Call from the Parents #7
The writing has stopped and the woman with the dark hair and strangely light eyes behind the desk massages her temple to ward off a headache. She doesn't flinch as a fire suddenly ignites in the fireplace across from her desk.
"Maureen," comes an angry voice from the grate.
"Yes, Lucius," she returns, her voice as soothing as always, the tones just as calm and unhurried.
"My son just got home," the icily furious voice continues.
"That was quick," interrupts the therapist, slowly standing from her chair and walking over to the fireplace. There, she can see the blonde-haired head engulfed in the flames.
"He took the Floo Network from the Embassy," Lucius explains, and then continues: "I asked him what you talked about today."
"Ah," Maureen the Therapist intones, completely unflustered.
Expecting a prompt, Lucius hesitates before angrily declaring: "He said nothing."
"Lucius," the dark haired woman murmurs, "what do you want?"
"I want you to help him, by Merlin! I want you to do what Narcissa and I cannot do, I want you to fix him!"
She sighs.
"There is nothing wrong with him, Lucius."
"Like hell there is!" His ringing exclamation, although muted by the carpeting and somber wall hangings and portraits on the walls – which are moving – is still too loud for the calm, dark room.
After meeting the amber eyes for a long moment his expression softens and his tone quiets. Penitent, he pleads, "Just – just make them stop. Make the dreams stop."
Maureen's eyes crinkle as her face softens into an almost-smile, smelling victory. If only the son could accept defeat as quickly as the father.
"I am trying." Her voice is calm; it does not betray her smugness at backing Lucius into a corner, although her golden eyes seem to glow with self-satisfaction. "Let me do this my way."
It is out of worry for his son, and not lack of cunning that the man is suddenly meek and nods humbly, glancing down at the carpeting in self-reflection.
However, after a second thought the eyes become icy and flash upwards towards the comforting warmth of the amber eyes.
"I am trusting you, Maureen." The threat is implicit in his tone; the woman barely manages to suppress the shudder that threatens to shatter her calm. And then the fire is suddenly extinguished.
After a moment, a ruby woolen shawl is located and removed from the closet and wrapped around the thin shoulders. The black boots form a path across the Oriental carpet to the desk, and the cold silence is filled with the gentle whisking of a blue ballpoint pen across black and white forms.