The Balcony Scene (100quills--2%)
Title: The Balcony Scene
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairings: Dorcas Meadowes/Regulus Black
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Character death, angst
Notes: For 100quills prompt #13, Balcony.
Summary: 20 drabbles about Dorcas Meadowes life, passion, betrayal, balcony, and Regulus Black.
Dorcas Meadowes had loved the balcony that edged out from the doors of her room since she was a baby, a fussy little thing that Oenone Burke could only quiet by taking out to the balcony while walking with her, letting the breeze or rain run across the little one’s face. Oenone never understood it, she had no fondness for the outdoors and while Constantine could take it or leave it, he abhorred heights. Even at that young age, Oenone would say that one day Dorcas would fly. Dorothea was quiet, and only cried when she was left alone.
~*~
Dorcas remembered that it was raining the day her brother was born, she had waited on the balcony, listening to the rain from underneath the charms to keep it dry, and watching the drops fall. Dorothea was excitedly waiting by the door to her room, her balcony door open so she could tell her sister when they had a little brother. Six days later, the sun was shining and Dorcas was on the balcony when they found out their baby brother had died. Dorcas had pulled herself up on the wrought iron and stared at the ground, wondering what dead meant.
~*~
The first time Dorcas went to a dance lesson, she was enamoured. It was a high-society pureblood teacher, one of the best who had ever been, and she taught once her hands had grown old and gnarled. The day that Dorcas and Dorothea arrived, in new dance clothes and pale pink slippers, an older student was just finishing up, and as Dorcas watched her do a jump, one she later knew as a grand jeté, she knew this was flying. She practiced constantly, using the balcony as her first barre. She was convinced she would be that woman and fly.
~*~
The first time Constantine mentioned that he had invited the Blacks over, Dorcas didn’t really pay attention. Adults were boring, after all. That was, until he informed them that they had two sons close to the girls’ age. Dorothea was nervous, and spent two hours in her room making sure her hair was straight and rearranging her dress, her door to the balcony open as she talked to her sister, who was wearing an identical yellow dress, and peering through the wrought iron over the courtyard for the first appearance of these “well-bred Blacks” that had impressed the usually-critical Constantine.
~*~
Dorcas decided right away that she didn’t like Sirius much, he was the older, sure, but he kicked Thea under the table and tried to put a bug in her hair. She was definitely not impressed. The other brother, however was a little of a mystery. By the time they had finished tea and polite conversation, she had decided she liked him very much, for once leaving Thea to deal with something on her own. “You’ll come back, won’t you?” She asked eagerly. When Regulus nodded, Dorcas gave him a wide smile and predicted that they would be best friends.
~*~
The next time the Blacks came to visit, Dorcas bounced on her heels and practiced plies as she waited, reminding herself that she was a lady, like Mother, or she would be, while disinterested Thea practiced her violin in her room, providing unintentional accompaniment for her sister’s thoughts. Being rather sneaky, as Thea would say, Dorcas waited until Regulus passed under the balcony to go through the door, and dropped a spare hair ribbon. When he tried to give it back, she laughed. “Keep it,” she encouraged. “It’s a friendhip thing. You don’t have to wear it.”
He kept it.
~*~
When their Hogwarts letters came, Dorothea was thrilled, though a little scared. Dorcas, on the other hand, was miserable but not nervous in the least. She liked home-who knew what Hogwarts was like? She spent the night out on the balcony, staring out at the courtyard, and when the air got chill, Thea brought out a sweater and large blanket to bundle up her sister. Even though she had no idea what Dorcas was thinking, she camped out in front of her door on the double balcony, laying her head on her sister’s knees and not saying a word.
~*~
The cold night over Christmas break when Dorcas got her Dark Mark, she went back home rather than celebrating with the others that had received their Marks as well. She was certain she had done the right thing, but the garish ornamentation seemed to laugh at her dreams. The first thing she learned how to do was hide it. She pored over books of glamoury until morning light, a full moon watching her study from the sky. She fell asleep on the cool stone that night, one hand twisted in the iron, one on a book, her arm still blackened.
~*~
One thing about Dorcas, when she set her mind to something, she achieved it. Not only that, but she dragged Regulus to practically every opening night, and after the first time, he always sent her yellow roses, because it was not right for all the other ballerinas (dancers, Reg, please, there are boys) to get flowers while she didn’t. The nice thing was that he didn’t laugh when she told him about her good luck tradition of Apparating home to the balcony before a performance. He always just shook his head and said she didn’t need luck, she had talent.
~*~
Everyone assumed that Dorcas and Regulus were either a couple, or were going to be a couple before long. Dorcas never understood it, and one day, before one of her family’s luncheons, she had returned home for, she waited on the balcony as she considered it. It wasn’t as if the idea didn’t have appeal, but they knew each other too well. He knew everything about her, and it was mutual-he had even seen her disgusting dancer’s feet. They didn’t know how to be that. Still, she flew down the stairs when she saw him arrive, grabbing his hand.
