Coiled (Book 1 of 2)

The Problem with the Roses

The Rosier Family Estate (England).

Late Autumn, 1967.

Achille Rosier's about to break a rule, and it's one that will haunt him for the rest of his life.

He painstakingly vets all the help that comes to work at his estate, you see. Be it full-time cleaning staff, a guest chef, or a seasonal gardener, in all cases Achille carefully reviews each and every employee's background, combing meticulously through their family pedigree to determine if they're worthy of working for him.

And if they're not pure-blooded, they're not allowed on the premises.

No exceptions -

Never, ever.

... Except for this one, of course.

The one that will forever haunt him.

...

... It all started in mid-November.

Short staffed, Mr. Rosier began to grow worried about the gardens.

A problem concerning the bare-root roses, to be specific.

They do best when planted in late autumn, though not so late as for it to be winter.

That's unacceptable; the ground, too cold.

Too frozen for the health of the roses.

And above all else, one must always remember this: at the Rosier Family Estate, everything - absolutely everything - goes into keeping and cultivating the roses.

They're the family namesake, after all.

They're the pride and joy.

Well, other than Evan, of course.

Though he's stern, Mr. Rosier's actually quite secretly proud of his young son. Of course he'll never actually tell him as much.

No - never, ever.

Wouldn't be fitting for a father to lavish praise and open love over his son.

It'd go straight to the boy's head;

It might make him soft, weak.

No, Achille can't have that. Completely unacceptable.

Back to the problem with the roses, though.

Short staffed and finding the estate in need of extra help, Mr. Rosier asked the gardening staff in his employ to recommend new hires. And naturally, when his head gardener gave him the name of a muggle-born gentleman, Mr. Rosier's first instinct was to nix him as an option.

But the head gardener's determined; he's desperate for additional hands to help with the overwhelming volume of roses. And in this moment he's sought Achille out to plead his case:

"He's a good man, Mr. Rosier. Hardworking, honest - and most important of all, quite prolific in his knowledge of Herbology and gardening, both muggle and magical. Above all else, I promise you this: the man can make your roses thrive."

"... His blood is dirty."

Achille's words, spoken matter of factly as he and the head gardener slowly stroll along through the enormous hedge maze behind the estate, "... That's the problem, don't you see? There's no fixing dirty blood."

"I understand, Mr. Rosier. And of course, you have my complete and total agreement. But if you want those roses in the ground, and if you want it done well - done properly - then he's the man to help us finish the job."