You and I walk a fragile line

[julian_sheep]

At precisely five minutes until eight o'clock, Julian appeared on the front steps of the Clearwater's townhouse, a bottle of 2000 Alberto Conterno Dolcetto d'Alba tucked under his arm. He didn't want to be here, meeting his children's grandparents; in fact, there were a number of places he'd rather be. But that sensation-- doing something he'd rather not-- had been exceedingly prevalent in his life since May.

The only semi-redeeming factor of the evening was that Mr. and Mrs. Clearwater were Muggles. More likely than not, they'd not kept abreast of his and Penelope's professional relationship through The Daily Prophet.

Adjusting his cufflinks one last time, he reached up to rap smartly on the thick wooden door.

After a moment, the door swung open to reveal what must have been the Clearwater's butler, dressed formally in black.

"Good evening, sir."

"Good evening," Julian replied with a slight inclination of his head. Proffering a calling card from his inner breast pocket, he held it out to the older man. "Julian Vaisey for the Clearwaters."

"Of course, Mr. Vaisey," the butler intoned as he studied the card, his voice low and smooth. "You are expected."

Moving aside, the butler allowed Julian entry and relieved him of his jacket before guiding him to the drawing room. "This way, if you please, sir."

The townhouse was what one would expect of Mayfair--monied. From the mirror bright floor to the sparkling chandelier, it spoke of privilege and a rather large bank account. The Clearwaters, though not of the peerage, had obviously done well for themselves.

Stepping through a particular door, the butler presented Julian to the waiting family, "Mr. Julian Vaisey has arrived, sir."

"Very good, Gerald. Send him in," Maxwell Clearwater ordered genially from his seat.

Handing the bottle of wine off to the butler, Julian stepped into the room. The sitting room reminded him of one of the rooms at Wolborough House; tasteful and elegant, with various furnishings speaking to the old money of the family.

And there was silence.

The Clearwaters were arranged facing the door, Penelope on the sofa while her parents sat opposite of each other. Penelope's stomach churned as she watched both of her parents sum up the man that had fathered their grandchildren yet had not married their daughter. She wasn't sure which was more upset, her father for the ill he considered done to his daughter or her mother for being denied a wedding to plan and gloat over. In the long run, Penelope supposed it didn't matter. They would either become accustomed or not. That didn't stop her from wanting to the couch to eat her.

"Mother, Father, I'd like to introduce you to Julian Vaisey." Penelope found her voice, rising to stand as her parents did. "Julian, this is my father, Maxwell Clearwater and my mother, Gertrude."

"How do you do?" he asked politely, inclining his head towards the stern duo. The tension in the room was near palpable, but that was to be expected. There were echoes of Penelope in both her parents; shades of blue eyes and dark hair, the facial structure of her daughter echoed in the mother. And, of course, the thinly-veiled judgement.

"Quite well, thank you," Maxwell replied amiably enough, offering his hand.

Julian took the older man's hand and gave it a firm shake. "Thank you for the invitation to dinner," he said cordially, gaze drifting from Mr. Clearwater to his wife.

"A pleasure, Julian," Gertrude said, head bobbing briefly as she held out her own hand. Her lips formed a thin close-lipped smile.

"Mrs. Clearwater," Julian said easily, lips curling as he took her hand and pressed a chaste kiss to the back. "It's a pleasure to meet you as well." He could see the judgement written in her gaze; who was this man who had the audacity to impregnate her daughter?

Gertrude's eyes widened at Julian's action but she didn't pull away. Penelope thought she may have detected a hint of a blush on her mother's cheeks but her composure never faltered. It must have pained her mother to try not to be charmed by the man.

Maxwell, however, watched the action, his pleasant features drifting into unimpressed territory.

The introductions made, the group descended into awkward silence. One that Gertrude felt the need to fill.

"So, Julian, I'm not sure Penelope has ever told us what it is that you do."

He was quite sure she hadn't, and the look in his eyes was amused as he glanced over at Penelope before returning back to Gertrude. "I own several nightclubs through the United Kingdom, with two in Europe as well," he said, settling down on the settee across from Mrs. Clearwater. "Two in London, with locations in Dublin, Amsterdam, Florence, and I'm looking to expand into Paris soon."

