GAMBIT

Chapter Three: "Burning Gauntlet"

They broke a girl and woke a titan.

AN: Hello all!

It's been a minute since we've gotten a Lumos Universe update. As anticipated, the holiday season and afterwards were quite packed. At present, I'm working on drafting the next LUMOS chapter a bit at a time, as I can. [It's coming along, I promise!]

In the meantime, thank you so much for all the patience you've had, and for the encouragement and kindness you've shared on that work as well as this one. I dearly appreciate it. <3 <3 <3 Thank you for taking the time to read, and for being excellent humans. <3

As always, I do not own the rights to this storyworld or to these characters.

Grab a cozy snack [maybe soup?], a drink [I've been drinking peach tea, this week], and a fuzzy blanket. Let's dive in.

CW: This chapter contains a few brief allusions to Cedrella's past experiences with SA in the numbered list [especially in numbers 1 & 5]. Almost no detail is included beyond an acknowledge of it having happened, and it is short and fits within the T rating for this fic. That said, please be kind to yourself and your mental wellness while reading. <3

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Chapter Three: "Burning Gauntlet"

Cedrella

December 1, 1935

Septimus Weasley will not sit down. He led me to the library, motioned me to an ornate chair in front of the large desk near the fire, and has refused to come any closer.

Perhaps he thinks I shall bite.

There is a matched chair beside my own and an even grander leather one on the opposite side of the desk.

Septimus Weasley won't take either of them.

Instead, he paces back and forth at the far end near the entrance, as if he wishes to escape. The room is vast, though the maintenance of it has evidently permitted it to grow a bit shabby. It's to be expected, with his mother's passing.

There are smoke stains on the wallpaper near the mantle, and the chandeliers have not been cleaned to a shine. The floors are polished in the open swath of room between the desk, fire, and the entrance, but the boards grow dingy and scuffed where they're cloaked in the tall rows of shelving that line both sides of the middle.

It is round, and the walls that wrap it hold a mixture of books and artefacts, but there is nothing so gruesome as what I've seen in my father's cupboards. A family this old must have a larger collection. Perhaps he keeps the Weasleys' cursed things tucked away like filthy secrets, rather than trophies to be seen and admired. What is the use of that, I wonder? What is the strategy?

I have been raised to display my strength on my sleeves and along the tilt of my chin. This library announces mediocre holdings and little prestige. And yet, I am certain it is a front. There is more to it than I can discern.

I watch. I look, and look, and look.

I have looked over every piece of this room twice, now. It feels like there's something important I'm missing. A stray thread I could use for leverage. But my mind is blunted by the cold and wet and worry, and I am left waiting on a man who cannot decide if he wants to be finished with the letter he's read at least four times.

He travels a worn loop between two sets of shelves, disappearing into the Herbology row (which holds green leather books with gilded, floral emblems stamped at the base of each spine), only to cross into sight once again in the middle aisle before venturing into the row on Curse Breaking (whose tomes are too shadowed to make out the colour). Even if I hadn't peeked and recognized the names closest to the middle clearing, the sections are labelled with little signs and meticulous script that's both too fine and flawed to be from an enchanted quill.