Mother Dearest, Feb 1996
Before her day had begun she'd read the paper cover to cover. Twice. The news she had found within was not what she expected by equally noteworthy. At least, according to the Daily Prophet. She'd been convinced that her obsession with keeping abreast of the news was getting a little excessive. Ted had even commented as much. In his defence she had snapped at him for taking the paper before she had a chance to look at it. But why couldn't he understand that his was important? Old anxieties were rearing their ugly head and it took all her control not to let them overpower her.
By midday she had called an end to her shift at St Mungo's. She'd had enough and there were plenty of people to cover for her. Stories about Bellatrix were doing her head in already, but the morning's news seemed to bring with it so much more heartache. Not to mention at least two people had the gall to express their condolences to her. The first time it had happened she'd asked them what it was for. She'd been so busy trying to push it out of her mind that she'd managed to completely lapse when it was brought up again. She headed home after the second. Clearly work was not going to help her forget so she may as well take the rest of the day to wallow with the contradicting emotions wrestling for dominance.
Ted wasn't due for hours. He was going to be late, he had told her that morning. So she had busied herself cleaning. Not just one room, not just one floor, she cleaned and scrubbed the entire house from top to bottom. She built up all her anger and frustration as she worked. She let everything that had surfaced earlier that day consume her. She pushed herself harder and harder until finally when she finished and stepped under the spray of the shower - she cried. Even muffled by the running water she remained silent. A trick she had learned as a child and never quite let go of. With water streaming down her face she could pretend at least that she wasn't crying. After all, what was there to cry about. There were deaths in the paper every time she looked.
Druella Black was just another name filtered among the rest.
She sat in the study when she was dried off and dressed. A glass of red wine sat untouched on the floor. Andromeda barely even registered movement downstairs. An oversight on her part. But once her thoughts had taken hold she found herself drowning in them. Hugging her knees in the corner of the window seat, she stared out at the grounds surrounding their home. The snow was beginning to melt, life was slowly taking hold again, and somewhere in the distance she could see the swell of waves crashing against the rocks. The world was beautiful and alive, yet she sat mourning something dark and dead.
