Best Laid Plans
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or pride and Prejudice. All recognisable characters, content, or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.
Part One: The Defence Association
Chapter Ten:
Since her birthday, Helena has spent very little time in Grimmauld Place. Sirius has her accompanying him to meetings - with solicitors, with political allies, with business partners, with tenants, with the Blackthorn and Peverell stewards, with accountants and bankers and then some - in an observational capacity, and between her holiday lessons, extra-curricular training, and leisure activities at Blackthorn Park, Peverell, and Linfred Castle, the only real time she's spent at the Black Family townhouse is for sleep, to shower, and to change her clothes. It's exciting and exhausting, novel and nerve-wracking, and before Helena is really prepared for it, it's the 21st of August, everything is in place, and 14 years after their initial admittance into St Mungo's, it's finally time to take her parents home.
"Are you ready for this?" Remus asks. He's taken the day off for the occasion, to provide moral support for Helena, but also in the hopes that familiar faces - Sirius, Remus, Emilyn, and Helena herself - might keep James and Lily calm. THey'll be dosed with a mild sedative, but portkey travel is discombobulating for anyone, and no one wants to distress them any more than necessary.
Unfortunately, complete sedation isn't an option. Her parents don't handle it well, with a tendency towards violence if they don't recognise their surroundings when they wake, and it is subsequently paramount that they remain aware throughout the process of relocation.
"As I'll ever be," Helena picks listlessly at her toast, her stomach churning. She'd spent a restless night tossing and turning, second-guessing her decision, questioning if they'd done everything they needed to, imagining how the day would play out, and she's exhausted. Nervous, too, but there's no helping that.
"It will be fine," Sirius opines, tucked away behind his self-made fortress of that morning's edition of the Daily Prophet, "We've got everything handled."
Helena exhales through her nose, not reassured at all. SHe's seen the plans and the contingency plans, but nothing ever goes the way anyone expects. For all they know, her father might discover a well of protective fury inside him, turn into Prongs, and charge the staff. Her mother's (supposedly notorious) motion sickness might be triggered by the magical travel. Perhaps neither of them will take well to Isolde Cottage. Anything is possible.
"You've got this, Hallie," Dora offers Helena an encouraging grin. SHe's got the morning off (again), and she's volunteered to watch over the bratpack while the rest of them are occupied. Leo and Phoenix are stoked, Carina is excited, too, and Helena half-expects they'll all return to Grimmauld Place to find Sirius' and Emilyn's children hyped up on sugar, causing chaos, having the time of their lives.
Moderating influence, Dora Tonks is not.
Helena's almost jealous. She'd idolised Dora as a child, the cool, older cousin who always had time for her, with stories and games and sweets to share, larger than life and the big sister Helena never had. She's older now - they both are - and their relationship has shifted as school and work and life has gotten in the way, but some of that hero worship remains. Their weekly training sessions at Blackthorn Park are great, and Helena's already learned a lot from Dora, but frankly, Helena would love to spend a day with the older witch, to wile away the hours with fun and games and absolute nonsense.
Perhaps one day…
"Thanks," Helena smiles feebly, "I hope so."
Dora's expression doesn't falter. "I know so."
Helena can only hope she'll some day have that kind of confidence.
-!- -#-
Helena steps out of the Floo Network into the lobby of St Mungo's, unsurprised to find Sirius, Remus, and Emilyn remain close by.
Beyond them, the waiting area is predictably busy, packed with the usual collection of witches and wizards in the midst of a wide variety of magical misadventures.
"Are we ready to go?" Emilyn asks. She can't take her eyes off a wizard in rumpled robes, utterly overwrought, and with a scarlet 'A' branded on his forehead. It seems someone is quite unhappy with him.
"Let's go," Helena replies. She leads the way to the lifts, and falters only when she catches sight of the individuals already at the elevator bay. In particular, her fellow classmate, Fitzwilliam Darcy.