~*~
There were times Dorcas liked living in the city, it was closer to everything, and her flat was nice, but she missed home now and again. Poor Thea had gone through a hard breakup when she decided to take a day-trip to the estate. After all, her sister needed her, she could tell that, through whatever odd twin bond they had. The thing was, she was too late, and Thea needed no-one. The first thing she saw when appearing in the courtyard was the ghastly green Dark Mark hanging over her balcony. She remembered screaming, one sound, and then-nothing.
~*~
It rained the day of the funeral, and all Dorcas could think was that it was wrong. The sun was supposed to shine. It had when baby Thomas had died, it should shine for Thea as well. Afterwards, she stood on the balcony, her knuckles curled white on the iron, as Regulus cautiously put an arm around her shoulders. She barely noticed, barely breathed, for a moment, which made the pain ache all the worse, and then she turned, and buried her head in Regulus’s fine robes and cried bitterly. He seemed a little surprised, but he didn’t pull away.
~*~
It was just after she finished crying that the Mark burned, and she froze, for a moment, before taking hold of the wrought iron again. The cool metal seemed to imprint art nouveau curls into her skin, and after a moment, she conjured up her mask, threw on her Death Eater Cloak; disappearing without another word. When she was standing in the circle of her dark companions, kneeling before the Dark Lord who had called for her sister’s death, she felt no pain. He called attention to her and rewarded her for being worthy. Far from worthy, she felt betrayed.
~*~
For someone who had believed that she had done the right thing, it was incredibly hard to admit that she may have been wrong. Dorcas spent hours in glamours, poring over illicit literature and music, meeting Muggleborns and half-bloods that could put some purebloods to shame. It was raining the day she decided to seek out the Order, to bring down her Master, rosary beads twisted in one hand as she pondered over the murders she had committed that no longer seemed righteous. She fell asleep, watching the rain hit the shield charms. That night, the nightmares and screams started.
~*~
They didn’t trust her at first, and she didn’t expect them too. She wasn’t looking to be a hero; she wasn’t looking to be loved. All she wanted was to see the Dark Lord toppled; she wanted revenge, and she knew she couldn’t get it on her own. In a way, she was just using them, but they were using her just as much-even if they had a nobler cause. Her vision had narrowed. There was only room for revenge, the Order, the Death Eaters, and her escape; her dancing. When asked about love, she laughed, she hadn’t time.
~*~
The point came where Dorcas was unable to sleep by herself unless she wanted to wake screaming. She started staying on the balcony, where the only dreams she had were of her sister’s death, and not of her own sins. It was easier. Barring that, she would stay with friends. The one person she could not bring herself to confess her terror too was Regulus. She didn’t want to seem weak to him. He knew her all to well, and if even a hint of her disloyalty was to touch him…that price was more than she was willing to pay.
~*~
Dorcas wanted to protect Regulus, and so she found herself in the odd position of lying to him, hiding things, keeping secrets like she never had. Near the end she was spending more time around and being honest to Sirius in trying to protect his brother. The fight took her off guard; they hadn’t really ever fought, not like this. She found herself decimated to a tearful mess, and then Regulus disapparated in a fury. She thought she had gotten to a point where nothing could hurt anymore, that all of her emotional room had been sapped. She was wrong.
~*~
It was to be her last ballet, not that she knew it, and it was oddly appropriate. She had practised on the old balcony as she had when she was a child, and despite the make-up concealing her dark circles under her eyes and the now-usual hiding of the Mark, she felt tired. She had grown sick of even this, tired of constantly being on the move, on the run, looking over her shoulder. It was an opening, and she couldn’t drag Regulus after the fight-but there were yellow roses in her dressing room, and someone in the box.
~*~
She had known it would happen eventually, and was unsurprised when it was Bellatrix who appeared first and got in with her husband. She knew Bella’s first loyalty was always to the Dark Lord. Dorcas suspected she would gut Rodolphus if it was asked of her. It was surprisingly quick, and she stayed quiet for the majority of the pain, through the Cruciatus and all the little jabs. She only cried out when they broke her feet. It wasn’t the pain so much as how much her feet had meant to her for so long. After that, it was quick.
~*~
The rope was coarse around her neck, her hair up in a bun as she would when she danced, so nothing held it back from the pale skin of her throat. It burned and froze at the same time with dark magic she had never even learnt. She lowered her head, not having the energy or the will to fight any longer. Her eyes flicked over her familiar compatriots, relieved, at least, that Regulus was not here, and as her head tilted slightly the rope dropped. She could hear it in her ears for a moment; then, there was nothing.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairings: Dorcas Meadowes/Regulus Black
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Character death, angst
Notes: For 100quills prompt #13, Balcony.
