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Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.
Tuesday, August 2nd, 1977
Potter Manor
Dorea fussed with the sheer, periwinkle sleeves of her outer robes—the body of the robes navy blue, and they stopped just above her knees in the front and ended at a point on her rear side of just above her ankles.
"You sure you don't want to come with me?" Dorea asked as she smoothed down the front of her robes as she stared at her son with a wry smile.
The boy in question was reclining on a loveseat, arms stretched above his head like a cat, his bare toes wriggled about and 'Persuasion' by Jane Austen was resting on his chest. "If you want me to, then I can, but if not…" Draco trailed off, scrunching up his nose.
When Dorea spotted Draco shirtless, only in a pair of black boxers as he languidly relaxed in the sun room, she knew that he wasn't budging from that spot anytime soon; it was worth a try though.
Draco's eyes were soft with sleep, and his wild bedhead made him look mental. Dorea closed the distance between them and squatted down beside the loveseat with her hands on her knees.
"You'd rather stay here, laze away the day and read your book?" Dorea guessed astutely, and Draco grinned lazily.
Draco reached out and cupped his Mother's cheek, "you are a remarkably smart witch, did you know that?"
"How could I not?" Dorea asked with a teasing lilt, and harsh exhale of laughter escaped her; she'd tried to keep a straight face, but failed miserably.
"What are popping into town for anyway?" Draco asked.
"We're running low on ice-cream, and I wanted a bit of fresh air," Dorea hummed, twisting her head to place a gentle kiss on Draco's palm. The witch rose, and then bent enough to ruffle her son's hair.
"You're going to get—"
"Lemon crackle? Yes. I also have to grab some chocolate crumble as well," Dorea said, straightening out and fixing the skirt of her robes.
"Thank you," Draco smiled gently, and Dorea was struck by how innocent he looked in that moment; there was a levity to him that was for once not shadowed by whatever demons rolled around inside of him. Not for the first time Dorea was immensely grateful that Draco and Hermione came into her life almost six years ago.
"Right, I'll go see if your brother or Hermione wish to join me," Dorea said, and Draco yawned. With one eye closed, he warmly said, "good luck with that, they're probably both still out cold."
"It can't hurt to go see," Dorea said with a chuckle.
Dorea span on her heel, "I'll see you later, dear! Stay out of trouble and I love you!"
Draco's voice galloped after her, "love you too, Mum!"
It didn't take long for her to reach the Foyer, and Dorea's slinky black heels clipped the stairs as she ascended them. She reached the top and smoothly navigated her way to Hermione's room; the door was shut. Dorea tried the lukewarm, brass knob and found it to be locked. Snakes of magic left Dorea and felt around the door only to find that silencing charms were thrown up as well.
Nightmares, Dorea thought soberly.
Dorea pushed forth, and she came to a halt in the open doorway of James's room: his Quidditch gear was piled up messily in the corner, there were clothes spilling out of the trunk at the foot of his bed that he had yet to fully unpack. Light snoring caressed her ears.
Dorea took great care not to make even a peep as she entered the room. Dorea settled beside his bed, and gazed at James: his hair was barely brushing his forehead—thank goodness Hermione trimmed his untameable mop and whipped it into some semblance of order; it truly had gotten out of hand.
Dorea carefully leant over her son and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead.
A susurrus prickled across her ears and drew her attention upwards to James's open window. A small frown teased her brows when there was nothing there aside from the summer breeze playing with James's dark blue curtains.
Odd, Dorea thought, unfolding her body and crossing her arms over her chest. She could have sworn she'd heard something, and perhaps it was a trick of the light, but one could be fooled into seeing a shadowy figure phasing in and out of existence as the curtains curled around them.
Dorea blinked, and found the shadowy presence to have disappeared entirely.
Dorea peered back down at James and said, "I love you, honey. Mummy will be back with ice-cream and treats very shortly."
The witch quietly left her son's room, and when she descended the stairs a thought struck her, I guess I'll be making this trip alone.
Dorea ambled through the house on a hunt for her husband before she set off, and predictably found him in the garden. She gathered he'd only just begun as he was slipping on his gardening gloves when she came across him.
"Just squeezing in a bit of upkeep before it gets too hot out," Charlie offered as she sauntered over to him.
"The sun has been rather unforgiving this summer, hasn't it?" Dorea pursed her lips. She shouldn't be complaining as it was far better than the heavens pissing all of the time.
"You're all dressed up, where are you off to?" Charlus asked as he happily accepted a quick peck from his wife.
"Florean's, we're running low on the children's favourites," Dorea said, crinkling her nose as she reached into her robes and withdrew her timepiece; it was still fairly early in the morning—and it was a weekday—so hopefully Diagon Alley wouldn't be too busy.
"Right, I best be off," Dorea exclaimed merrily, and swiftly kissed her husband once more before she out some distance between them.
"Alright, be careful and I love you."
