The Burden of Birthrights

The Burden of Birthrights

Chapter One: A Call to Arms

Maximus Blackwell loves his daughters, truly he does, all eight of them. He looked at the pictures lining the walls of his office and covering his messy desk. Eight adorable little girls waved cheerfully back at him. Oh, and one boy: his nephew, Edward. He looked closely at the most recent family photo on the wall then back to the pictures of the little girls near his desk.

"Merlin, how they've changed," he murmured wistfully.

His eldest, a pretty red-haired witch, was twenty-five years old, and his youngest, apparently in a fit of pique at the moment, was nearly fifteen. Maximus watched the picture, peering closely into their faces to see how each of his girls was doing.

"Ah...yes, of course. Glory is at the Manor today."

His penultimate child was looking suspiciously smug at the moment. He would have to investigate this more closely upon his homecoming.

He looked at his cluttered desk again and another picture caught his eye, his sister Mathilda was glaring crossly at him and holding up her watch. He smiled at her picture and got to work.

"I really should get home early tonight."

Today was his forty-eighth birthday, and he knew that his little loves were planning a not-so-surprise birthday party for him. Maximus chuckled at their efforts.

They should know better than to try and keep something festive from an ex-Auror and ex-official good-time Charlie.

His knee gave a twinge. He looked down at the joint with a sigh of disgust. It was permanently stiff, keeping him desk-bound. He didn't mind his job with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, it was just that every once in awhile, he missed the intensity and thrill of being an Auror.

Just as well.

He looked at his overflowing in-box.

If I hadn't been injured, Merlin knows how many children I would have had by now.

Maximus chuckled to himself. He looked again into his family's faces and sobered slightly.

Who would have raised them all? Who would have cared for my girls?

His sister had certainly done her fair bit when they were younger. She hadn't been happy or even particularly graceful about it at the time. Mathilda had still been in school when his first child was born. He had been married at the time but, true to his nature, he had cocked that up and Mattie had been there to put the pieces back together for him. She had given nearly ten years of her life to his daughters, before trying to make one for herself.

"Well, she has one now," he mused.

He smiled fondly at the thought of his sister.

"Gadding about for the Ministry."

He was dead proud of her. It only seemed right; she was so bright and passionate. Mathilda had been wasted all those years as a house witch. He looked again at his ever-overflowing in-tray.

"Hrmpff. Here I am waxing poetical. This does not lead to work productivity..."

He chuckled again and got back to work.

A few moments late a purple inter-departmental memo glided into his office and hovered right above his head so as not to be ignored. Maximus saw that it came from the Aurors' office. He reached for it with a shrug.

*Maybe from one of the girls.*

He read the name at the end.

From Shacklebolt. Must be Sirius Black then. How many times do I have to tell him to stop going over budget.

He read it quickly, a fleeting look of surprise crossing his face, then reached for a new piece of purple parchment and scratched out his response.

~Shacklebolt,

Today's no good. Tomorrow free.

MB~

He sent it off and returned to the stack of parchment in front of him.

Ali Bashir is just going to have to understand about illegal imports this time.

He scratched out the orders to have Bashir fined rather heavily this time. He really disliked it when repeat and petty offences got all the way to his office.

Another memo zoomed into his office. It floated imperiously in front of his nose.

It was Shacklebolt again.

~No.

Today three pm.~

Maximus felt small fingers of dread and excitement tickle his insides. It had been a long time since he had received anything urgent from the Auror's Offices. Usually, anything originating from those offices was just a nag-by-note from one of his daughters. He couldn't help the anticipation that grew as he reached for another inter-departmental parchment piece.

~All right, Shacklebolt.

Better be good.

Three broomsticks. 4.15

MB~

Maximus arrived at the Hog's Head at one pm, sat down, ordered something for lunch that he knew to not be disgusting and a Butterbeer. He waited for Shacklebolt's arrival. He would see if code four-fifteen was still in use.

Kingsley Shacklebolt came through the door a few minutes later. They greeted each other like the old friends they were. Maximus had been Kingsley's mentor during the younger wizard's Auror training, and their relationship had grown since then into one that went far beyond that of a teacher and student. They traded pleasantries and caught up on each other's lives until they were sure that anyone listening was bored to tears.

