An unexpected visit Who: Pandora Summerby and Eugenia Montgomery (NPC) When: Late August 6/Early August 7 Where: St Mungos, Dora’s room What: Someone makes an unexpected visit. Warnings: Language.
A soft tap, tap, tap sounded out in the hall of St Mungos. An almost-remembered sound that drew Dora out of her half-doze. It was very late, or very early, depending on how you looked at such things, and she’d made Ewan go and sleep in the next bed over since hers wasn’t big enough, and anyway she was at the stage where she was having to pee every hour (but at least the bloating was finally going down) and she still didn’t sleep well, despite her tiredness. She’d put gentle silencing charms so her getting up and down wouldn’t disturb him as well as the night healers coming to check on her and bringing the babies in and out.
Someone deserved to get some sleep at the moment, and she knew it really wouldn’t be her right now.
She actually had McKay in the careful circle of her arms, cradled protectively against her chest. He had a much weaker suck than his sister, so it took a lot longer and more of a struggle to feed him so far than it took to feed Ainsley. So it wasn’t unusual, already, for her to have him a lot longer than her daughter, and this time she’d just about dozed off.
She hadn’t quite placed the familiarity of the sound when a small, slim figure appeared in the doorway. It was one that bore a startling similarity to her own. Dora blinked at her mother, who was possibly the last living person she’d ever expected to show up in her hospital room.
Her arms were crossed over her chest, fingertips on opposite shoulders in a familiar defensive move that Dora almost always utilized. Eugenia Montgomery was still a beautiful woman, all sharp edges much like Dora herself. Her dark hair might have a couple of strands of silver, but they were largely lost in the glossy darkness, and maybe there were creases in the corners of her eyes and such, but she was trim and fit and lovely.
Dora felt like a pale imitation at the moment, as washed out as she was, as tired and worn out.
“I’m not here to cause a fuss,” she said abruptly, her voice sharp but soft so as not to upset the baby. “But I heard about the babies.” Not from Hyperion, either. For one, there was her public journal entry, but there was also the fact that Eugenia Montgomery was the Head of the DMLE and she had connections everywhere. “I wanted to make certain you all were all right.” And that was about as much of a concession as the woman wanted to make.
Fortunately, Dora did still speak her language, and though her own body language had shuttered at Eugenia’s arrival, she didn’t follow her initial instinct to kick the woman out without hearing anything she had to say. Her pale eyes did narrow slightly, but she couldn’t initiate a stare down when the baby stirred at her breast, releasing her nipple again and looking up at her with those wide, undefined little baby eyes that made her melt just a bit. She tweaked her gown back into place, not self-conscious about it – this was her mother, after all, it wasn’t as if the woman hadn’t seen her naked – and shifted the tiny body up to her shoulder in a motion that was almost graceful. A little more practice and it might even become effortless.
When she looked back up, Dora could see what she’d never expected to on her mother’s face, if only briefly before those shutters slammed shut again. Longing. It was so easy for most people to forget that Eugenia had birthed and raised five children – well, four to adulthood. So the worst of her vitriol died on her lips and she merely snapped quietly, “How did you even get in here?”
Eugenia jut gave her a look, and Dora rolled her eyes at her, something she knew had always annoyed the woman. Of course. She was the head of the DMLE. She could get in just about anywhere she wished to.
“Did Hyperion tell you, then?”
“No, actually. He said he’d ask you if he could give the details. I have other ways.” She shrugged, a sharp, uncomfortable movement. “Don’t worry. I had the healer on duty do the spells just in case. I wouldn’t risk your little darlings.”
