Myles Montgomery Dodged a Basilisk (asinglestep) wrote in enemies_rpg, @ 2012-12-26 17:44:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! [1942-12] december, myles montgomery |
WHO: Myles Montgomery
WHERE: The Montgomery home in Edinburgh, Scotland
WHAT: Shockingly, Myles is kind of sad.
WHEN: 26 December, afternoon
STATUS/RATING: PG / Completed Log
The Montgomerys didn't take conversation lightly. They spoke of practical matters and theoretical ones, but there was always a distance, a removal. They rarely spoke about their feelings toward any given topic; their thoughts and theories, perhaps, but rarely their feelings. Topics like hydroelectric engineering and naval strategy were given more time and focus than what each Montgomery felt about some petty personal matter or feared about the war. Myles had never considered this unhealthy. He'd never even considered it odd. Getting too worked up or emotional over something was a sign of weakness, after all, and it clouded one's judgement on the matter. For Christmas Eve, they'd lit a candle for Rob. Myles's mother said prayers for him, and for the safe return of all the other soldiers and sailors and airmen. Their minister named all those the parish lost that year, from bombing or battle or natural causes. Christmas Eve was solemn, but Christmas Day was wild. Myles spent the day with Abernathy cousins he barely knew, but found himself withdrawing from them even as they sat around the same tree. He'd never had much in common with his more boisterous cousins; his mother's younger brothers were not much like she, and her nieces and nephews emulated their fathers. They'd always found Myles and Rob to be odd ones. Myles was relieved to be home the next day. Boxing Day could be quiet again. He'd forced himself to put aside his studies and spend more time with his parents before Christmas, but it didn't do much for him. They only spoke of Rob vaguely; his absence felt like a black hole, pulling them all in as they ignored it and went about their days. Every conversation with his parents left Myles feeling drained; he needed some time to himself. Or so he thought. He found himself distracted during his studies, reading the same passages again and again. Maybe a break was in order after all. He pushed Arithmancy aside, stretched, and rose from his chair. He considered going downstairs; his mother was reading in the study, he believed. Maybe he could spend some time with her while his father was at work. He didn't go, however. Instead, he felt drawn to the closed-up room at the end of the hall. Myles slowly opened the door to Rob's room. He was surprised to find it covered in a thin layer of dust--while his brother was alive, their mother kept the room spotless, waiting for his return. Now it looked as if no-one had opened that door in months. Perhaps not since the day he died. Myles stayed in the doorway for a moment, looking around the room. It was marginally larger than his own but with nearly identical furniture. A bed in the corner under the window, tucked in with hospital corners. A dark coloured bureau with four drawers and knickknacks across the top. A small desk with the same uncomfortable chair, with a matching bookcase next to it. The room mirrored his own, with headboards back up to each other and only a wall between. Myles crossed to his brother's bookcase. Battered old paperbacks and treasured collections overstuffed each shelf, and working out any one book was a challenge in itself. Rob read more fiction and poetry than Myles ever did; perhaps the magical world fulfilled Myles's need for stories and fantasies. He gently removed a Robert Burns collection from the shelf, and another of collected poems from the Great War. He paged through them, startling a little when he came across his brother's notes in the margins. Rob's scrawl was nigh illegible, and Myles felt as though he was invading his privacy even by looking at it. Still, he read. He sat on the floor of his brother's room, his back resting against the neatly-made bed. He lost track of time as he read, paging through the collections and trying to decipher Rob's thoughts and observations. After a while--he didn't know how long--he looked up around the room again. He felt more comfortable now, and more at peace. He placed the books on Rob's desk and left to his own room for a moment, quickly returning with his wand. He cast a few charms to gently remove the dust that covered the bureau, the shelves, the floor. He cleaned each gimcrack and book with great care, whispering spells and waving his wand gently to avoid any kind of damage. He didn't know how long his mother had been there, how long she'd stayed in the doorway watching him. It startled him when he saw her there, as though he was a child caught breaking some rule. They looked at each other for a moment before either spoke. "Is that what it's always like?" Myles was confused. "What what's always like?" "Magic." He blinked, considering. She'd never seen him do magic, he realized suddenly. He'd come of age in October and hadn't been home since. It was such a natural part of his life that he'd barely given it a thought. "Oh," he mumbled, looking down at his wand. "Well, not always. But on the other hand, yes, it mostly is." His mother crossed her arms, resting against the frame of the door. "What were you doing?" Her tone was even; he couldn't tell if she was feeling upset or offended or nothing at all. "Cleaning," he confessed, a little sheepishly. He didn't want to make it seem like she wasn't doing things right around the home. "I just …" "I wish I knew that trick," she said with a smirk. "It would certainly make housework quicker." Whatever strange tension he felt before was gone. He smiled. "I'd teach you, but I don't think it would work." She nodded. "It's amazing, all these years sending you away to that school. All those trips to that queer Alley, supplying you. None of that seems as real as this bit of magic here." Myles spent a lot of time wondering what his parents really thought of his schooling, of his magic at all. He never asked, of course. He always imagined they vaguely disapproved, though he had no real basis for that belief. He thought it left Rob as a natural favourite son, the one who would grow up to carry on the Montgomery name in a natural, normal way. He didn't mind; he had magic, after all, and he didn't think he could give that up even for deeper approval from his parents. His mother's tone made him question his theories. She seemed to be admiring him, almost proud. "I can do some more for you, if you'd like." His mother smiled, but her glances around the room tempered that. Myles hoped she didn't think he was defiling Rob's room somehow. "I'd like that. Later, when your father gets home." Myles agreed, and his mother changed the subject. "Which books are those?" she asked, motioning to the desk. Myles picked them up and held them to her, but she merely held out her arm, not stepping into the room to retrieve them herself. Perhaps she still wasn't ready. He bridged those few steps himself, and she paged through the books after he handed them to her. "These were some of his favourites," she said with a small smile crossing her lips as she closed them again. "I know." She graced her fingers lightly along the books' spines. "I think he'd be glad you're reading them." Somehow, his mother's blessing helped him; he felt relieved, though he already agreed with every word. "I think so, too." She handed the books back to him. He didn't put them back on the shelf, instead tucking them to his elbow. "I'm going to borrow them for awhile," he said. "Rob wouldn't mind." It wasn't a request for permission; he'd already decided. Perhaps his mother wanted the room left untouched, but Myles didn't. He didn't see what turning his brother's room into a tomb would do for anyone. "Maybe we can read a few of his favourites downstairs while we wait for your father," she suggested. She looked around the room once again. "God above, but I do miss him." Myles thought for a moment that this might have been the longest conversation he and his mother had held about Rob, and though he was surprised to notice the tear in his mother's eye, he was almost glad for it. He couldn't take all the weight of the words left unsaid and the mourning left unfinished much longer. "I do too, Mum." They left the room, but left the door open so they could see inside and remember. They read a few poems in the study downstairs, but spent more time talking about their memories of him and the ways they could keep him with them. When Myles's father came home, he joined them, and they finally started to heal the gaping hole Rob left behind. |