Penelope could practically see her mother mentally tallying just how successful a club owner would have to be to have such an international and still expanding reach. From the looks of the sparkling smile Gertie put on, the number must have been impressive. It would have to be, for Gertrude Clearwater to even vaguely approve of a nightclub owner, charming or not.

"An entrepreneur, then!" Gertrude exclaimed. "How fascinating. Don't you think so, darling?"

The last was addressed to Maxwell, who, while not outwardly hostile, wore a pleasantly bland expression that Penelope recognized as the face her father wore as he measured a man, often to the point of letting them dig their own graves. "Yes, of course, dear. Though I've never been one for those sort of establishments, even in my youth. Do you often frequent your clubs, Julian?"

"I maintain an office at each, Mr. Clearwater," Julian answered as honestly as possible-- the man didn't need to know about the intricacies of his Amsterdam operation. "But I've always felt it best to keep business and pleasure separate."

That might have been stretching the truth a tiny bit, but no one needed to know that.

"A wise decision," Maxwell said briefly, nodding with grudging approval.

Refraining from comment was an even wiser decision on Penelope's part, though her lips pursed at Julian's whitewashing. Ignorance was bliss for everyone on this particular topic.

"They must be quite spectacular, your clubs, for you to be doing so well." Gertrude continued on, making the aimless conversation that she did so well. "Though you're quite biased, I'm sure. Have you ever been to any of Julian's establishments, Penelope? You could give us a more even-handed review."

Penelope started, not expecting to be drawn into the questioning. This was supposed to be an inquisition into Julian, not her.

"A time or two, yes," Penelope admitted. "Julian's clubs are the place to be and be seen. The service is exemplary, in my experience." There was no need to mention just how often she'd been to those clubs or what she was doing there. And absolutely no need to mention the operations that those places masked.

Julian couldn't help the curl to his lips any more than he could help the sun rising in the morn. Though things had soured between them, things had-- at the time-- been extremely warm between them, and the times Penelope had frequented his clubs, she'd been naked and writhing in his office.

But that needn't be voiced. He was quite sure her parents would not want to know that little tidbit of information.

"For the most part, they're all nightclubs, but I've recently opened a burlesque in London," he offered easily, letting his smirk slide to a more pleasant expression as he looked back at Gertrude.

She didn't disappoint. Eyes wides, Gertrude held a hand to her pearl necklace in shock. "Really? How scandalous!"

"But less scandalous than a gentlemen's club," he pointed out helpfully, unperturbed by her gasp of surprise. Perhaps this was where Penelope got her sense of righteous indignation...

"I wouldn't know to make the comparison, sir," Gertrude sniffed.

Penelope wished she had telepathy so that she could tell Julian to stop giving her mother fodder to make a fuss over. She traded a knowing look with her father. Being on a sinking ship wouldn't phase her mother but there were standards to uphold and if they included smelling salts and histrionics then, by God, Gertrude would have them.

And silence once again settled upon the group. Julian did not feel the need to try and justify his business choices to Penelope's mother-- he had a feeling that no matter what he said, she would find reason to turn up her nose at him.

Luckily, the butler stepped into the room once again. "Dinner is ready to be served, Mrs. Clearwater."

Attention diverted, Gertrude nodded at the man. "Thank you, Gerald."

She rose, forcing everyone else to their feet. Maxwell offered his arm to his wife, who took it absently as they exited toward the dining room.

Giving Julian a sideways look, Penelope trailed far enough behind to be out of earshot of her parents.

"You're doing rather well," she stated, more brusquely than she'd intended. Oddly, she really did want her parents to think well of Julian. She reasoned that is was because that, no matter what, he was the father of their grandchildren and bound to show up to more social gatherings in the future. Getting along would just be easier.

"For someone who started out so low in esteem, you mean," he replied dryly, barely lifting a brow at her somewhat surprised tone. He could charm a woman no matter what, and despite Gertrude Clearwater's society matron hysterics, he was not phased. She was like wisteria; a high climber, and it was plainly obvious she wanted the same for her daughter-- whether she agreed or not.

His Nonna could have taught her a lesson or two about true society women.

Penelope shrugged in helpless agreement then moved to follow her parents. "It could have been much worse," she pointed out. Much much worse. "And ignore my mother. She'll put on quite the show if you let her."

"Yes, she seems prone to histrionics. Disappointed I don't have a title, a seat in Parliament?"

