ROSIER

6

Worry
...

There was a saying in the Rosier family, plastered in Latin on their family's Coat of Arms. Loosely translated it stated to be the hand holding the strings. As a child, Gwen had trouble understanding the meaning. The caricature that the saying underlined was not helping much in explanation.
It was only later in her life that she figured the saying to be the very thing her family has lived by since ancient times. One would find their signature all around Britain and France. Let it be buildings financed or even constructed by the Rosier's. Or the politicians and artists who were supported and influenced by them.

The Rosier's had their hands in everything, without ever staining them. The puppet master to society.

Of course, as in every family, once in a while, there is a bad fruit growing along the family tree. One which shines a bad light on the flawless reputation.

Justus Rosier was an example of that.

A drunk, with no interest in the responsibilities, knit tightly to the name. Who spends his days blowing through the money he was born into.

An accusation that wasn't all too untrue as Gwen had to admit. The last time they saw each other, sometime last year, the twins had found him asleep in the garden parlour. His right leg pressed down their mother's hyacinths, while the rest of his, in a permanent alcohol-scent drenched body, was spread out on four of the white chairs.

"Great, the vagabond is back," Evan had snarled in disgust. The description Justus chose for himself pulled into the negatives. "I'll get Father."

"Wait, there's a faster way to deal with this. One that doesn't include treason," Gwen scolded, putting the basket that was prepared with breakfast onto the table. She hurried to her room, took a small blue-tinted bottle from her Potion collection, and held it under her uncle's nose.

Justus sniffed the liquid. His eyes ripped open as he jumped up from the terrific smell, hitting his head under the table with a loud thud.

"Can't believe it worked." The blonde excitedly exclaimed, proudly holding the bottle up.

"Devils, both of you," Justus cawed. He grabbed a silver bottle from his belt and took a big sip of a liquid (that was anything but water).

"I say we throw him in the lake next," Evan insisted, his grin truly making him look devilish. "His smell is unbearable."

Justus didn't oppose the idea after eating a third of the basket. And the twins knew he would've jumped into the water had it not been for a group of swans scaring him away.
After two long hours of anecdotes, he apparated in between sentences at the mere sight of the twins' mother.

Now Gwen was nose deep in Justus' file, amplifying what she already knew. He was always of the lazy kind. Even as a student. There were no important academic scores, school clubs, or even an attempt at sports found in it. Mainly, it consisted of endless warnings after being caught smoking, drinking, and skipping classes. But he was a Rosier and inherited a natural intelligence that made him pass his exams with relative ease.

"What do you two have in common?" Gwen muttered, opening up both files on the ground. They were in the same year, but not even in the same house. It seemed hopeless. The two first-year boys in the pictures, one with dark brown and the other with light brown hair, had no visible connections whatsoever. Justus wasn't the aggressive type of man. His instinct was to run rather than stay, and provocations weren't his thing.

"Why did you attack him?" She asked Ivan's picture. It was only then that she noticed a detail easily missed. Ivan wore a necklace, the kind of hideous which only exists once.