March 7th, 1890 — Hawthorne Hollow

Nature was in so many ways the antithesis to war. A field of wildflowers was chaos disguised as order, while a battlefield of smoke was order disguised as chaos; highly organised soldiers sent marching to their doom. Far preferable was the bird of prey who stalked unsuspecting fieldmice with eyes of fiercest orange.

Baron Crossridge squinted into the white sunlight and watched the bird soar. He wore heavy boots and a falconry glove, and felt at peace as he walked out into the woodland clearing, which was still damp with yesterday's rain. He raised his hand to his mouth and gave a long, low whistle — above, the marsh harrier turned about and swept groundwards, something clutched in her talons.

  

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The greenery that surrounded their home never ceased to charm Ailsa. Of course Irvingly, busting with hawthorns and surrounded by mountains as it was, still wasn’t quite the same as the far-off mystical places she and Ewart had once frequented before the children needed stability but they were more than enough to make her imagination soar!

Very quickly Ailsa grew bored of the scenery, her mind instead turning to the piece she had been working on before deciding she needed some fresh air, and all at once she recalled that leaving the house had been a direct result of its unwieldy nature. It simply wouldn’t hold together as she wanted and if she returned from her walk, dull though it was becoming, she would only return to frustration.

A high-pitched cry came from above her head, pulling Ailsa back to the moment at hand, and she followed the progress of a majestic creature as it flew towards its keeper, hurrying in its wake.

“Oh isn’t he wonderful! What has he found?”

  

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Djura frowned lightly when Peace swooped into land impactfully on his glove, recognising that her prey was not some dead titmouse or grass snake, but instead...

He was distracted by the soft but hurried step of a vibrant woman who swept into the scene like a heroine onto the cover of a novella. He was not sure what to make of the intrusion, this being the first time someone had encountered him during a bout of falconry out here, but both their attentions were drawn more towards the bird's "prize". Holding her weight easily on his arm, Djura prized the item from Peace's talons. It was a small, silk purse. Muddied from its travels, but otherwise in tact. A jangling sound indicated coin within, and it had a slight hardness to it as if it contained more besides.

"I don't suppose this is yours, madam...?" he held the purse out betwixt two long fingers.

  

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What a terribly, terribly handsome man! If she were not a married woman Ailsa could certainly see herself swooning at the lovely features and elegant manners – of course no man would ever come close to Ewart in any department but her eyes still lit up at the question and she almost wished she could claim the purse.

“I’m afraid my purse is seldom so full!” She laughed and glanced around the field. But this was so much better! A mystery to solve and no obvious victim to reunite with their belongings: what fun!

“She’s a charming little thief so I’m sure she’ll be forgiven when we find its owner,” she fluttered on. “Does she have a name? I’ve always found animals respond better when we treat them as equals – why, I knew a woman once who swears her boa constrictor was her best friend in the whole world from the moment she called him Squidge.”

  

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The sprightly stranger was almost alarmingly vibrant, so filled with light and laughter that she was nothing less than radiant. And strangely enough, Djura was not irritated by this, when normally he might be. Perhaps it was their calming surroundings, or perhaps it was because she was showing due respect to his bird... his truest friend. (Though this fact was very private.)

Unsure what to do with the purse now that it was proven to be neither hers nor his, Djura lowered his hand, and made a note to drop this in at the Irvingly Post Office on the way home. But in the meantime, all eyes were on the hawk, who was quite contentedly perched on her master's glove. "Her name is Peace. And why do I suspect that the boa constrictor in question is in fact yours..." he could not help but add, a twinkle of rare amusement in his dark eyes.

  

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Ailsa laughed gaily at the guess even as she shook her head.

“My sister has an acute fear of snakes so I was never permitted one in my youth,” she said merrily, remembering the look on Heather’s face when she had realised the emblem of one of the Hogwarts houses was the very creature she feared so much. Suffice to say Heather had been a Gryffindor and kept away from the dungeons as much as she was able: someone had convinced her there were actual snakes in the Slytherin Common Room and that had been enough to keep her as lofty as possible. “And she would never visit me if I kept one now! A hawk however…are they all as lovely as Peace? I cannot claim to be an expert in avian varieties though I do use a great many feathers in my work.”

  

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Having been the heir to the Barony of Crossridge, Djura could not relate to being denied something in childhood — at least not by his mother, who'd had him spoiled. His father had been staunchly more disciplined. Either way, he couldn't say he'd ever wanted a pet snake.

He took the question about Peace's loveliness to be rhetorical, but he shifted the bird elegantly onto his shoulder (which was padded with protective leather) and unbuckled his glove, offering said glove quite casually to the lady. Perhaps she'd like to have a go of holding Peace.

And in the meantime, he naturally asked — "what is your work?"

  

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Ailsa took the glove that was offered to her with eyes as wide as her smile and her face the perfect picture of a child being granted a particularly delightful treat. Reverentially she slipped it on and forgot to adjust the buckled in her excitement, causing it to almost immediately shift around her arm as the bird hopped on. Receiving a beady glare Ailsa apologised and was quite sure the beautiful bird of prey understood and nodded her acceptance of the words.

"Oh I fashion underwear for wealthier ladies than me," she said casually, eyes affixed on the bird, delighting in its every movement and already planning to see how Ewart would feel about an aviary in the garden. This was sensational and she might be able to use the loose feathers to embellish a hat or two! "You must send your wife to me." She offered with a grin. "Mrs Ailsa Fraser of Fraser's Foundations."