Max went to the bar and ordered two Butterbeers. The barkeep nodded at him, de-capsulated the Butterbeers and said something odd to Max.

"The Phoenix has risen."

The barkeeper went back about his business. Max looked at the old wizard as though he was touched in the head.

He returned to the table.

"D'you know what that old nutter just said," he asked Shacklebolt with a laugh.

"The Phoenix has risen," answered Kingsley amiably.

At that the small fingers of dread, that had been lying unnoticed in the pit of Maximus' stomach, grew into mighty tentacles. They gave his insides a horrible wrench, making Max feel as though he was about to lose his lunch.

His mind raced to the year 1981. It ran to his girls, his first wife, the Manor, Godric's Hollow, then to Azkaban and back. He closed his eyes and forced a smile to his face.

"Oh. Well. That's nice," he answered, as pleasantly as he could given the circumstances.

Shacklebolt looked at his old mentor with a deceptively pleasant expression.

"You know that that is not the answer."

All thought of a birthday party and a quiet night at home fled Max's head.

When Maximus Blackwell arrived home that evening, he was in no mood for cakes and presents, although he sat through his birthday supper with the cheery face and pleasant demeanour of a devoted dad. When the last rendition of "Happy Birthday" and "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow" had been sung, and the last vestiges of cake had been eaten, he excused himself from the table and made for his study. Maximus turned at the door and called out to his sister.

"Mathilda. When you have a moment..."

With that he disappeared into his sanctuary.

Mathilda said nothing. She continued the over-seeing the clearing of the birthday feast in her usual brisk manner, but her mind was racing. Something was clearly on her elder brother's mind.

He had been very jovial tonight, too much so.

She surveyed the bustle about her with a small satisfied smile; her niece, Grace, ran a tight ship. Nearly everything was cleared and the washing up was well underway. She could hear a small argument from the kitchen that attested to that fact. Those not employed in the kitchen were taking down the birthday decorations or had simply disappeared.

The dull thumping of music from the basement let her know that one of her nieces was 'exercising'. The furious shuffling of paper in the next room was indicated some frantic searching.

Joy probably.

Mathilda sighed quietly.

The girl had the memory of a lace-wing fly.

Her brother's tone and demeanour had her worried, although she could not put a finger on the reason.

I'll wait an hour or so, then see what Max wants.

She did not want to worry her more perceptive family members by rushing in there after him. She could feel Temperance and Fidelia watching her out of the corner of their eyes. Mathilda was also expecting an ambush from Prudence later.

Grace would have noticed something was amiss as well.

They all would have noticed their father's forced manner during the meal. Mathilda prayed to Morgana that it had flown over the heads of the rest of the Blackwells.

She headed to the library for some peace, only to find it occupied. So she went to the sitting room, which she also found being used. Mathilda gritted her teeth in annoyance.

This house is getting too small. Blast my brother and his never-ending progeny. They all have rooms. Why can't they all go there? It was so much easier when they were all children.

She continued this peevish train of thought as she searched for one quiet space on the ground floor of Blackwell Manor. She walked out into the conservatory, finally finding some solitude. Mathilda recognised the whiny voice in her head and told it to "Sod Off."

She checked her timepiece and headed towards the kitchens. Upon her arrival she discovered that Grace had left, and her youngest nieces were in the midst of a huge argument.

Glory was purple in the face and shaking a tea towel at her sister Honour. The youngest Blackwell, who seemed to be every bit as angry, was still as the dead. The only other occupant of the room was pointedly ignoring the ruckus, and continued with the dishwashing. True to her name, Serenity looked perfectly at peace with the universe, as the clean dishware piled up on the draining board next to her.

Mathilda permitted herself on inward groan and eye roll. These two having a monumental go at each other was nothing new. It was, in fact, quite old hat.

"You are so slow! You're doing it on purpose," Glory screeched, effectively bringing the domestic tableau to life.

"Am not," Honour answered with false pleasantness, "I'm just being thorough."

Honour picked up another dish and began to dry it very carefully, inspecting every inch as she went.

"I already dried that one," Glory informed her sister.