Most would have bristled at the words or even the tone. But despite the ill feelings she held towards her mum, she understood the woman on a deeper level than possibly all her siblings in some ways. After all, she’d spent over a year with her uncles Rabastan and Rodolphus, and of course dear Aunt Bellatrix. That experience had shed a lot of light on how it must have been to grow up in that kind of household, so very different one than the one Eugenia and Heracles had created for their children. It brought to stark relief how very much her mother had changed and separated herself from the people who had raised her. Certainly she had trouble showing her feelings, especially the softer ones, but who wouldn’t, in a household like that? It was a miracle she’d managed what he had. So instead of instantly taking offense, she took a moment to actually hear the words. Tiredness actually aided her in this.
“The healers say they’re going to be fine. We just have to be very careful with them.” A hesitation, a consideration, and then the very tired witch tugged the blanket down just a bit so Eugenia could see the small face of her grandson.
Eugenia took several steps closer, arms still crossed, but something in her expression softened a bit. “He’s very small.”
Again, it could be taken as a criticism, but Pandora was completely familiar with how defensive a person could be when uncomfortable because she did it all the time. “He is the smaller of the two. Ainsley’s a bit bigger.” She hooked her chin towards the incubator next to the bed, where her daughter was sleeping if somewhat fretfully, a familiar state of affairs when the twins were parted right now.
Eugenia tried to keep the glance cursory but just as obviously couldn’t manage it. Her fingers gently brushed the incubator though she didn’t try to touch the child in it. “Can’t lose the Lestrange looks, can we,” she said, and there was a note of bitterness in it.
Dora had wondered if she was imagining it, but her daughter did seem like she might have the sharper features that Dora had, though time would tell about her eyes. Even McKay had slightly sharper features, though she saw a lot of her husband in the baby as well. And a bit of her father, to be honest. “Why should we. We’re lovely,” Dora replied. It earned her a startled look. “So long as we lose the insanity bit in this generation, I think things will be fine,” she added, dry and deadpan.
A soft snort and a step back. Not quite a laugh, but an appreciation of the faintly dark humor. “There is that,” Eugenia agreed.
The silence stretched out, awkward and not completely comfortable, but neither showed those things. Dora’s fingers gently stroked the cheek of the baby cradled against her chest, so small and delicate. She knew she should offer to let her mother hold him or something, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to. Not yet. The thought of yet surprised her, for just a year ago she would have sworn that she’d never speak to her mother on good terms again.
But becoming a mother did change things. It changed your perspective. She already understood Eugenia well; she felt that she might understand her even better now. And her children deserved a grandparent on her side, if only the one she had available. If things got out of hand, she’d put a stop to it directly. But she’d been thinking her entire pregnancy that maybe she should reach out, and here was Eugenia who, by her very presence, was reaching out. Even Dora could realize that much, through her anger and bitterness which were really hard to reach for right now, with her son in her arms.
When Dora looked up, her mother was starting to slip, nearly soundlessly, out of the door. Torn, she almost let her leave. “Mother,” she found herself saying before she could even remember giving her mouth permission to open. The slim, dark figure stopped, frozen in place. It was the formal title, to be sure, but it wasn’t her name, as Dora had been using it the few times they had spoken in the more recent past.
For a moment she was quiet, uncertain now that she’d spoken, what to say. She knew that Ewan probably wouldn’t undertand. Nora or Alec either. But…
“If you’d like to see them again, we can make arrangements,” she said.
Silence, and then a sharp nod backlit by the light from the hall. “I’d like that.” So soft she might have imagined it.
Then Eugenia was gone, the heels of her boots tapping their way back down the hall. The cadence familiar from her childhood, those days her mum couldn’t come home in time to put them to bed, but when the soft sound of her boots tapping in the hall always roused the wee little Dora, once she could hear, so she could wrap sleepy arms around her neck and get her good night kiss, no matter how late it was.
It was a memory made of love, and the sound that had roused her even at the age of thirty, familiar even after all these years. Tears slipped soundlessly down her cheeks and dripped onto a quietly protesting McKay’s head, which she kissed in apology and murmured a promise to be as good of a mum as she could.
Because of a certainty, her mother had tried, and was trying now, too. In her own way.