It’s fine,” he said. “You don’t have to say anything. You don’t want me? That’s fine. Because, contrary to what you said earlier, I don’t believe that everyone should be in love with me.”

I closed my eyes. If there were a way to turn back time - to unsay things, to make them undone - I would have really liked to know about it then. 

“But you know what? Even if it were true - let’s say I did think everybody should love me - you have a similar problem, Conrad. Only you seem to believe that nobody should love you, and that is just as false.”

I opened my eyes again. His cigarette, forgotten in his hand, had burned through to the filter. He pointedly stubbed it out on the piece of wall between us. 

“And for the record - it was you who wanted to keep this a secret in the first place. You have a problem, you know that? But that is on you, not on me. And someday, somehow, I do hope someone might heal you. But I’m not foolish enough to fancy that person will be me.”

I felt like the ground below me had vanished, and I was in free fall. Because that’s how it was with him: Within seconds, a conversation with him could turn from casual to feeling like you were being stripped naked, like having your most secret, vulnerable bits exposed. All the vague, fuzzy things about yourself you could usually fool people into not noticing - if he wanted to, he could expose them without even having to blink.

It wasn't like he had said he loved me, not exactly. Love. Nobody had ever used that word on me. Even the thought of it strangled me.

I couldn’t return his gaze. But I knew that if I was ever going to speak again in my life, it needed to be right now. 

“I wish…” I croaked. My throat was so dry it hurt. ‘I wish it were you,’ is what I wanted to say. It’s what I should have said. The words were there, clearly formed in my head. ‘And of course I love you. It's what makes me unable to breathe around you. Because nobody taught me how to do this - how to exist in the same space as you and be fine.’

The words were right there. But I couldn’t say them. I blinked away tears.

He put his arm around me and pulled me close.

“What are you so fucking afraid of?” he whispered. 

‘I don’t know,’ I thought. ‘But I just can’t make it go away.’ And neither, I realised, could he. 

He kept holding me for a while, and neither of us said anything. We missed the fireworks and the sendoff, but none of us really cared.

We both kept our distance after that day. I never sneaked back to my room in the early hours of the morning. Instead, I lay awake in my own bed, which felt too large now.

And some months later, when I left for Series Seven, there weren’t any big speeches or noble grand gestures. There was Millie, who waved me goodbye with a gold ring on her finger, and Christopher, who hugged me for exactly the appropriate amount of time as we said our farewells.

Millie had been the first to tell me about their engagement the week before I left. She had shown me her ring – Christopher’s ring - and started to sob. I hugged her. “What’s wrong? Aren’t you happy?”

“No, I am,” she said into my chest. “It’s just…Conrad, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” I assured her. “I’m happy for you.”

“It’s just that…I have to fess up about something.” She looked up at me, her tear-streaked face filled with anguish. “Remember in December…when I told you Christopher had asked me to go with him to the Sabbath?”

I nodded.

“He asked me to go with him as his friend. He also told me that he was in love with you but that you didn’t love him back and that he would have to try to get over you.”

I was silent.

“I could have told you about that back then, and I didn’t, and I’ve felt bad about it ever since.”

“Well,” I said. “Do you think you love him now?”

“Yes,” she sobbed. “I tried not to – you know just how irritating he can be – but I do, I can’t help it.”

I nodded. “The heart wants what it wants.”

“I just feel like I might have ruined things for you.”

“It’s okay. You didn’t ruin things for Christopher and me. There never was a Christopher and me. And that was because of us, not because of you.”

I felt weirdly numb. It’s a different thing to hear someone say out loud what you didn’t dare to believe when it was just a voice in your head. On some level, you might have suspected it. You have wished for it to be true. But it doesn’t matter now because the tectonic plates have shifted again, and whatever continent you used to exist on has vanished forever, nothing but a period in ancient history.

It is funny how life gets. It trips you over. And right when you think you’ve gotten back on your feet, it throws you a curveball.

I looked back at Christopher and Millie once before stepping into the pentacle. I hadn’t known what I was in for when they first took me to the Castle all those years ago. It was fitting somehow - now that it was time to leave again, it was still just me with my stupid little plastic bag of clothes, leaving their world none much the wiser than when I had come into it.

I did return once the year after. There was still the wedding to get through. I wasn’t going to skip it. I was the best man, after all. Surprisingly, by then, I felt all right about leaving him with her. I knew she had all the strength and natural buoyancy that I lacked. She would keep them both afloat when the waters got tough.

But even now, after all these years, I still think there’s a pocket somewhere in space and time where there’s only room for us – Christopher and me, on his bed with nobody else around. Listening to the same song play on repeat, over and over.