"Apparently, you didn't do a very good job of it," Honour replied most helpfully.

"See," she pointed to the dish in question. "Water-spots would've formed. You know how Grace gets about spots on the good china."

Honour looked pointedly at her sister.

"Ah. No. You wouldn't would you, as you don't really live here."

Glory paled a bit and then gave a mean little laugh.

"No. I have much bigger worries than water-spots on china. Unlike some, I wonder what my O.W.L. marks will be. They're terribly nerve wracking and difficult you know."

Glory looked spitefully at her younger sister.

"Ah. No, but you wouldn't, would you? Seeing as you don't really go to school at all!"

Mathilda took in the argument.

Touché, Glory.

Mathilda stepped into the kitchen in time to stop the wands coming out.

"That is enough, out of the both of you," she roared.

Both girls jumped and turned to face their aunt. She looked at their faces. Honour looked mutinous; Glory looked worried for the briefest of seconds. Outrage flew easily onto her niece's expressive face in the very next instant; she now had herself an appropriate audience.

"Aunt Mathilda! I did not come to the Manor to perform menial jobs best left to the uneducated!"

"I said enough, Glory," Mathilda warned.

"Honour, since you seem so enthralled with the art of dish-drying, you may finish all of the dishes. No wand or other things."

At Glory's smug smile, Honour turned her back to her aunt and got on with the business of dish-drying in earnest. Mathilda had no doubts that her youngest niece had been baiting her sister. She dismissed Serenity, ordered Glory to finish the washing up and walked out the door.

"I am not a house elf!" yelled Glory at her aunt's retreating back.

Spoiled little so-and-so.

Mathilda continued her snarling thoughts about excess children and their permissive parents while she walked away from the kitchen and down the back corridor. The sounds trailing after her were not encouraging. A loud bang, a big splash, followed by a fit of laughter and a howl of outrage came bouncing down the old walls as she headed towards her brother's study.

She rolled her eyes in earnest this time.

"Ah well, I tried," she said aloud to no one in particular.

Max was pacing behind his desk, trying to rid himself of the irritation he was feeling.

Where the devil is she?

It had been nearly an hour since he had requested his sister's company in his study. He fingered the envelopes he had found waiting for him on his desk. The messenger was presently waiting politely on the back of a chair for some sort of an answer. An answer that Max did not want to give.

There were so many questions to be asked and answered tonight. Too many. Far too many.

His eyes turned to the small pile of ash on the corner of his desk. He could answer for himself, certainly, but he feared what the other answers would be. He rubbed his stiff knee absently.

And what good am I now anyways?

He looked again at the offending objects in front of him. Seven envelopes lay on his desk, and the panic that had been threatening him all day started to get the better of him.

He was saved from himself by a brisk knock on his door.

"Enter Mathilda."

At those words, the door clicked open.

Mathilda walked into her brother's study, turned to close the door and stopped dead.

"Maximus?"

She eyed the feathery messenger warily.

"What is-"

He cut her off.

"His name is Fawkes. Don't you remember? Dumbledore's-"

Mathilda cut her brother off in turn.

"Yes. I know. I attended Hogwarts as well, Max. However, it doesn't explain what he's doing in your study."

Mathilda felt a deep-seated fear bloom inside her for the first time in a long, long while, as she stared at the magnificent bird.

"Mattie, luv."

She heard her brother speak in his softest voice.

This cannot be anything good.

"This is for you."

He handed her an envelope, which looked for all the world like an advertisement packet from Madam Malkin's, bearing her full name. She looked at the envelope, then to her brother's worried face, then at the Phoenix and finally at the other envelopes on his desk. Confused, she shook the envelope at her brother. He looked back at her kindly.

"The Phoenix has risen," he said softly.

The envelope peeled apart under her fingers to reveal a scrap of hand written parchment.

~One week from today.

Shrieking Shack.

AD.~

The parchment then burst into flames. Mathilda watched it harmlessly burn in her fingers and the ash drop to the floor. She walked unsteadily to the nearest seat, dropped into it, and looked up at her brother wordlessly.

"He's back, Mattie".

Mathilda stifled the sob that shot up her throat.

