“But is he still at home in the holidays? Are you… are you safe from him?” she pressed. She had enough contact with the Muggle world to understand what military school meant, more or less. Being yelled at until he wasn’t a problem any more. Learning order and discipline. But also being made stronger… She wasn’t sure what someone was supposed to do with someone like John Junior, but she actually didn’t really care where he was, so long as it was away from Parker. She was too distracted by this concern to pick up on the hint about his sister.
And then he hugged her. Cleo gave a very small, sharp intake of breath, and her shoulders tensed. She didn’t have time to think any more than the fact that she did not want to be touched - did not have time to think how to react or what to do - before it was over. As Parker let her go, she noticed the prairie elf, its hands centimetres away from grabbing him, suddenly stop, look confused and shuffle back to its gardening, although it stayed closer than it had been before, watching them. It had been coming up behind Parker, and she didn’t think he’d noticed. He carried on as if nothing had happened. And returned them to the subject of veela.
She wanted to say that it was unimportant. To shrug it off and make it go away. She felt less sure than ever that she wanted to talk about it. But she knew she couldn’t. Because talking about veela, reminding herself what they could do, had frightened her. Because Parker already seemed to have suffered enough. And the medic and her reassurances suddenly seemed small and irrelevant. She didn’t feel just as human as ever - the monster part loomed larger. She felt dangerous. And she wanted Parker to be safe.
“Yeah,” she said flatly. “Veela… Veela are monsters. And-” she could feel herself tearing up, and she took a step back, radiating a prickliness that warned Parker that she did not want reassuring shoulder pats or hugs. “It’s what my mom is,” her voice was rapid and shaky now, “I’m- I’m part monster,” and it was her turn to cry, the tears coursing down her cheeks. Tears were often the ruin of prettiness, turning faces blotchy and eyes puffy. And Cleo would have hated to know that all hers were doing were making her eyes sparkle, and that she couldn’t even execute that most of human of actions without it being coloured by the veela part of herself. “And I can- I don’t know. I don’t know exactly which veela things I can do, but I can do some of them, or will be able to. I can hurt people. I might hurt you,” And he had already been hurt so much, it seemed. No one deserved to be hurt by her, of course, but Parker so much less so.