The smell of perfume, and sweat clings to the bodies around them, as they move through the throng of busy people.
Gregory Sr stifles a sigh as he looks down at his daughter, walking between him and his son. There is an odd gleam in her eye. One that never boded well for those she chose to play with.
He continues watching the youngest of his children, and how her lips twitch as they enter the station. And feeling his gaze, finally looks up. Let's it slip into a more familiar grin. Something cat like, and feral.
And one that he remembers from his childhood.
Professor Kettleburn had been shouting for the beast to come down, when Gregory first saw the golden figure. The large cat lounging in the sun. It's long, corded tail slapping the eeves, as if in beat to the their hearts, as they huddled in small groups below.
The twist of lips had only grown, as the sphinx's powerful wings had cut through the air, and swept their hair back. Large paws sinking into the soft, rain spotted ground as it landed. It's wide mouth opening to call a challenge.
And then, the first test had begun.
Lucius whispering in Gregory's ear as the line advanced, heart put sideways in his chest. Palms slick, and damp as the beast looked on, examining them. Drawing it's tongue, across it's chops.
Eager.
His daughter was too much like that.
"Do you ever wonder what would happen if the train gained sentience and never wanted to let us off?" Gretta asks. Her question far to loud to be anything, but a ploy to strike fear into the children around them.
Hands motioning as she continues, "Because I can totally picture it father, all of us screaming as it continues on. The windows slamming closed and the-"
"Hey!" Gregory Jr rasps. Her elbow flying past him. The fat, brown streaked bird in his arms, flattening it's long, ear tufts in fury. Brown streaked wings rapping against the bars.
"That's quite the imagination," a tall figure drawls. His family settling in beside them.
"I know," Gretta remarks. Gray irises wandering up the well tailored robes, and towards his sheered blonde locks, cut inches from his skull. Which seemed to puzzle his daughter for some reason.
Gregory jr. snorts softly, elbowing his sister and offering a more polite, "Mr. Malfoy, Mrs."
Then nods towards their son, who's scanning the crowd. "Draco."
The other boy returns his greeting, half heartedly as he continues his search for the next dark lord.
"It has been months Gregory," Lucius chides, though they both know the reason he's been distant.
Behind the blonde man, Vincent appears, approaching with the rest of their kin. And like gobstones, the people around them scatter.
Blue eyes land on his daughter again
"No, you are right." she agrees. Brushing a braid behind her shoulder. "If it were mad, it would have a smile that couldn't be trusted."
The mans lips twitch, while the others greetings still. "Really?" he asks.
"Yes."
Madigan sniffs, drawing attention away from his daughter peculiarities, as she so kindly puts them. Her hands no longer fussing over Gregory Jr, and the grass clinging to his robes.
"Mother did not wish to see the children off?" she asks. Her gaze searching for the tall, heavy set woman.
"As if I would allow my grandchildren to be sent off, without saying goodbye," a voice says sharply, and they all turn.
White hair coifed in some absurd fashion, his mother stands, arm and arm with the elder Borgin. A dapper looking man, long past his prime and far to pale, to be truely healthy.
Lucius manages to recover first, from the shock and reaches for his mothers hand. Taking her knuckles to his lips, he says, "A delight as always."
The elder woman nods, eyeing him with distaste. "I am sure."
Gregory turns his head, when his mother does and focuses on a column near by. Let's his siblings do all the talking. He knows he'll be in for an earful when they get home, but he couldn't let his nephew protect the Malfoy heir alone, not with the way the boy behaved. The other kids would eat him alive.
And their were worse friends to have than the blonde prince, even with Lucius's diminished reputation.
And both his children would need them.
Taking the chance, he lets his eyes fall to his heirs.
The elder Borgin slips a well worn spell book into his daughters hand. Motioning to Greta's pocket, with a his other finger hovering before his lips. With shining eyes, she rises to kiss his wrinkled cheek, and wraps her arms around the thinning man.
The girl far to fond of the old man, just as his grandfather had been.
He sees his son standing by Vincent Jr, scouring the crowd with Draco. Overlooked by his grandfather's partner, just as he had been. No talent for the business the man had said, but he wasn't so sure. The boy kept his sister's secrets well, even from Gregory and while hesitant would follow the girl anywhere. Ignoring all the dangers. Given a sibling instead of a brain.
And sometimes Gregory worries.
Because honestly if their lord returned, would his children survive his wrath? Would his daughter stare his master down or would she stand beside Bellatrix, her brother at their knees? Or would she stand on all their graves, grieving?
Lucius said the man was gone and the marks had faded, but sometimes Gregory isn't so sure. The Lestrange's hadn't been, nor some of the others and sometimes he finds his hand raising up on it's own, to rub at the raw skin. Magic itching underneath the flesh, as if calling.
Sometimes he wakes up in a cold sweat, and full of pain, just as the first night. Though his room is empty when he rolls over. He wonders if it's his future, or theirs.
Gregory catches his sister hugging Vincent Jr and he scrubs a hand across his face. He doesn't want to leave them.
Not yet.
Tears threaten to spill as his mother ushers the children towards him. Her face grim, but not unknowing.
Gregory's heart catches again, at the sight of his children's faces. More like Amelia's then his. Bearing only his chin, and deep set eyes.
His throat tightens, and his hand trembles, just as it did on the night his wife first asked him to dance. Her hair wild, and eyes closed, as she hummed along with the music. Guiding his steps.
Gregory presses a kiss to their daughters forehead, catching a whiff of ink, and lavender soap as he does so.
His son smells more of chewed grass and sunlight, as he reaches over, and slips some coins into his pocket. Let's his lips linger a second longer.
"Take care of each other," he growls, not trusting his normal voice to waver. His arms tight around them, as they huddle together. Their heads just above his elbows.
"We'll be okay da," Gregory Jr promises. Squirming under the weight of the muscle.
His daughter meets his gaze. "Grandmother says we're survivors. We'll be fine."
Amelia's face flickers through Gregory's mind again, fierce and always so sure of herself.
"It'll be okay," his wife had promised, voice straining as she patted the spot beside her bed. And for a moment he had almost believed her.
And the tears start again.
Merlin, he misses that woman.
Gregory feels a soft cloth dab under his eyes.
"You're embarrassing us," Gretta chides, though her eyes are also wet.
Gregory Jr squirms again. Uncomfortable with the attention they are drawing. "Common Da, we gotta go."
"I know." he whispers, but can't seem to release them. His eyes close, trying to stem the flow of tears and Gregory pulls the children closer to him.
Promises himself just a few moments more.