  

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Oddly slightly endeared by this show of incompetence, Djura automatically moved to correct the lady's situation, tightening the glove's buckle so it clung tighter to her smaller hand. The hawk, Peace, glared down at him with some accusation in her yellow eyes. If a bird could sigh, she would've.

But Djura was more forgiving, and might've proceeded to show his eccentric new acquaintance how to fly the hawk if he wasn't suddenly distracted by some news.

"Underw—"

Well then.

He had absolutely nothing to say to that, and his mind went similarly blank — perhaps unwilling to lapse into a moment of undignified imagination. But at least he could introduce himself on autopilot. "Djura Crossridge." And then the blankness of his mind bred some unexpected transparency when he might otherwise be silent; "my wife passed away some time ago, and I've no sisters to speak of, so I'm afraid I shan't make the most effective publicist, Mrs Fraser."

  

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“Oh I am terribly sorry Mr Crossridge,” Ailsa said with utter sincerity, taking his hand in hers and giving him a small squeeze, as though the loss had happened mere days ago, but to Ailsa’s mind grief was no respecter of time. He was far too handsome to be alone, there had to be young ladies a plenty who would be delighted to find such a husband, but perhaps his heart had been utterly broken, she thought, her own heart swooning a little at such a romantic thought.

“Do you have children? I believe I would rely on them more than ever before if anything were to happen to my husband,” the very thought of which was enough to make her unnerved.

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For all the minutes he'd known Mrs Fraser, Djura should've perhaps learned not to be so taken unawares by her. Her unexpected behaviour and background seemed to be the very cornerstone of her existence, the heart and core of her character. Truth be told, he'd never met anyone quite like her, and he felt a dull, distant sense of mild loss in knowing that they'd never meet at any society or military functions. Their circles were just too different.

Anyway, he still managed to be surprised by her, his stoic expression somewhat disrupted as she took the liberty of holding his hand in sympathy. "Thank you, Mrs Fraser. It was... quite some time ago", he added, hesitating because he did not want to be seen as brushing off his loss. His troubles ran deeper than grief.

The hawk, Peace, shifted restlessly, and Djura reached out to nudge Mrs Fraser's glove lightly upwards, which was enough encouragement for the bird to take off. Peace didn't opt for some dramatic soar though, instead perching immediately in the closest tree, eyeing the ground for small critters.

Although momentarily distracted by this, Djura blinked back down at his amiable companion. "Yes, I'm blessed with a boy and a girl", he replied unenthusiastically. "Do you have many yourself?" He was so distant from his children that when speaking of such creatures he often spoke in terms of quantity over personality.

  

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“Four, though one of them has recently gone away to explore the world and I am bereft without her,” Ailsa responded, realising a moment too late how insensitive she likely sounded to a man who really was bereaved. Astrild was only in Norway after all! It wasn’t as though she would never see her again – Ailsa, perhaps more than any member of her family, still held fast to the notion that her daughter’s return was a matter of when not if.

Fortunately he didn’t seem to have noticed her faux pas, though neither did he seem overkeen to continue along the same conversational tract. Ailsa though was nothing if not persistent to the point of indecency.

“Are they off at Hogwarts now? I miss my two youngest terribly though I suppose I shouldn’t begrudge them their schooldays. Mine were marvellous. My sister and I blew up the potions laboratory twice. Not deliberately of course but well, accidents happen, as they say.”

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Hogwarts... Djura's stony heart sunk as if to a riverbed. He didn't converse much with the locals of Irvingly (his neighbours, he supposed), but when he did he always subconsciously dreaded learning when one was a witch or wizard. Especially when they presumed he was one myself. Well, he wasn't. He was normal, and proud of it, and felt increasingly resentful every time such a presumption was made.

And yet he decided not to brazenly call Mrs Fraser out on it. For, quite by accident, she had managed to worm her way into his albeit extremely meagre affections. In other words, Djura rather liked her; despite her sundry oddities. Or perhaps because of them.

"My eldest is, yes. But I must ask... what exactly do you mean by 'potions'?"

  

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Ailsa, true to form, noticed precisely no change in her new friend’s demeanour but even she took a moment to consider the implications of his questions. Had he been educated abroad where the subject was called something else? It seemed unlikely give his cut glass accent which left only one option really: he was a muggle. Ailsa’s eyes widened in delight.

“If you’re eldest is learning I’m sure you’ll find out in the next holidays,” she said wryly. “Technically magic isn’t permitted outside of school until you’re of age, but, well, the young are prone to finding loopholes and potions usually don’t require spellcasting, just ingredients, so they’re a favourite when it comes to bending the rules.”

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Although he'd felt quite charmed by Mrs Fraser, since they'd started talking about wizarding Djura had started to feel uncomfortable instead. Perhaps because he disapproved of wizarding kind as a matter of course, and therefore disliked being reminded that his otherwise pleasant new acquaintance was one of them. And proudly so, apparently.

"Yes, well", he replied gruffly, opting not to share that his children didn't actually live with him outside school. They had a distant relationship. "If you will excuse me, Mrs Fraser, my hawk is keen to be flown some more." He gestured to Peace, now perched back on his arm, and sure enough the bird was flexing her talons and glaring into the trees as if already planning a feast of dormice.

  

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Oblivious to any offence she might have given Ailsa noted only that she had lost custody of the beautiful avian and that the gentleman had taken back his charge with an enviable grace. It really was remarkable to Ailsa how many people in their little community still had the capacity to surprise her with their myriad of talents.

Perhaps she ought to encourage Tyr to try something similar?

“Good afternoon!” She called after him as he absconded, waving merrily, before deciding to head home herself, struck with inspiration once more.

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