Summary: 20 drabbles about Dorcas Meadowes life, passion, betrayal, balcony, and Regulus Black.
Dorcas Meadowes had loved the balcony that edged out from the doors of her room since she was a baby, a fussy little thing that Oenone Burke could only quiet by taking out to the balcony while walking with her, letting the breeze or rain run across the little one’s face. Oenone never understood it, she had no fondness for the outdoors and while Constantine could take it or leave it, he abhorred heights. Even at that young age, Oenone would say that one day Dorcas would fly. Dorothea was quiet, and only cried when she was left alone.
~*~
Dorcas remembered that it was raining the day her brother was born, she had waited on the balcony, listening to the rain from underneath the charms to keep it dry, and watching the drops fall. Dorothea was excitedly waiting by the door to her room, her balcony door open so she could tell her sister when they had a little brother. Six days later, the sun was shining and Dorcas was on the balcony when they found out their baby brother had died. Dorcas had pulled herself up on the wrought iron and stared at the ground, wondering what dead meant.
~*~
The first time Dorcas went to a dance lesson, she was enamoured. It was a high-society pureblood teacher, one of the best who had ever been, and she taught once her hands had grown old and gnarled. The day that Dorcas and Dorothea arrived, in new dance clothes and pale pink slippers, an older student was just finishing up, and as Dorcas watched her do a jump, one she later knew as a grand jeté, she knew this was flying. She practiced constantly, using the balcony as her first barre. She was convinced she would be that woman and fly.
~*~
The first time Constantine mentioned that he had invited the Blacks over, Dorcas didn’t really pay attention. Adults were boring, after all. That was, until he informed them that they had two sons close to the girls’ age. Dorothea was nervous, and spent two hours in her room making sure her hair was straight and rearranging her dress, her door to the balcony open as she talked to her sister, who was wearing an identical yellow dress, and peering through the wrought iron over the courtyard for the first appearance of these “well-bred Blacks” that had impressed the usually-critical Constantine.
~*~
Dorcas decided right away that she didn’t like Sirius much, he was the older, sure, but he kicked Thea under the table and tried to put a bug in her hair. She was definitely not impressed. The other brother, however was a little of a mystery. By the time they had finished tea and polite conversation, she had decided she liked him very much, for once leaving Thea to deal with something on her own. “You’ll come back, won’t you?” She asked eagerly. When Regulus nodded, Dorcas gave him a wide smile and predicted that they would be best friends.
~*~
The next time the Blacks came to visit, Dorcas bounced on her heels and practiced plies as she waited, reminding herself that she was a lady, like Mother, or she would be, while disinterested Thea practiced her violin in her room, providing unintentional accompaniment for her sister’s thoughts. Being rather sneaky, as Thea would say, Dorcas waited until Regulus passed under the balcony to go through the door, and dropped a spare hair ribbon. When he tried to give it back, she laughed. “Keep it,” she encouraged. “It’s a friendhip thing. You don’t have to wear it.”
He kept it.
~*~
When their Hogwarts letters came, Dorothea was thrilled, though a little scared. Dorcas, on the other hand, was miserable but not nervous in the least. She liked home-who knew what Hogwarts was like? She spent the night out on the balcony, staring out at the courtyard, and when the air got chill, Thea brought out a sweater and large blanket to bundle up her sister. Even though she had no idea what Dorcas was thinking, she camped out in front of her door on the double balcony, laying her head on her sister’s knees and not saying a word.
~*~
The cold night over Christmas break when Dorcas got her Dark Mark, she went back home rather than celebrating with the others that had received their Marks as well. She was certain she had done the right thing, but the garish ornamentation seemed to laugh at her dreams. The first thing she learned how to do was hide it. She pored over books of glamoury until morning light, a full moon watching her study from the sky. She fell asleep on the cool stone that night, one hand twisted in the iron, one on a book, her arm still blackened.
~*~
One thing about Dorcas, when she set her mind to something, she achieved it. Not only that, but she dragged Regulus to practically every opening night, and after the first time, he always sent her yellow roses, because it was not right for all the other ballerinas (dancers, Reg, please, there are boys) to get flowers while she didn’t. The nice thing was that he didn’t laugh when she told him about her good luck tradition of Apparating home to the balcony before a performance. He always just shook his head and said she didn’t need luck, she had talent.
~*~
Everyone assumed that Dorcas and Regulus were either a couple, or were going to be a couple before long. Dorcas never understood it, and one day, before one of her family’s luncheons, she had returned home for, she waited on the balcony as she considered it. It wasn’t as if the idea didn’t have appeal, but they knew each other too well. He knew everything about her, and it was mutual-he had even seen her disgusting dancer’s feet. They didn’t know how to be that. Still, she flew down the stairs when she saw him arrive, grabbing his hand.