It's not the first time Helena's encountered her Hogwarts peers at St Mungo's. The hospital isn't a standard health and wellness clinic, and neither does it cater to maternity care or paediatrics or any of the other everyday kind of health requirements or problems that effect wizards, witches, and humans in general. Magical accidents, injuries, maladies and catastrophes are frequent enough though, that if it hasn't occurred to any of her classmates, then it's happened to one of their relatives, and so such encounters take place often enough that Helena shouldn't be surprised by it.
She is though, the experience unfailingly jarring to her equilibrium, and like every other time before, Helena is left flatfooted by the collision of two completely separate facets of her life.
Mercifully, Sirius, Emilyn, and Remus are not.
"Matlock," Sirius addresses his colleague, "Lady Eleanor. And Fitzwilliam Darcy, it's been some time."
Will Darcy looks drawn and haggard, a far cry from the tidy, put-together appearance Helena has come to expect from her classmate and childhood friend. His relatives don't look much better, and Helena knows - without asking - that his mother's frail health - a byproduct of a slow-acting curse during the war - has taken a bad turn. Her heart hurts for him, for his toddler-age sister, for his whole family.
"Blackthorn," Lord Matlock acknowledges in kind, sad and solemn, "Lady Emilyn, Lady Clayton, Mr Lupin."
None of them bother with the usual exchange of bows and curtsies and inane pleasantries. It's hardly the time or place for such things, they're all at St Mungo's for a reason, and no doubt, they all have other - far more important - things to concern themselves with. Instead, they linger in a heavy, interminably long silence until the elevator arrives, avoid eye contact, ignore the elephant in their midst, and then shuffle awkwardly into the (magically expanded) elevator car when it finally makes an appearance.
"What floor?" Lord Matlock asks. His finger hovers over the buttons, the one for Level 5 already illuminated.
"Level five, as well," Sirius replies.
None of them have to explain why. The state of Helena's parents isn't common knowledge, but neither is it a secret. Moreover, Lord and Lady Matlock are political allies, Mrs Darcy was a friend of her mother's, and Will Darcy had once been a playmate.
Alongside Neville, they'd escaped their lessons, made mischief, dreamed up grand adventures as pirates or explorers or warriors. None of them have ever been completely carefree, but together, the three of them had been able to forget for a while.
It's funny how things change.
"How are they going?" Lord Matlock asks. Helena stares determinedly at the gate of the elevator.
"As well as they'll ever be," Emilyn answers, "How is Mrs Darcy?"
"Not well." Lord Matlock casts a concerned glance towards Will, whose gaze remains downcast, his head and shoulders bowed, his arms crossed defensively over his chest, "She's been admitted as an in-patient in the longterm care ward. At least until in-home care can be arranged."
"I'm sorry."
Emilyn is sad to hear it. Sirius and Remus are, as well. Their generation, in particular, had been decimated during the war. They'd lost countless friends, they'd lost family, siblings and cousins and spouses. Mrs Darcy is another friend, a former classmate, and another victim, and sooner than they would all care to think about, they'll have to say goodbye to her, too.
Lord Matlock acknowledges Emilyn with a brief, weary smile, and the remainder of the elevator ride - blessedly short - is spent entrenched in another deafening silence. It's therefore a relief to escape the claustrophobic confines of the elevator car, but the two groups don't actually part ways until they've all checked in at the front desk, and by then, Helena still hasn't figured out what to say to Fitzwilliam.
"I'm sorry about your mother," she says, awkward. There was once a time where she never ran out of things to say to the auburn-haired boy beside her, but those days are long gone. All that remains are trite, tired cliches, and she wonders if it would have been better not to say anything at all.
Will nods, terse and distant. "Thank you.
Before things can get any more uncomfortable, they part ways, and Helena goes with a quiet, guilty sense of relief.
Somehow, the matter of relocating her parents seems far less daunting than facing the reality of Fitzwilliam Darcy's grief.
-!- -#-
Author's Note: Next chapter might be delayed. Depends how I go with writing ahead. Hope you enjoyed. Thanks for reading. Until next time, -t.
