*Arcturus barges in, without the least regard for his son's privacy, a sheaf of pieces of parchment in his hands.* "What is this "wand wielders all" nonsense I found amongst the rough drafts of your homework in the library? Why are you polluting our family seat with this . . . this dross, this drivel, this insult to the entire line from which you descend, and in your case that phrase is most apt? Is this another one of those things, like "thinking for yourself", which I warned your mother would be the consequences of allowing a little hellion like you out of our sight? I knew, I just knew they couldn't be trusted to keep you on the straight and narrow, not in these days when there have even been Mudbloods in noble Slytherin itself. Fine, you need to prove you're "not me". I get it. It isn't as if I never did anything to show I wasn't Pater, but you're dragging your sister into the mire with you - and let's face it, she'll follow willingly into whatever circle of Hell you manage to condemn yourself to. Is it fair? To allow your ego to take her down with you?"
*Arcturus isn't given to emotional displays, which is perhaps why he chose a wife who is, but Ciaran pushes almost every button he has, and all of them simultaneously. He snarls at the ingrate.* "I presume the "unearned wealth" you're turning your superior nose up at is the same that has put you through school with nothing but the best, afforded you every opportunity to fence, ski, and indulge in all those other elitist Muggle pursuits you'd never have even got a sniff of if you were one of your precious Mudbloods? You, who have frittered away family funds at every chance, have the nerve to claim money doesn't matter. Do you have the remotest idea of your survival prospects out there in a world which cares for you less than you do for your own heritage? A Rookou is what you were born, what you are, and God help us, what you always will be, despite this aberration of outlook that you now so richly embrace. We're your blood, boy, and they're not. That's what is all comes down to. Always."
Caecey stands behind Arcturus, her eyes brimming with tears. "What are you saying?" she asks him. "What are you saying?" She looks worried, and she glances fearfully up at her father. "What's he saying?"
*Arcturus rounds on his daughter, and for the briefest of moments it seems as if the Bulldog is bursting through the man, fangs bared, as he half shrieks, half snarls, "Your rooms! Now!" He then reacquires his original prey, practically foaming at the mouth as he snaps.* You - Did - What? You dared to throw our birthright away on the scum the Muggles themselves consider untouchables, and fail to care for? Orphanages, the ultimate repository of those who, by very definition, are of no blood which cares to claim them, the kind of dregs that even the blood-suckers wouldn't drain. They wouldn't even be known to our true kind, if Riddle had only had the sense to choose one of us, a Pure-Blood, instead of debasing the ideals he claimed to espouse, by "marking as his equal" a castoff of questionable line, just like he was himself. Do you truly think you can possibly do some of your beloved "good" by hurling good money after bad, and feeding the vices of these creatures who have fallen as low as it is conceivable for even a Muggle to go?"
*With Caecey gone a sheath of gelid calm envelops Arcturus once more, the wand disappears, and everything about him straightens up and adjusts its tie, except his hands.* "It's my own fault, really, isn't it? Indulging that ridiculous - well, fetish is the only right word for it, you showed even as a stripling for those things that have come to be in the Stables, far more sub-human than the detritus of the Muggle streets could be. I knew of your association, friendship I'm sure you'd call it, with them, and I, fool that I am, thought, "He's being 'different'. He'll get it out of his system and recognise the truth engraved in every brick of the building - that we are special, it is in our nature to lead, our destiny to command." It never once crossed my mind, seriously, that I could be so misled, have harboured such a cuckoo in this historic nest as would betray blood, and give away all that we stood for, down through the ages. Well, it falls to me now to rectify matters, and that will have to wait until tomorrow. For tonight - we still have an undecided billiards set which began on Tuesday, and I'd like to see the matter resolved tonight, so I shall await you in the Billiards Room after supper. Don't disappoint me - again." *With that Arcturus turns on his heel and leaves.*
Her eyes widened as she saw the smashed room. "How terrible....how terrible." She daren't touch anything until she sees a sparkle of gold within the rubble. "The ring...." she murmured, picking it up with her left hand. Muttering the spell she had cast on it, the ring opened to show a picture of Caecey. "He left it....he left it." She shuddered. "Father-I mean Arcturus-must have smashed all of this." She looked at her own ring, muttered the same spell, and it opened to show a picture of Ciaran. "He must have thought...no, he can't have..." Unable to look at the smashed contents anymore, she went back out, still holding Ciaran's ring. "I hope that didn't happen to my wing too..."
HebathThe Rookery -"As you say." – 12:54, September 22, 2012 (UTC)
*Hebath knows how terrible will be Arcturus' wrath if he learns that anyone, even Caecey, was in here, so he Apparates to check that she didn't leave clear signs of her presence. He rearranges some bits of rubble to fully cover the floor once more, for it looks as if she picked something up, and then is gone again, returning to the other house elves in the Stables.
*Entirely against expectation, or any acknowledged desire, Arcturus finds himself wading through the rubble here, wondering what he should - might, might have done differently to make this place - not unoccupied.*
*Arcturus views his own actions from outside, as it were, seeing his wand twirl, and feeling the protective enchantments elsewhere in the building flood back through the wall and floor here, the magical equivalent of a systolic surge. The wreckage breaks up and floats back into place. Little by little, the semblance of order is restored.*
HebathThe Rookery -"As you say." – 22:12, October 17, 2012 (UTC)
*Acting on the Master's explicit orders, Hebath is now returning the wing to a liveable condition, in every "spare moment" he has.*
HebathThe Rookery -"As you say." – 17:48, October 19, 2012 (UTC)
*After four days of constant and exhausting effort, Hebath has the place "something like".
HebathThe Rookery -"As you say." – 18:55, October 19, 2012 (UTC)
*Hebath even risks a couple of small repairing charms, to fix a pair of trinkets Master Ciaran used to love, back when he lived here.*