𝟏.| ✬ 𝒟ℯ𝒶𝓇 ℬ𝒾𝓁𝓁, ✬ {ℬ. 𝒲ℯ𝒶𝓈𝓁ℯ𝓎}

\\𝒮𝒪ℛ𝒞ℰℛℰℛ'𝒮 𝒮𝒯𝒪𝒩ℰ\\

Cillian Marks knew he only had a matter of time. He had received the owls. He knew what was happening. Voldemort was dead. Killed by Lily and James's baby boy. He knew there were people celebrating in the streets, and he knew that his family was in immediate danger. The death eaters would be looking for him. They already suspected him of being a double agent. He crumpled up his sixth letter of the hour, this one from Narcissa Malfoy. Letters of panic had been flooding his study all day. The Death Eaters were at a loss. They were divided with some standing firmly by the Dark Lord and some fleeing to go into hiding. There was so much confusion, Cillian was hoping he would be able to slip away in silence. He knew he'd messed up when he started questioning Voldemort's beliefs. He knew he should've waited to take action. There was nothing to be done about it now. He'd been hiding out in the manor his family owned in the hills of Ireland, trying to keep his wife and daughter as isolated from the war as possible.

A baby. Just a baby boy. How could a baby end all of this? There would be attackers from both sides, enemies from the light and dark after Cillian. He didn't have the time to think about Lily and James or their child. The Lestranges would be after him for sure. They already didn't trust him. He should've never questioned the dark lord. No, he should've never joined up at all. But they'd promised to keep his family safe. Really, though, how could he have been so foolish? He had a muggle wife. Not even his daughter was safe as was a half-blood.

Cillian closed the door to his study too hard on his way out, striding into the sitting room where his wife was reading to Eleanora. He allowed a small smile to creep onto his face at the tender scene. Eleanora was going through a phase where she couldn't fall asleep without a bedtime story. It always had to be one of the big, dusty volumes she chose from the family library. Cillian and Eveline took turns reading to their daughter before bed. It was something he looked forward to every night. Cillian swore up and down that girl would be the brightest witch of her generation. Eveline only laughed when he said this.

"She's four years old, Cil," she would say gently, but was always more than happy to read the complicated texts to Eleanora. Watching them curled up on the couch in front of the fire, Cillian could almost pretend nothing was wrong. That is, until Eveline looked up at him, eyes filled with worry.

"Is it time?" she whispered. He nodded silently.

"Time for what?" Eleanora asked sleepily, sitting up.

"We're going on a little trip, love. Going to visit an old friend," Eveline said, standing and taking her daughter's hand. When she looked to Cillian, there was no love in her face. "I thought she'd be asleep by now." Her voice was harsher than the one she'd used with their daughter

"That's okay, she'll be okay," said Cillian.

"Where is it?" Eveline asked sharply.

Cillian swallowed hard."My office." His voice was thick. He led his wife and daughter back to his study, closing the door behind them. An old, dusty, broken perfume bottle sat on the desk. "It leaves in two minutes," Cillian said, placing a hand on Eveline's shoulder.