"When?"

"End of the Triwizard. Amos Diggory's boy is dead and-"

"But I thought that that was just a rumour. That it was just a horrible accident. The Triwizard is notoriously dangerous and..."

She looked at her brother's handsome face. He looked much older than his forty-eight years at this moment.

"...And it's not fabrication is it? He's back. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back."

Another raspy sob escaped her throat.

Maximus looked on helplessly as his otherwise stoic sister began to cry. He picked up the remaining envelopes from his desk.

"Please Mattie. Please dear. There's more. We need to make some decisions tonight... Fawkes..."

He got up and awkwardly patted Mathilda on the back.

"There are other letters, Mattie."

She had momentarily forgotten about those. Fear and anger taking a hold of her, she grabbed them from Max's hand. She shuffled the envelopes, quickly reading the name of each addressee. Her fear momentarily stalled by the fury burning inside her.

"He cannot be serious," she snapped.

She waved the packet in her hand at her brother.

"Are you really going to allow this, this..."

There are no words for this.

She pointed to the name on one of the labels.

"Miss Grace Augusta Blackwell, it reads. Grace!" Mathilda said incredulously.

"Really. What does he think Grace can do for the Order? Is she going to tidy You-Know-Who into submission?"

She picked out another envelope.

"Miss Joy Elizabeth Blackwell," she said in a voice dripping with sarcasm. "The only thing that Joy does not misplace are tickets to Quidditch games!"

She threw the envelopes down on the desk.

"Serenity wouldn't notice anything was amiss until she was hit with an Unforgivable. They are children, Max. Dumbledore can't..."

She pointed to the top most envelope.

"Temperance is a widow. She is still grieving. Prudence is half wild as it is. She would get herself killed in the blink of an eye and Fidelia..."

Mathilda tripped over the last name. Fidelia was so capable, she was the best choice of them all but that did not mean that she wanted her favourite niece anywhere near the Order's business.

"Fidelia is... far too busy... and-"

She stopped her rant and looked suspiciously at her brother. He didn't look quite so tired and fatherly at the moment. In fact, he had that old glow about him.

"Aren't you going to say anything, Maximus? These are your children after all."

Max looked his sister in the eyes.

"I'll have your decision first, Mathilda. If it's all the same to you. What say you, sister?"

His eyes darted to the wand on the desk and back to his sister's outraged expression.

Mathilda felt the wind come out of her sails. She slumped down in her chair and into silence.

Max let a few minutes pass before he got up and went to the small bar. He poured himself a tumbler of Ogden's Best.

"Want one, Mattie?" he asked.

She nodded numbly from her chair and looked up into her brother's face.

"It is not a question of me not going back, Max, but rather... can we risk the girls going? They are so young. They're not ready for this."

"D'you really believe that Mat?" he said as he handed her the smoking drink.

"I cannot think of a more prepared or willing group of witches personally," he said with a touch of obvious pride in his voice.

Mathilda made a face at that last comment.

"I could swear that you are almost excited about this," she commented nastily. "Things slow at the office these days Max?"

She took a hasty sip of her drink.

"I never agreed with you about that part of their up-bringing, Max. I never have and I never will. Family motto, crest and tradition be damned to the farthest corner of Hades!"

'Toujours a l'avant' ...damn you.

The words came pouring out of her mouth unchecked, the old anger and resentment came bubbling to the surface. Fear, not for her, not for her brother, but for the other nine occupants of the Manor, was starting to slowly paralyse her. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to push away the memories of the last war which were coming to her unbidden, out of a tightly locked vault in her heart.

Max watched his younger sister carefully but with barely masked annoyance. He waited for her to get control of herself.

"Temperance and Pru are both Aurors, Mat. Fidelia works for Magical Law Enforcement, in the Hitwizard Operations..."

He let his words sink in, searching her face for signs of comprehension.

Mathilda pulled her eyes open and stared at her brother in disbelief.

"Don't you think that they are more than capable in their fields?" he queried. "You know that they deal with difficult situations everyday-"

Mathilda slammed her hand down on the desk.

"That is the EFFIN' point Max!".

Ahhh. This is where Honour picked up that word.

