Dahlia Travers
If there was one thing that Morgana and Regulus were good at, it was restraint. They were truthfully good at a great many things, but when you lived your childhood under constant pressure as they did, you had to be. Nothing ever seemed to be good enough. However, the pair were able to pride themselves on their ability to restrain themselves.
At Kings Cross Station, that is exactly what they needed.
It had never been hard to restrain from anything before, but seeing Sirius for the first time in months made it so. They spotted him almost immediately. He looked fine, happy even, surrounded by his friends who called themselves the Marauders, and James Potter's parents. The urge to run up and hug him was so strong, Regulus almost did. If it hadn't been for Morgana's little tug...
"Позже в поезде."
He simply gave a curt nod and directed his attention elsewhere.
------------------------------------
Dahlia Travers was thinner than she was at the beginning of the summer. Worry had been eating away at her like a parasite and the effects were starting to show physically. Her clothes that used to fit perfectly now hung slightly around her frame as though they were a size or two too big. Her hair was thinner too but despite its wispy nature, not a single strand was out of place. She had never been as obsessive about her appearance as Walburga had but throughout the summer, she had seen a change. Time and care was put into every single aspect of her look. She looked like money, she looked like power. To anyone with an untrained eye, even her loose clothes seemed well tailored for her. It was all a ruse to cover the cracks that were starting to form in her psyche.
The Travers came from a long line of Russian purebloods. Their prestige was known throughout Russian history till the late 1700s when they moved to England at the prospect of new fortune. They didn't find it...
Dahlia had married into the Travers family from a long-standing Egyptian family: The Osamas. Again they had fame and fortune in their motherland. It was even rumored that they were descendants of the line of wizards and witches that were hailed as pharaohs and built the pyramids. How they ended up in a place like this is unknown, but a great deal of their prestige had dropped.
Coming from such a bloodline and then marrying into the Travers family, Dahlia knew pressure. Much like her French-ailing Black friends, perfection had been demanded throughout her childhood and she saw it reflect in her adult life too. It especially reflected in the way she parented her children. Her first son had been a dream. He was everything their bloodlines could have wanted: smart, handsome, Slytherin, etc. Atticus, named after his father as so many before him had been, was the very image of perfection. But he was a frail child and in his fourth year, no magic could save him from the extreme case of dragon pox. It destroyed the Travers family and for three years after his death, no one heard a word from the family.
Morgana was born out of necessity for an heir. Dahlia and Atticus Senior had hoped and prayed for a boy, but when they were met with Ana, that hope was lost. Both of them were getting on in age and there was no chance for another without serious risks. By the time Morgana was 5, Dahlia had suffered 3 violent miscarriages, all landing her in St. Mungos.
Yes, Dahlia knew the pressure that the blood purist society placed on people like her. But she had never obsessed over appearance and it had never bothered her like it did now. It was almost as though Walburga -crazy, perfect Walburga- was living in her body, creating sharp edges and clean cut lines. The Dark Lord placed a new found intensity of pressure on people like Walburga and Dahlia.
Standing in Kings Cross station now, Mrs. Travers felt overwhelmed and exposed. She was out here for everyone to see and she was sending her child away. The rigging in her ears was heightened by the train whistle that liked to blow without any apparent rhyme or reason. Did everyone, even the train, know the secrets she held? Did they know the power the tow children next to her held?
She could almost hear the voice of the Dark Lord in her head, "These children will be either the creation of my reign or mark the end of it. We must make sure they tip the correct way..."
She saw the quick tug from her daughter to Regulus and she heard the quick Russian whisper. Living as a Travers gave her a basic understanding of the language. The message, paired with the soullessness that she saw in her daughter's eyes made her heart break. This is not the life she wanted for her daughter... Her beautiful, smart, nearly perfect, 15 year old daughter didn't deserve to live under this pressure. And Regulus, whom she thought of more as family than just her daughter's friend. He didn't deserve this either.
Dahlia watched the children load onto the train giving her daughter a curt nod when she looked back. She could never read her daughter, for that she was proud. An easy to read face was a weakness they couldn't afford. But a part of her soul stung. Just like every good mother, she wanted to love her daughter. In this world she couldn't express it. They had titles and reputations to uphold. Relationships provided a weakness. She couldn't be weak. But oh how she wanted to run up and hug her daughter, watch her mask fade, and feel the relief of a true mother daughter bond.
But she didn't, there were always people watching. People from the Dark Lord's side and from those against the Dark Lord.... she stood there and as the train chugged away and watched it fade into the distance. She stood there longer than any other parent and as the sun climbed higher and higher into the sky only to fade once more and bring about the cool breeze of the night she stood still. No one bothered her. She was a statue, a piece of the background.
Dahlia Travers stood at Kings Cross station, Platform 9 and 3/4 from 10:30 that morning when they first arrived at the train station, until 11:00 that night. She would've stayed longer if Arthur hadn't come to find her.
"Dahlia?" He walked up slowly to the woman and slowly placed a hand on her shoulder.
She rose the opposite hand to the shoulder he touched and held his hand in hers, not looking away from the horizon the train had disappeared into. "It's getting late, Arthur. I need to check on the children."
"No ma'am, they're off to Hogwarts, remember?" He squeezed her hand, "We're at Kings Cross."
She finally looked up then around, slowly as if in a trance. "So we are..."