"Shattered, more like. I was her only hope. I have two brothers but they certainly can't get a title off their wives."

Having been raised solely in the wizarding world, Julian wasn't entirely certain what all the fuss over the peerage was all about. He understood royalty, but it wasn't as if having a title simply made one royal.

"Well," he said sardonically, straightening his cufflinks once more, "I shall try not to overly disappoint her any more than my mere presence already has."

"I wish you luck," Penelope stated, surprising herself by meaning it, as they turned into the dining room.

Gertrude and Maxwell were taking their seats as Penelope and Julian approached the table. Gertrude didn't seem to notice the delay in arrival but Maxwell, silently observant as ever, raised an eyebrow at his daughter. Penelope ignored him.

"Well, Julian, how are you finding fatherhood?" Maxwell asked, his gaze sliding to Julian.

"I'm settling into it," Julian replied, taking a seat after Penelope had sat down. His eyes met the older man's piercing gaze, holding it unflinchingly. He did not need to offer any extraneous information-- not that in was in his nature to do so, anyway. But he could recognize where he stood, and his position with Maxwell Clearwater was tenuous indeed.

He didn't particularly care what the man thought of him, but he didn't know these people-- besides knowing their daughter in a carnal way, but for once that did not count. He did not want the Clearwaters to treat his children poorly because of their personal disdain for him.

Maxwell nodded slowly. He carefully unfolded his napkin in his lap, appearing to be deep in thought. "It does take a bit of getting used to," he began, seemingly absently. "To the idea that there are now others that rely upon you completely for their well-being. That there are now greater responsibilities than pleasing one's self. It's quite the change."

"It has been, yes," Julian replied with a slight nod. "I've not had family to call my own for over ten years. Adjusting to that alone has taken some time."

"Oh, how horrible!" Gertrude exclaimed around the servant pouring her wine. "I can't even imagine. My condolences for losing your parents so early, Julian."

"My grandparents," he corrected, green eyes watching the fluid pour of the red wine into the crystal goblet before glancing back at Gertrude. "My mother died shortly after I was born. I was raised by my grandparents."

The woman gasped again but was cut off by her husband, "I'm sure they were fine people." He coughed. "Were they as uniquely talented as you and my daughter?"

Julian raised a brow at the other man's cough. "You are asking if my grandparents were..." he trailed off, reminded of the Muggle servants and the Statute of Secrecy. "If they attended the same school as we did?"

Maxwell nodded, "Indeed, it's quite the institution. You must be quite unique to be accepted."

"Yes, they did." His grandmother had actually attended Beauxbatons, but Penelope's father wasn't asking about their education; he was wondering if they had been wizards. "My entire family did."

"The children would seem to have a better than average chance of being accepted as well, then?"

He glanced over at Penelope and took a sip of his wine. "It's not a guarantee, but their odds of enrollment are very high," he said, setting the glass down.

"That's wonderful!" Gertie exclaimed. "I'm so glad our grandchildrens' education is already at the forefront of your minds. Which reminds me, I've booked the church for the 9th of October. It was the earliest date I could acquire. I keep forgetting to tell you, dear, you come so infrequently."

Penelope blinked at her mother, completely taken aback. A church? The woman could not possibly be so interfering as all that. She hadn't even met Julian before tonight!

She traded a rather panicked glance with Julian before replying. "A church, Mother?"

"For the baptism, of course!" Gertie admonished. "I knew you'd forget so I took it upon myself to make arrangements. Besides, your father and I wanted to do something for you both and the children."

Maxwell made a gruff non-committal noise between spoonfuls, implying to Penelope that his only involvement had been monetary.

"How, er, thoughtful, Mother. Thank you." She looked at Julian, urging him to say something as well.

The look he gave her in return was bland, but his mind was swirling with thoughts. A church? A bloody baptism? He hadn't been baptised, but his grandparents had not been members of the Church of England. Most of the old ilk weren't. Christianity was, relatively speaking, a new religion.

"A baptism?" he finally asked, raising one brow at Penelope rather than her overbearing mother.

Penelope shrugged. "A little water on the forehead couldn't hurt? And it's a nice way for everyone to see the twins at once."

He was quite sure there was more to this service than just a little water on the forehead. But arguing about that would do no good. If he caught fire for stepping on so-called holy ground, he would make sure there were provinces in place for Edmund to bring a wrongful death suit on behalf of his estate against Gertrude.