"Are you listening to me Maximus?" she asked her brother none too gently.

She eyed her brother's face for signs that he was indeed listening to her.

"Don't you think those three deal with enough madness and mayhem as it is? Temperance is still fully occupied trying to track down Black's whereabouts and, more importantly, she is still grieving, Maximus."

No she isn't... she was out with that fella from the games department the other day...

She saw Max twitch at those words, he had been the one to allow a relaxation of the guard around Azkaban that led to Black escaping. The resulting man-hunt had led to his son-in-law's accidental death.

The brother and sister regarded each other warily across the desk. Sirius Black was a sore point between them. Mattie had thought it a travesty of justice that Black had not been kissed the second he was apprehended. Max had never been entirely sure of his guilt. His intuition said that something was off, but, his doubts aside, he did not like his daughter chasing down a madman. If he wasn't mad before, the years in Azkaban would have certainly made him so.

He looked back at her coolly.

"They are, as you have said, my daughters. Mathilda, I was simply asking for your opinion."

"In other words, Maximus, you have already made up your mind. You were just hoping that I would be blindly supportive of your idiotic decision to place my nieces - most of whom I raised while you were gallivanting around the wizarding world having stupid adventures and pointless affairs - in additional danger to their already dangerous jobs, just so you can satisfy your juvenile need for... excitement."

She spat her words at her brother as if they were acidic venom.

Max sipped his drink with practiced nonchalance, and continued to regard his sister coolly over the rim of his glass.

"You're a real bastard sometimes Max," she said as she abruptly got to her feet.

They stared at each other intently, the air around them snapping with latent power and electricity. But the truth was there, as much as she hated to admit it.

The girls were adults and if You-Know-Who was back, then it was everyone's fight. Not just Dumbledore's. Order member she once was, Order member she would remain.

"The Phoenix has risen. Reborn from its ashes," Mathilda said in a angrily resigned voice.

She raised her glass to her brother and swallowed the content in one deep gulp. She let her eyes bore into his, letting him read all the thoughts that she would usually keep hidden.

He gave her a testy look.

"Fine. Have it your way, Max. You always do," she said, not bothering to hide her bitterness. "Call them."

She moved to the bar to pour herself another drink.

Max looked at his sister's back.

"A Call to Arms," he completed the oath, his voice filled with relief.

Maximus reached inside his desk and retrieved a small wooden disk. There were eleven etchings upon its face. He whispered something and ran his fingers along four of the delicate engravings.

Brother and sister sat in total silence for nearly ten minutes. The tension between them mounting until the first knock was mercifully heard.

Part two: Decisions

Max and Mattie gave a startled jump. Their angry stalemate brought to heel by the insistent rapping at the study door.

"Dad? Dad, it's me, Temperance..."

"And Pru. Open up."

"Shove off Pru, you great brute."

Laughter rang out from behind the door.

"Wimp. Oi, Dad... we know that you and Mat are in there. Open up!"

Max shook his head in amusement.

"Pru has no sense of decorum," he said to his sister conversationally.

"Well, why would she? It's not like it was ever encouraged in her," Mathilda responded coolly.

There was another quick tattoo and some muted scuffling from the door.

"Ye'll wait your turn Prudence," Max called to his daughter.

He was doing a poor job of concealing his amusement at his maverick daughter's typically boisterous behaviour.

Another quick tattoo from the middle of the door was shortly followed by a very hard thump to the top.

"Prudence! Really. Ye'll wait your turn, ye can't hear anything through the door that I don't want ye to anyways."

Mattie glared at her brother one more time before schooling her face into the very picture of unblemished calm. She moved her hand inside her robes to retrieve her wand and place it next to her chair.

Max ran his hand over his face, readying himself to make some of the hardest decisions of his life.

"Enter Temperance."

The door swung open. Predictably, Prudence had not gone away, but was behind her sister trying to see what was of such great importance. Usually everyone just tramped in together when there was family business to be discussed.

Temperance gave her younger sister a quick push and closed the door behind her. She turned to face the room, taking in the calm tableau. She didn't like the feel of the room. There was something very heavy hanging in the air.

This is not just another disagreement between Dad and Aunt Mattie...