"I love you too, you handsome brute," Dorea winked.
Charlus's hazel eyes swam with love and amusement, "see you later."
"I don't know about that, I might have a hot date with a bloke later," Dorea teased.
"Is he at least good looking?" Charlus chuckled, playing along.
"He's absolutely dreamy. The girls all used to fancy him in school," Dorea flicked her voluminous raven hair over her shoulder—it was clipped back with her Mother's silver brooch of a dragon, it was littered with small diamonds, and had three emerald along its spine.
"Is that so?"
"Apparently, but a cunning snake snatched him right out of the lion's den…under all of their noses," Dorea shrugged.
"Love to meet him someday," Charlus winked, blowing her a kiss.
"I'm sure he'd like that," Dorea smirked. She waved goodbye, turned on her heel and with a crack vanished into thin air.
"Thank you, Florean," Dorea smiled as she accepted the brown paper bag filled with tubs of delicious ice-cream; she'd gotten them enough to last at least another three weeks, she hoped.
Dorea peeked inside the bag as she turned around, and she stepped to her right and out of the line. She nodded in satisfaction that she'd received everything she paid for.
The witch happily headed for the exit, but halted when she caught sight of a petite witch with red-rimmed eyes and sandy brown hair hanging in her face.
Something stopped Dorea from simply walking out of the parlour, and leaving a clearly distraught girl behind. It wasn't any of her business she tried to tell herself, but then the girl locked eyes with her, and she saw the grief swirling in them.
Ten minutes later, Dorea was sat in a cherry red upholstered booth opposite the girl.
"I told you I'm fine," The girl mumbled, dully licking the raspberry smash single scoop of ice-cream she'd bought herself; she was gripping the cone as if it was a rope secured around her and keeping her tied to this life.
"Ah, and I told you that I know you aren't. I understand…" Dorea paused, realising she didn't know the girl's name.
"Moira," the girl sighed, her brown eyes sparking with wisps of fire.
"That's a lovely name," Dorea smiled. "I'm Dorea."
"Well...Dorea, I said I'll be alright," Moira said, averting her gaze from Dorea's as her lip began to tremble. From the tightness in the girl's posture Dorea could tell that she hated showing any signs of weakness, especially to some stranger in an ice-cream parlour.
"I completely understand that I'm a stranger, but if you need someone to talk to...then who better really? I certainly won't know anyone that you're talking about, and when I leave today we may never see each other again," Dorea said, trying to soothe the girl's nerves.
"What if we do see each other again?"
"Then I'll pretend as if we've never met, either way, it isn't healthy to keep all those feelings bottled up inside of you," Dorea said gently.
"Me Mam…well, she found out I'm engaged to a Muggle," Moira confessed in a hushed tone, nervously licking her ice-cream—it had begun to melt, and dribble down the sides, but the witch seemingly was unaware this.
The modest diamond nestled in the middle of a dainty, white gold band flashed on the girl's left ring finger; Dorea regarded it carefully and intently listened to the girl's story.
"Then she told me Dad, and now they're going to disown me."
"Do you love him?" Dorea asked a tad curtly, and at puzzled look that crossed Moira's face, she tacked on, "your muggle suitor, I mean."
Moira's eyes widened, "of course…but, I'd have to leave everything behind. He's…a superstitious sort."
"So you aren't going to tell him about us, about wizarding kind or magic?" Dorea's eyebrows rose at that. It wasn't a new concept, much less a shocking one, but it was a sad reality of some relationships between wizarding and non-wizarding folk.
"Probably not."
"What happens when your children start to show their magical abilities? Or when their Hogwarts letter arrives in the mail?"
"Then I 'spose I'll have to deal with it then."
There was a lull in the conversation, and Moira quietly tried to salvage the remainder of her ice-cream cone.
Dorea decided to add something else before she left the girl to her own devices, "when I was about your age or a bit younger, I duelled my Mother for the right to marry my husband, so I can definitely sympathise with your predicament."
"You duelled your Mother? That's pretty wicked, lady," Moira snort laughed, and Dorea shot the witch a smile in return.
"Either way, I just wanted to tell you that things might seem dim right now, but it gets better," Dorea said, and she placed her hand on top the one that Moira had resting on the table—Dorea ignored her sticky, clammy skin.
"Thank you," Moira said with a wobbly smile. Dorea truly hoped that things worked out for the girl, and that her young man didn't change his mind; then all of this stress would be for nought.
"It was no trouble," Dorea said modestly, and even though she wouldn't know who he was, curiosity nipped at her mind, and she couldn't help but ask. "So, what's his name?"
"Sean Finnigan."
Dorea and the girl parted ways outside of Florean's, and Dorea was slightly taken aback when the girl vaulted into her arms and hugged her tightly. Moira thanked Dorea thrice more for, 'listening to a sorry sod like me', and then she went about her way, a spring in her step and a faint glow around her.
