Work Text:
Where does one begin explaining a connection that strong, old, yet tumultuous. Yennefer had no idea, but she knew it started long before st. Mungo’s, long before school, and long before any thing she can remember. In short, as a golden dragon once said, they were made for each other, but sometimes even destiny isn’t sufficient alone. So they never united for longer than was necessary to draw in a breath, each keeping to their orbit until the inevitable point of collision which was always a glorious thing.
“We met as first years, he was sorted into Gryffendor and I into Slytherin, so we adopted the natural animosity. Then one day he saved me from a dark force, and that was when it all began.”
She lied and warped reality, but the girl she was tucking in had too narrow shoulders to carry such a heavy burden as the truth. It was bad enough she had to live with a pair of complete strangers shortly after the death of her family. Yennefer brushed back a blonde strand, and resisted the urge to kiss her broad forehead good night. She’d barely known her a month, no sense in unsettling her now.
“Will he return soon? Before I leave for school, I mean.” Her voice was little, worried. She sounded younger than her eleven years. The woman sighed.
“For you, he will.” She promised, knowing with a strange, unfamiliar certainty that he will this time.
“Do you leave on assignments as well?” Ciri sounded interested, too interested for her own good. Yennefer messed up her hair and when that didn’t have the desired effect she tickled her, until she was unable to hide her laughter and was beginning her to stop. “I get it! I get it!” She gasped between giggles, and only then did the witch stop. “The less I know the better.”
“Exactly, my ugly one.” Her smile was wistful, almost regretful.
“Why do you always call me that.” She crossed her arms and knitted her brows, Yennefer let out a crystal clear giggle. “Because I’m malicious and evil.” She bopped her nose,
“No you’re not! Wait! Don’t leave just yet!”
She couldn’t deny her that. The witch returned to her still warm spot after lifting the floral blanket to Ciri’s chin. “Tell me about Hogwarts, please.“
“Hmm, it’s odd that you were born into a magical family yet know nothing of Hogwarts.”
“Grandmother said it was unnecessary as I would be educated at home.”
“I see.” Yennefer finally decided to slip in the space the girl had made for her. She crawled quickly into her arms, and the witch had to bottle everything that made her feel in order to give Ciri what she asked for.
“Long ago, before anyone you know was born, four great witches and wizards united to create a school for magical children like you.” Yennefer bopped her nose again and she giggled. “Now listen carefully and you might earn house point in history. Their names are Salazar Slytherin, Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff and Godric Gryffendor…”
The girl was out like a light, faster than Yennefer had anticipated. She untangled herself from her embrace carefully, and went to the study on her tiptoes. Her black kestrel was there, waiting on its perch of deer antlers. Only by her sheer will did it remain silent, and instead of screeching to greet her it flew to her hand. She scratched its head thoroughly as a treat, then whispered something, smoothed its head, and sent it flying out of the window. She couldn’t see it in the dark, but knew it would not fail to reach the man from whose touch it was begotten.
After seeing to that, Yennefer knelt and removed a floorboard. Beneath it was the ornate box she sought to find. She took it out, opened it, and feasted her eyes on the many animated memories in the colourless photos. Some dated back to her time in Hogwarts, but not beyond. Some commemorated more recent events, though none were taken in the last decade. Vanishing each had torn a piece of her heart. These scraps were all the documented history of her life. All the history she craved to pass down to the next generation, but knew she couldn’t. Would that she could have taken the box out to show Ciri what Hogwarts was truly like. It would have been the closest thing to her wish, if not the same. But she was an auror, as was her… well, her Geralt, and anything with a thread to their past should be gone. Many of the characters in her photos were gone, all of which were murdered, or killed in duels, or stabbed in the back. Some were betrayed by family, some were sold out by friends. The war nearly ruined the one constant thing in her life, which was as sporadic as they get, but she managed to reach with Geralt a strong understanding. They couldn’t betray each other even if they tried.
After the photos, some messages had to burn. Some were scraps of paper, dating back to the days of mischief at school. Some were atrocious attempts at love letters from her one true love, and some were messages from a mother she didn’t wish to know. All had to burn. Every single piece holding evidence to Yennefer’s existence, or to those of the ones she loved, or would have attempted to love had she the chance. The storm took the entire house. The useless camera sitting in Geralt’s drawer had to burn, their house scarves, his broken broomstick, a handkerchief torn from the tablecloth of the restaurant where they had their first date. Everything that could be traced to either one of them had to go. And when Ciri left for Hogwarts, Yennefer would have her pack everything she touched in her room, then she would spell it to seem as though no one had lived in it since Jaskier, she would-
The kestrel returned. It was rather quick, and in her panic she could only picture the worst. It swept through the air and gracefully landed on her shoulder, pecking the feathers in its wing to put them in order. “Tell her I send many kisses and can’t wait to have her back in my arms. And tell her I will make it to King’s Cross on September the first. Tell her I love her, Kestrel.” It said in Geralt’s voice, and she burst out laughing at his inability to adapt to technology.
It was meant to be a message in his voice, phrased as though it was spoken directly to her and not through a messenger, yet there they were, fifteen years and he was the same, telling the kestrel to tell her this or that when she speaks her messages as though talking to him.
The unexpected return of the bird eased some of her anxiety. Yennefer collapsed into an armchair, curled up, and without intention went to sleep. In the morning she will wake up early to make breakfast for Geralt’s goddaughter, the girl she came to adore but knew couldn’t keep forever. She would send her kestrel to receive her Hogwarts letter, and the sly thing wouldn’t be caught; solely because she created it, from the mere touch of her lover’s hand, and no one in the world could ever accomplish such madness, but she could, did. And that kestrel would serve the girl with all its magic, which came from the magic running in her veins. Hers was too devoted to that little gangly thing to disappoint her in any way shape or form, so Yennefer’s sleep was sound. For the first tie in too long.