"Have a seat, little love," her father said kindly, as he motioned for her to take the squashy seat by the fire.

Temperance looked briefly at the phoenix perched in the corner, but she gave no outward signs that she found this at all unusual. She trained her eyes to her father's face, she trusted him completely. Temperance walked to her seat, giving her aunt a quick nod.

Hmmm. Aunt Mattie has her game face on...

Max looked at his eldest daughter's face. It held no questions or surprises. He could read this one like an open book. Hers was a red-headed version of his own.

So little of her mother.

Max moved closer to his daughter and extended a hand to give her cheek a quick pat.

Temperance smiled up at her father. Deep fear and deep affection warred inside Max in that moment.

Merlin help me, but she is my favourite child.

He knew that it was wrong to feel this way, but he gave up on trying to quash those feelings years ago. He loved his other girls and his nephew dearly, but none so much as his firstborn. He saw her wide hazel eyes try to read his and a small smirk, that looked so much like his smirk, touched her lips.

He closed his eyes.

This is far more difficult than it seemed all of fifteen minutes ago.

Mathilda looked at the silent exchange between father and daughter grimly.

"Just bloody well get on with it, Max."

She gave a small and mean little laugh inside her head.

'Lot harder to ask this of your Temperance, isn't it?

Max took a deep, fortifying drink of his firewhiskey. He looked his daughter straight in the eyes.

"You-Know-Who is back. It's been confirmed."

Temperance's mouth opened to object or maybe to argue with her father, but no sound came out. She whipped around to look at her aunt.

Mathilda nodded to her niece, silently backing up her brother's statement.

Temperance was old enough to remember what it had been like during that first reign of terror. She went pale with shock.

"It's been getting worse at work. Is this wh?..."

Her voice trailed off into a whisper. The answer did not matter. She remembered the first war well enough. She had been twelve when it had ended. Temperance knew that she was lucky to have been at Hogwart's for those last terrible years.

"Do you remember that your Aunt and I used to... eh... disappear once in a while back then?"

No. Not too clearly. But if you say so.

Max handed his silent daughter a Madame Malkin's envelope.

"Eh? Dad, this might no be the moment for new robes."

No one spoke for a moment, the only noise was the crackling of the fire and the odd sound from the feathery messenger who sat patiently in the corner. Mathilda could not take another moment of the silent inaction.

"The Phoenix has Risen," Mattie said with much more confidence than she felt.

Temperance's forehead crinkled up as the envelope peeled apart in her hand.

~Mrs. Temperance Joan McFarland nee Blackwell,

A Gryffindor you were once, a Gryffindor you shall always remain.

The time is upon us to sweep the cobwebs from our collective minds.

Evil has not gone away, it has returned and may be the strongest that we, as a Wizard Nation, have ever had to face.

Voldemort has been pulled from his Ashes.

The time has come,

Albus Dumbledore~

What is this gibberish? Dumbledore writing me a warning letter that a five year old could have composed. ARGH! I know better than this...something is hidden here.

She focused on the letter and brought it close to the firelight. Four red words glowed through the backlit parchment.

Max and Mathilda watched as realisation dawned on her face.

"The Phoenix has Risen," her father said rather gravely.

"Sweep Away the Ashes," she answered haltingly.

"A Call to Arms," Max and Mathilda intoned in unison, finishing the charm.

They stared mutely at each other, going from one person to the next.

Temperance looked at the other letters on her father's desk. She saw all of her sisters' names. She felt a twitch of panic and looked more closely. Upon closer inspection she saw that only the adult sisters' names were there. Glory and Honour's names were missing, as was that of her cousin Edward. Five envelopes remained.

"Dad," Temperance began hesitantly, she felt out of her depth in this matter.

"I know that Dumbledore needs all available hands on deck, especially since I know that they Ministry will not see the Diggory boy's death in the same light..." she looked at her dad to see if she had guessed correctly.

"You-Know-Who attacked Potter, right?"

"You understand that the Order of the Phoenix is of utmost importance and secrecy." Her father's voice was hard and flat.

Temperance looked at her dad with offence written all over her face.