A faint smile touched Dorea's lips as she headed in the opposite direction. That had taken far longer than she'd expected, and the witch took a moment to check on her ice-cream; she cracked the cover of one, and was greeted by a cold, viscous tub of half-melted ice-cream.
Darn, I really should get home and pop these into the ice-box, Dorea mused as she shut the lid. After thinking about it for a moment, she waved her fingers and cast a stasis charm on the ice-cream to stop it from melting any further.
The sun was high in the sky, a light sheen of sweat was gathering on her hairline, and a refreshing breeze slipped through the streets and around the buildings that somewhat saved Dorea from the heat.
A drunken shout from across the way caught Dorea's attention, just in time for her to see a man pull back his hand before smashing into the another wizard's face. "My wife, Julius!" The man slurred. Dorea snorted softly and went back to minding her own business; they weren't bothering her. However, that did not stop her from whispering, "boors, both of them," under her breath.
Dorea strolled away, and she began to hum the tune of a song her grandmother used to sing whenever she tucked Dorea into bed.
Odd, Dorea thought, I think the last time I sung this song was to calm James down after he skinned his knee, and I was attempting to clean it.
Dorea got lost in the memory, reminiscing on times lost since past.
"It stings, Mummy!" James whinged, sniffling and gruffly swiping away the fat tears rolling down his cheeks.
"Come here and let Mummy look at it," Dorea instructed in a gentle tone, holding out her arms. James sniffled, but complied. Dorea swiftly plopped the boy in her lap, and inspected his cut.
Dorea waved her hand, and a faint, emerald light shone from her fingertips and basked James's knee in its glow—the entire time she lowly sang an ancient song passed down in her family for generations. A song of love, loss and the dutiful march of time; it had a pleasant timbre to it. (It always warmed her soul and took her back to when she was a little girl, with her grandmother's bony but kind fingers stroking her hair.
Dorea was drawn back to the present by a pair of ginger boys flying past her, and giddily they side-skipped in circles around what must have been their frazzled mother.
Dorea caught a glimpse of the woman's face, partially obscured by long, coppery red locks as she tried to get her sons to cease and desist their tomfoolery. Neither boy relented; they simply began singing nonsensically at the top of their lungs.
"Bill! Charlie! Will you both stop that!"
The two mischievous boys continued in their song and dance, and Dorea was strangely reminded of James and Sirius in that moment.
The witch's words were the last Dorea heard before it happened.
There was a scuffling sound, then a faraway wailing scream.
Orange light exploded onto the edges of her vision, and Dorea tried to look where the source of the screaming was, but all she saw was a pale, slender hand resting on the cobblestones in front of her, and a blur of legs—men's trouser legs and pointed shoes, and women's skirts.
None of it made any sense. The fuzzy colours, the garbled sounds; none of it.
Black replaced the orange and crawled across her vision until it smothered her in darkness.
Dorea was somewhere familiar, and she was not alone: there was a young witch, raven hair gleaming and shining as she twirled and danced across the cobblestones of Diagon Alley in the pouring rain.
Euphoria filled the witch's features as the rain soaked straight through her robes, and suddenly, Dorea was the witch.
She'd been here before.
Her outer robes were weighing her down, so all too happily she unfastened them and shrugged them off. With a plop they landed in a puddle behind her, and with an indecent amount of leg showing the witch skipped across the stones, her shoes kicking up water as she went.
She was being spun in a circle by a male companion with dreamy hazel eyes. They danced, they kissed, and they ran through the rain like gazelles across a savanna.
They ducked for cover under the canopy of a red brick building: the witch's teeth chattered, the wizard pulled her against his front in an attempt to shake the chill from her bones, and she gazed up at him.
Dorea was both a part of the moment, yet separate from it, as the knowledge that this was merely a memory pressed on her mind; a precious memory, but a memory nonetheless.
Dorea was in Charlus's arms: she brushed a hand through his unruly, raven locks, and tried to ignore the fog that was torturous creeping down the path towards them.
Time was slipping away from her, she needed to tell him.
Dorea gripped his face in her hands, and said, "I love you, Charlus Potter. Forever. Never forget that"
Dorea's eyes burned as tears welled up inside of them; threatening to fall at any given moment. A single, fat tear succeeded, and it scorched a trail down her cheek.
There was so much she wished to say, but alas, their time had run out. The fog raced towards them now, its cold wisps wrapping around her ankles. It slithered up her body, Charlus closed his eyes, and he faded away into a fine vapour, and moments later the fog engulfed her.
Yelling, yelling, and more yelling. Fierce curses spew from mouths and hysterical, devastated sobs blubber out of a wizard rocking back and forth in despair at what he'd done.
Rivers of pale, creamy goodness and molten chocolate trails through the cobblestone tracks, mixing together into something dull and filthy as they blend with the dirt and grime on the ground.
"I didn't mean to," the man sobbed violently, his body shaking. "I didn't mean to."