"That sounds..." awful, "lovely."

Gertrude accepted the lukewarm response to her gift with more aplomb than Penelope generally credited her mother. "You'll need to begin thinking about godparents soon, of course. So that the vicar can approve them."

Approve them? "And what sort of criteria does one need to be approved as a godparent?"

"Traditionally, someone of upstanding moral character that can help bring the children up in the faith. Though how strictly that is observed can vary from couple to couple," Maxwell clarified.

Julian wanted to mutter, 'Do we know anyone of upstanding moral character?' to Penelope, but prudence held his tongue. Instead, he simply said, "I see," and took another sip of his wine. The list of potential godparents, according to their standards, was like to be rather short.

Penelope's thoughts were along the same lines as Julian's though she felt that she knew a number of upstanding witches and wizards, she wasn't sure they'd quite meet the vicar's idea of a proper godparent. But they would cross the bridge when they came to it.

"Very well then, we'll have to discuss that sometime," Penelope stated, glancing at Julian with a nod. That should be as fun as having a root canal. "Until then, Mother, I'd appreciate you telling me what you've already planned and told everyone." Gertrude opened her mouth to do just that. "Not tonight, Mother. Tomorrow." Or the next day. Or never.

For awhile, the dinner party settled into silence, focusing more on their plates than each other. Then, Penelope's father broke the quiet again. "So, what do you do for leisure, Julian?"

He thought for a moment, discarding a number of responses that weren't appropriate for present company. "I've a villa on Lake Como that I enjoy visiting when I've the time," he said finally. The servants were gone, so there was no harm in continuing, "and I co-own a professional Quidditch team, so I take in matches when my schedule allows."

Seeing her parents' skeptical looks, Penelope spoke up to reassure them. "It's a rather good team, actually. Top of the League."

"Our Keeper was on the squad that won the World Cup," Julian added, choosing not to correct Penelope. As it stood, Appleby was still behind Puddlemere in the standings, but he was confident his squad would soon take the top spot.

"Marvelous, a sportsman, then!" Maxwell exclaimed, finally finding a topic he enjoyed speaking on. "Did you ever play? I've always been intrigued by the snippets I hear about it from Penelope."

"I did," the younger man replied with a nod, pausing to take a sip of wine. "When I was younger, at school."

"What's it like to fly?" Penny's father pressed on, curiosity overcoming his ambivalent opinion of Julian momentarily.

Julian blinked. His interactions with Muggles had been minimal, and although he had done a few transactions in the non-magical world, he'd never tried to explain the things he took for granted-- flying, magic, and so forth-- to someone who'd never experienced it.

"It's exhilarating," he said finally, his words paused as his tone turned pensive. "It's equally terrifying and liberating. A rush unlike anything else, really."

"I wonder if it's anything like a motorbike?" Maxwell wondered aloud, trying to imagine flight. Gertrude shot him a look, prompting him to clear his throat. "Dreadful contraptions, really. Horses suit me quite well."

"Father has a stable," Penelope covered for her father and elaborated for Julian.

Penelope's mother smiled at her husband, mollified, while Penelope herself snickered into her napkin. She'd seen the photos of her father and his motorbike, a relic of his years at university, and she was sure there was nothing he missed more than it from those years. Though never in her mother's hearing. The horses would have to do.

Horses, Julian knew. A motorbike-- whatever Muggle contraption that was-- was something else entirely. He couldn't say with certainty that he'd ever seen one. And with the complacent smile Gertrude wore coupled with Penelope's snickers, he was quite sure there was some sort of joke he was missing out on.

"I wouldn't know," he said smoothly, easily covering his lack of knowledge. "Motorbikes aren't commonplace in our world."

"It's like an automobile with two wheels and a seat like a bicycle. There's no enclosure so they're considered quite dangerous," Penelope explained.

He gave a small nod in acknowledgment, hiding his small flash of irritation. Bloody Muggles. He took another sip of his wine and let the silence take hold.

Gertrude came the rescue once again. "Tell us about your villa, Julian. I've always dreamed of having one."

Julian set his wine glass down. "It's just a small house on Lake Como, near Lenno. Villa del Barbianello. It belonged to my grandmother's family, and we used to holiday there when I was a child." Many of his happiest memories with his grandparents had been at the lakeside home, swimming in the shallows and learning how to sail.