I'm not two! I can tell what cannot be discussed over drinks at the Leaky Cauldron.

"Yes Dad," she said instead, but didn't bother trying to hide her impatience.

Max raised an eyebrow at his daughter.

"But if you have a choice in dispensing these summons, I wouldn't give them to Joy or Serenity."

"But Grace you would?"

Mathilda wondered at her niece's logic. To the older witch, Grace was even less suitable to the task at hand than her giddy or dreamy younger siblings.

"Don't know if I would, but at least she's of age. Well, properly of age." Temperance's brow wrinkled up again. "It should be her choice Dad, Aunt Mattie".

Her father did not appear to be listening; he was calling Fidelia to him. Temperance looked at her aunt. She saw with some surprise that Mathilda's wand was out and resting on her knees. Her mind raced for a reason.

Mathilda answered her niece's probing look.

"To obliviate, dear. Should one of you decline to join the Order."

She gave her niece a hard look.

"You understand, of course."

Temperance physically recoiled from her aunt.

Merlin, but I hate it when she gets all icy and overly polite.

Temperance never doubted that Mathilda was the most mercenary and, in a way, lethal of the elder Blackwells. However, in light of tonight's news, that could not be a bad thing.

There was a crisp knock on the door.

"Father," called a low, even voice from the other side.

"Enter Fidelia."

The door opened and an elegantly dressed, ginger-haired witch walked in.

"You called," Fidelia said calmly.

Temperance rolled her eyes. She knew that her sister knew that they were in here and she would bet her last Galleon that Fidelia was dying of curiosity on the other side of that composed face.

Mathilda's heart gave a squeeze.

I don't want this. These are my girls too.

She watched silently as her brother told his second born child of You-Know-Who's return. Fidelia did not bat an eyelash at the horrifying news and quietly took her envelope.

Mathilda wondered if such control was healthy.

Useful certainly, envious absolutely, but healthy...she highly doubted it.

Her niece caught her eye briefly. Mathilda nodded her head. She still marvelled at the implicit trust these two placed in their father. Neither witch was trusting by nature and yet, neither witch had questioned either their father not her.

Mathilda watched closely as Fidelia's envelope revealed its message. Ever the quick study, the ginger witch studied it briefly and answered her father.

"Sweep Away the Ashes."

"A Call to Arms," Temperance, Mathilda and Maximus said together.

Fidelia was actually far too shocked to say much. Her mind was a whirlwind of thought and feeling. To cover her unsettled state, she scanned the room; her eyes fell on the remaining envelopes on the desk.

She read the names and looked up, her mind finally was focused.

"Well. Prudence evidently. Grace. Maybe Serenity."

She made her assessment and went to sit next to her Aunt.

"Ren? You sure about that?" Temperance said loudly. "I mean, she is just so..."

"She is quite proficient, Temperance. Have you not visited the Gymnasium lately?"

One loud thump sounded through the door and cut the beginnings of a debate short.

Temperance smile widely.

"That'll be Pru."

Mathilda's lips thinned in displeasure.

Max shook his head in amused resignation.

"Enter Prudence."

The door swung open and admitted a tall black-haired witch.

Prudence was nearly as tall of as her father and they shared the same thick dark hair and bright hazel eyes. This last trait was not uncommon; all Blackwells had those same eyes, hazel in colour and vivid in nature.

"I'm being called onto the carpet, aren't I?" She looked each of her family members' in the face.

They did not respond.

"If it's illegal, I didn't do it," she said as she strode into the room, her voice betraying a suspiciously defensive note.

Mathilda felt a spurt of irritation well up.

Why does everything have to be a production with her?

"Really, Prudence..."

Max and Temperance laughed. Fidelia shot her younger sister a flat look.

"No, my dear, your activities..." Max stopped." What did you do?"

Mathilda noted with resigned irritation that her brother sounded more amused and interested than censorious.

Pru looked at her dad with a matter of fact expression on her angular face.

"Nothing particularly awful." She shrugged at him. "If this isn't a family tribunal..."

She looked about the room with the question clearly written on her face. She blinked and her face grew grim.

"It's serious then?"

