(no subject)
Alec left his mother in the foyer, standing next to the lone suitcase he would be taking with him, clutching his coat in worried hands, waiting to button him into it like he was six again, and going outside to play. She’d been fretting all weekend, alternating between begging him not to go and telling him what a good boy he was, how brave and selfless and noble. She’d been staring off into the distance more than usual. Just that morning, he’d had to go and fetch her from her room because she’d been so absorbed with the view out her window. He was worried about her, but he’d done all he could. Other people needed help, and he was going to give it. There was just one more thing to set right before he left.
His boots were loud on the wooden floor, and he stopped just short of stepping onto the kitchen tiles. Minerva didn’t turn to face him, but he knew she was just being difficult and childish. The teakettle would boil without her watching it.
“I’ll owl when I get to London,” he said hesitantly into the thick, menacing silence of the room. Minerva responded with a noncommittal noise, and reached into a cupboard for two cups and two saucers.
“I’ll write every chance I get,” he continued while she spooned out tealeaves and filled the cream pitcher, easily ignoring him. “I can’t promise it will be regular, but I’ll try. There’s going to be a lot to do, and I might be busy the first few weeks. I’ve asked Ms. Frazier to look in on Mum when you go back to school, so don’t worry about her too much. Just keep her company until you leave, and I’ll be home before Christmas.”
After a few uncomfortable moments had passed, Alec stepped into the kitchen. “Aren’t you going to say goodbye to me, Min?”
She slammed the tea tin down on the counter, and her shoulders went stiff, then she turned to face, leaning back against the counter and crossing her arms. She’d always been an adult, his little sister, even when she was behaving like a spoiled little girl.
“You shouldn’t be going,” she said finally, her dark hair swinging as she shook her head. “I don’t like leaving Mum alone, Alec. A neighbor’s not the same thing as a kid, and what are you doing running off to London? We agreed that when I graduated-“
He was shaking his head, a little, bitter laugh escaping. “It’s happening now, sister. It’ll probably still be happening in a year.”
“Then I don’t see how one more year could matter,” she bit out through clenched teeth.
“Have you seen the numbers for the civilian casualties in the last week alone? People are dying,” he insisted, leveling a finger at her, his voice rising, “and if you feed me that line about how it’s not our fight, I swear to Merlin-“
“I don’t care whose fight it is!” she yelled over him, her hands balling into fists at her sides. “You’ve no right to just - just leave, like there’s nothing here for you! You promised, Alec! You promised me until graduation!”
“You,” Alec seethed, his tone dangerously low, his face twisted into something that was equal parts anger and sadness. “You selfish, spoiled, discontented child! Don’t you even care what’s happening outside of Aberdeen?!”
Her bottom lip quivered dangerously at that, and she turned back to the stove to fiddle with the items arranged on the tea tray and scrub away the wetness on her cheeks. “Goodbye, Alec,” she replied calmly, just managing to keep her voice from shaking, all her attention on the sugar bowl. “Safe journey.”
Her cold words were more than enough to put out the fire.
She couldn’t hear his footsteps over the sound of her own breathing, but she didn’t start when he turned her around pulled her into a quick hug. “Be good,” he told her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “No more sneaking out to play quidditch in the dark, you hear? There won’t be anyone to carry you home when you take a spill.” He was trying to smile, and almost succeeding. He looked close to tears himself.
She didn’t walk him back into the foyer, but she looked on from the window above the breakfast table as he kissed their mother goodbye out on the front steps, his suitcase in hand. She didn’t watch him disapparate.
“I’m going to miss him forever,” her mother said airily when she laid the tea tray down on the coffee table in the drawing room.
Minerva pulled the curtains back from the windows to let in more of the sunlight, and replied, "Me too, Mum. Cream?"
His boots were loud on the wooden floor, and he stopped just short of stepping onto the kitchen tiles. Minerva didn’t turn to face him, but he knew she was just being difficult and childish. The teakettle would boil without her watching it.
“I’ll owl when I get to London,” he said hesitantly into the thick, menacing silence of the room. Minerva responded with a noncommittal noise, and reached into a cupboard for two cups and two saucers.
“I’ll write every chance I get,” he continued while she spooned out tealeaves and filled the cream pitcher, easily ignoring him. “I can’t promise it will be regular, but I’ll try. There’s going to be a lot to do, and I might be busy the first few weeks. I’ve asked Ms. Frazier to look in on Mum when you go back to school, so don’t worry about her too much. Just keep her company until you leave, and I’ll be home before Christmas.”
After a few uncomfortable moments had passed, Alec stepped into the kitchen. “Aren’t you going to say goodbye to me, Min?”
She slammed the tea tin down on the counter, and her shoulders went stiff, then she turned to face, leaning back against the counter and crossing her arms. She’d always been an adult, his little sister, even when she was behaving like a spoiled little girl.
“You shouldn’t be going,” she said finally, her dark hair swinging as she shook her head. “I don’t like leaving Mum alone, Alec. A neighbor’s not the same thing as a kid, and what are you doing running off to London? We agreed that when I graduated-“
He was shaking his head, a little, bitter laugh escaping. “It’s happening now, sister. It’ll probably still be happening in a year.”
“Then I don’t see how one more year could matter,” she bit out through clenched teeth.
“Have you seen the numbers for the civilian casualties in the last week alone? People are dying,” he insisted, leveling a finger at her, his voice rising, “and if you feed me that line about how it’s not our fight, I swear to Merlin-“
“I don’t care whose fight it is!” she yelled over him, her hands balling into fists at her sides. “You’ve no right to just - just leave, like there’s nothing here for you! You promised, Alec! You promised me until graduation!”
“You,” Alec seethed, his tone dangerously low, his face twisted into something that was equal parts anger and sadness. “You selfish, spoiled, discontented child! Don’t you even care what’s happening outside of Aberdeen?!”
Her bottom lip quivered dangerously at that, and she turned back to the stove to fiddle with the items arranged on the tea tray and scrub away the wetness on her cheeks. “Goodbye, Alec,” she replied calmly, just managing to keep her voice from shaking, all her attention on the sugar bowl. “Safe journey.”
Her cold words were more than enough to put out the fire.
She couldn’t hear his footsteps over the sound of her own breathing, but she didn’t start when he turned her around pulled her into a quick hug. “Be good,” he told her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “No more sneaking out to play quidditch in the dark, you hear? There won’t be anyone to carry you home when you take a spill.” He was trying to smile, and almost succeeding. He looked close to tears himself.
She didn’t walk him back into the foyer, but she looked on from the window above the breakfast table as he kissed their mother goodbye out on the front steps, his suitcase in hand. She didn’t watch him disapparate.
“I’m going to miss him forever,” her mother said airily when she laid the tea tray down on the coffee table in the drawing room.
Minerva pulled the curtains back from the windows to let in more of the sunlight, and replied, "Me too, Mum. Cream?"