"And what is there to do there? I've heard the area is lovely."

"It's a popular spot for sailing," he answered, "as well as other watersports. There are a number of reputable spas and resorts, and it's not very far from Milan."

Both Gertrude and Penelope's ears perked at the last. Maxwell tried not to look too green at the thought of being out on the water.

Gertrude sighed, "Darling, why don't we have a villa?"

"Because we have a place in the Alps, dear," Maxwell replied with the tired tone of an argument had many times before. "Do you ski, Julian?"

"No," Julian answered. "Skiing is not particularly prevalent in our world."

Maxwell harrumphed, the negative response knocking him back into his more sullen mood.

Penny was actually surprised that the dinner was going so well. Of course, Gertrude would maintain a steady stream of polite conversation with her dying breath if she must but her father's willingness to participate was surprising and much appreciated. She was also rather pleased that she'd avoided being a part of much of the conversation of the evening, freeing her watch Julian interact.

She'd told him before and it was still true, he was doing rather well. Her father had shown and interest and Gertrude was mentally in Italy. Not that Penelope wasn't--a villa, really? She wondered if they'd ever be in a place in their lives where she'd be invited.

For the Clearwaters, dinner was winding down. Unfortunately, it seemed that they'd kept Julian talking so much that he hadn't been able to get more than a bite or two in edge-wise and a glass of wine. Penelope decided to be helpful and distract her parents for awhile to let Julian eat. She spoke of her work, interesting clients she'd taken on and what the children had done one day or another.

His food was nearly cold, but Julian took the opportunity presented by the chatter amongst the Clearwater family to eat. He was reserving judgement on the older couple; Maxwell seemed a pleasant enough sort, a complete opposite from his wife. Oh, Gertrude was pleasant enough, but all it had taken for her to drop her judgmental air were the mentions of his business and his family villa.

A social climber, indeed.

The mention of something Cassandra had done made his lips twitch as he brought his wine glass up for another sip.

Keeping an eye on Julian's plate, Penelope prattled on, even discussing the baptism a bit with her mother. But almost as soon as the last bite food passed Julian's lips, Penelope was making their excuses. "Oh, is that the time?" she exclaimed, looking at the clock to her left. "I told Nana I'd be home twenty minutes ago."

Gertrude made a disappointed sound.

"And I've an early morning meeting in Amsterdam," Julian added, momentarily grateful-- however fleeting a sensation that might be-- for Penelope's quick actions. "Dinner was lovely, Mrs. Clearwater. Thank you for the invitation."

The next fifteen minutes were taken up with the intricate niceties of leaving before dessert. Gertrude fussed and Maxwell shook Julian's hand firmly--maybe a bit too firmly but it was hard to tell. Penelope smiled, making empty promises to be in touch more often and suddenly they were on the street.

Penelope looked at Julian and breathed a sigh of relief. "We did it."

He had survived. That in and of itself was a miracle. "It's over," he said in return, only the slightest loosening of his shoulders serving as testament to the past few hours' tension. "Until the ninth, at least."

"One thing at a time," Penelope advised. She shifted awkwardly, considering how to say goodbye. "I'll see you when you come for the twins, I guess."

"One o'clock on Tuesday," Julian said softly, their early-week standing appointment etched in his memory. It was one of the few times he was able to spend time with the children. He wouldn't miss it. "I'll collect them from your office."

She nodded. "Goodnight, then." Turning, she began to walk away. Home was only a few blocks away, making it a pleasant enough walk rather than Apparating.

Julian started to go the opposite direction, but he stopped and turned. "Penelope."

Slowing, Penelope looked back over her shoulder. "Yes?"

"If you had known," he asked, giving voice to a question that had been lurking the entire evening. Longer than that, really. "Would you still have done it?"

Penelope was quiet for a long while, considering the question. Would she have turned in evidence if she had known she was pregnant? She wanted to say no, but that wasn't right--was it? 'Yes' should be the answer. She stared at the father of her children and slowly shook her head. "It doesn't matter. I did it."

"Yes," he said softly, green eyes meeting hers in a look that said everything yet nothing at the same time, "you did." On the street, a taxicab slowed, then drove away when it was obvious there wasn't a fare to be had here. "Goodnight, then."

"Night." Her voice nearly a whisper. And then she walked away.