~*~
There were times Dorcas liked living in the city, it was closer to everything, and her flat was nice, but she missed home now and again. Poor Thea had gone through a hard breakup when she decided to take a day-trip to the estate. After all, her sister needed her, she could tell that, through whatever odd twin bond they had. The thing was, she was too late, and Thea needed no-one. The first thing she saw when appearing in the courtyard was the ghastly green Dark Mark hanging over her balcony. She remembered screaming, one sound, and then-nothing.
~*~
It rained the day of the funeral, and all Dorcas could think was that it was wrong. The sun was supposed to shine. It had when baby Thomas had died, it should shine for Thea as well. Afterwards, she stood on the balcony, her knuckles curled white on the iron, as Regulus cautiously put an arm around her shoulders. She barely noticed, barely breathed, for a moment, which made the pain ache all the worse, and then she turned, and buried her head in Regulus’s fine robes and cried bitterly. He seemed a little surprised, but he didn’t pull away.
~*~
It was just after she finished crying that the Mark burned, and she froze, for a moment, before taking hold of the wrought iron again. The cool metal seemed to imprint art nouveau curls into her skin, and after a moment, she conjured up her mask, threw on her Death Eater Cloak; disappearing without another word. When she was standing in the circle of her dark companions, kneeling before the Dark Lord who had called for her sister’s death, she felt no pain. He called attention to her and rewarded her for being worthy. Far from worthy, she felt betrayed.
~*~
For someone who had believed that she had done the right thing, it was incredibly hard to admit that she may have been wrong. Dorcas spent hours in glamours, poring over illicit literature and music, meeting Muggleborns and half-bloods that could put some purebloods to shame. It was raining the day she decided to seek out the Order, to bring down her Master, rosary beads twisted in one hand as she pondered over the murders she had committed that no longer seemed righteous. She fell asleep, watching the rain hit the shield charms. That night, the nightmares and screams started.
~*~
They didn’t trust her at first, and she didn’t expect them too. She wasn’t looking to be a hero; she wasn’t looking to be loved. All she wanted was to see the Dark Lord toppled; she wanted revenge, and she knew she couldn’t get it on her own. In a way, she was just using them, but they were using her just as much-even if they had a nobler cause. Her vision had narrowed. There was only room for revenge, the Order, the Death Eaters, and her escape; her dancing. When asked about love, she laughed, she hadn’t time.
~*~
The point came where Dorcas was unable to sleep by herself unless she wanted to wake screaming. She started staying on the balcony, where the only dreams she had were of her sister’s death, and not of her own sins. It was easier. Barring that, she would stay with friends. The one person she could not bring herself to confess her terror too was Regulus. She didn’t want to seem weak to him. He knew her all to well, and if even a hint of her disloyalty was to touch him…that price was more than she was willing to pay.
~*~
Dorcas wanted to protect Regulus, and so she found herself in the odd position of lying to him, hiding things, keeping secrets like she never had. Near the end she was spending more time around and being honest to Sirius in trying to protect his brother. The fight took her off guard; they hadn’t really ever fought, not like this. She found herself decimated to a tearful mess, and then Regulus disapparated in a fury. She thought she had gotten to a point where nothing could hurt anymore, that all of her emotional room had been sapped. She was wrong.
~*~
It was to be her last ballet, not that she knew it, and it was oddly appropriate. She had practised on the old balcony as she had when she was a child, and despite the make-up concealing her dark circles under her eyes and the now-usual hiding of the Mark, she felt tired. She had grown sick of even this, tired of constantly being on the move, on the run, looking over her shoulder. It was an opening, and she couldn’t drag Regulus after the fight-but there were yellow roses in her dressing room, and someone in the box.
~*~
She had known it would happen eventually, and was unsurprised when it was Bellatrix who appeared first and got in with her husband. She knew Bella’s first loyalty was always to the Dark Lord. Dorcas suspected she would gut Rodolphus if it was asked of her. It was surprisingly quick, and she stayed quiet for the majority of the pain, through the Cruciatus and all the little jabs. She only cried out when they broke her feet. It wasn’t the pain so much as how much her feet had meant to her for so long. After that, it was quick.
~*~
The rope was coarse around her neck, her hair up in a bun as she would when she danced, so nothing held it back from the pale skin of her throat. It burned and froze at the same time with dark magic she had never even learnt. She lowered her head, not having the energy or the will to fight any longer. Her eyes flicked over her familiar compatriots, relieved, at least, that Regulus was not here, and as her head tilted slightly the rope dropped. She could hear it in her ears for a moment; then, there was nothing.