She looked at her Dad for confirmation. Then she looked at her eldest sister, searching for additional confirmation. Pru's eyes scanned the room carefully. Her eyes stopped at each of the faces in the room and her jovial demeanour dropped.

Pru's entire body shifted from an easy posture to one that could only be described as ready for anything. She drew herself up to her full height and planted her feet shoulder width apart. Her arms flexed and released in rapid succession, the muscles in her arms jumping out in sharp curves and hollows in the firelight, as she tried to calm and ready herself for the situation at hand.

Mathilda always marvelled at and was always grudgingly impressed by this side of her niece. Prudence was as changeable and as reflexive as quicksilver. She never was as she seemed to be.

Maximus shifted towards his third daughter. He moved to her so that he could look her in the eye.

"Pru, love," he said, trying to gentle his wildest one.

Mathilda watched her brother work his magic with his daughter. She disagreed with nearly everything that he said or did, however, she was always struck dumb by the way he communicated with each of his children. His way with them was a kind of magic that could not be found in any textbooks.

Max took hold of his daughter's hand and began to speak to her closely and softly. Pru shook her head and turned to face the phoenix. She locked her eyes on it with a fierceness that she rarely let surface.

Fawkes chirruped at her and sang out a few high and sweet notes, as if he was talking directly to the doubting Thomas in the room.

Pru nodded her head and reached her hand out for her envelope.

Max was taken aback.

How had she known about the envelopes?

He handed Prudence her's and quietly said the first part of the charm.

The envelope pealed apart easily. She scanned it and looked up at her father. Her face held a look of uncommon gravity and unsettling dead calm.

"Sweep Away the Ashes."

"A Call to Arms," the other four responded.

"Call Grace, she'll come," Pru said with certainty.

No one else agreed, but Maximus called his fourth daughter anyway.

A few minutes later, a soft knock whispered through the wooden door.

"Enter Grace."

A small witch with fine, wavy brown hair came into the room. Grace smiled at her family and waited patiently to be told what this gathering was all about.

This young witch always surprised Mathilda. Grace was as timid as a mouse when she was in mixed company, however, let the witch loose in her domain, Blackwell Manor, and she was became a mistress to be reckoned with.

Max walked to his diminutive daughter, wrapped his arms lightly about her small shoulders and bent his head so that he could talk to her closely.

Pru gave a loud snort of irritation.

I wish someone would give Gracie a chance. She is much stronger than we think her to be. For fuck's sake, she's a Blackwell not some mealy-mouthed little miss.

Mathilda watched as Grace's sweet face contorted with... anger? Not fear. Real, red-blooded anger.

She took her envelope from her father, waited for it to reveal its message and then carefully read it several times.

Grace chewed her lower lip and looked around the room.

Finally she whispered, "Sweep Away the Ashes."

"A Call to Arms."

The Blackwells repeated the entire charm again. A magical contract was sealed that night. A new generation of witches were inducted into the Order.

Max wrote the six names onto a slip of parchment, sealed it with his wand and gave it to Fawkes.

The phoenix circled the room once, his voice sounding in their hearts and then he disappeared.

"One week," Max said as he went to open his door.

"Dad," Fidelia called to him, "what are we going to do about Honour?"

Max paused near his door and roughly put a hand against it.

Honour. For fuck's sake. Where was his brain tonight? His little one. What was he going to do?

"Don't you worry about Honour, Delli. She will be taken care of. We will just have to change things a bit, that's all. One week girls."

He opened the door and motioned for his girls to leave the room.

"Good night, loves. Mathilda, we still have some business to discuss, if you don't mind."

Max had switched into his formal mode. Mathilda appreciated it. She did not know what they were going to do with the youngest Blackwell. Glory and Edward would return to school in September. Joy and Serenity would just go about their business. They would not be able to keep all the activities in the house a secret. It was just a question of how much they would reveal. Honour was another question. A question that needed immediate addressing and by the looks of her brother, he had a solution on hand.

The door closed behind the elder Blackwell girls. They looked at each other with expressions that were uncommonly grave.

"One week," Grace said with calm resolve.

Not another word was spoken between them for many hours. They scattered throughout the Manor, each seeking a quiet space to think about the change that their lives had just abruptly taken.