"Shall we go home?"
She looked at her butler and saw the worry in his eyes. Arthur had been working for the Travers family for 20 years now. During that time he'd learned everything there was to know about everyone in the house. He'd loved Dahlia since the beginning and after a few special nights they'd shared, that love only grew. He loved Morgana too. She was practically a daughter to him. This family was his as much as his own blood was.
Dahlia leaned in and pecked him on the cheek. "Yes, I think I'm ready."
The affection surprised him, but he did not lean away from it. Instead he offered his arm which she took and together they walked away from the tracks and apperated away.
They landed on the edge of the Travers estate, still arm and arm. Arthur was the first to take a step towards the house, but Dahlia pulled him back. "I said I wanted to go home, Arthur."
He looked into her eyes and saw the desperation that resided there. "This is your home, Travers estate."
She shook her head, a little at first then more and more violently.
"No, no, no, no," she sobbed and let go of his arm, wiping her eyes in the way a child would. "I wanna go home. I wanna go home! I wanna go home!"
Arthur stood there in shock. He'd never seen her this way.
"I wanna go home! I wanna go home! I wanna go home!" she screamed over and over slowly sinking into the ground.
She sobbed on the ground like that for hours, no one that came could fix it. Eventually, St. Mungo's was called...
Dahlia Travers had finally broke.If there was one thing that Morgana and Regulus were good at, it was restraint. They were truthfully good at a great many things, but when you lived your childhood under constant pressure as they did, you had to be. Nothing ever seemed to be good enough. However, the pair were able to pride themselves on their ability to restrain themselves.
At Kings Cross Station, that is exactly what they needed.
It had never been hard to restrain from anything before, but seeing Sirius for the first time in months made it so. They spotted him almost immediately. He looked fine, happy even, surrounded by his friends who called themselves the Marauders, and James Potter's parents. The urge to run up and hug him was so strong, Regulus almost did. If it hadn't been for Morgana's little tug...
"Позже в поезде."
He simply gave a curt nod and directed his attention elsewhere.
Dahlia Travers was thinner than she was at the beginning of the summer. Worry had been eating away at her like a parasite and the effects were starting to show physically. Her clothes that used to fit perfectly now hung slightly around her frame as though they were a size or two too big. Her hair was thinner too but despite its wispy nature, not a single strand was out of place. She had never been as obsessive about her appearance as Walburga had but throughout the summer, she had seen a change. Time and care was put into every single aspect of her look. She looked like money, she looked like power. To anyone with an untrained eye, even her loose clothes seemed well tailored for her. It was all a ruse to cover the cracks that were starting to form in her psyche.
The Travers came from a long line of Russian purebloods. Their prestige was known throughout Russian history till the late 1700s when they moved to England at the prospect of new fortune. They didn't find it...
Dahlia had married into the Travers family from a long-standing Egyptian family: The Osamas. Again they had fame and fortune in their motherland. It was even rumored that they were descendants of the line of wizards and witches that were hailed as pharaohs and built the pyramids. How they ended up in a place like this is unknown, but a great deal of their prestige had dropped.
Coming from such a bloodline and then marrying into the Travers family, Dahlia knew pressure. Much like her French-ailing Black friends, perfection had been demanded throughout her childhood and she saw it reflect in her adult life too. It especially reflected in the way she parented her children. Her first son had been a dream. He was everything their bloodlines could have wanted: smart, handsome, Slytherin, etc. Atticus, named after his father as so many before him had been, was the very image of perfection. But he was a frail child and in his fourth year, no magic could save him from the extreme case of dragon pox. It destroyed the Travers family and for three years after his death, no one heard a word from the family.
Morgana was born out of necessity for an heir. Dahlia and Atticus Senior had hoped and prayed for a boy, but when they were met with Ana, that hope was lost. Both of them were getting on in age and there was no chance for another without serious risks. By the time Morgana was 5, Dahlia had suffered 3 violent miscarriages, all landing her in St. Mungos.
Yes, Dahlia knew the pressure that the blood purist society placed on people like her. But she had never obsessed over appearance and it had never bothered her like it did now. It was almost as though Walburga -crazy, perfect Walburga- was living in her body, creating sharp edges and clean cut lines. The Dark Lord placed a new found intensity of pressure on people like Walburga and Dahlia.
Standing in Kings Cross station now, Mrs. Travers felt overwhelmed and exposed. She was out here for everyone to see and she was sending her child away. The rigging in her ears was heightened by the train whistle that liked to blow without any apparent rhyme or reason. Did everyone, even the train, know the secrets she held? Did they know the power the tow children next to her held?
She could almost hear the voice of the Dark Lord in her head, "These children will be either the creation of my reign or mark the end of it. We must make sure they tip the correct way..."
She saw the quick tug from her daughter to Regulus and she heard the quick Russian whisper. Living as a Travers gave her a basic understanding of the language. The message, paired with the soullessness that she saw in her daughter's eyes made her heart break. This is not the life she wanted for her daughter... Her beautiful, smart, nearly perfect, 15 year old daughter didn't deserve to live under this pressure. And Regulus, whom she thought of more as family than just her daughter's friend. He didn't deserve this either.
Dahlia watched the children load onto the train giving her daughter a curt nod when she looked back. She could never read her daughter, for that she was proud. An easy to read face was a weakness they couldn't afford. But a part of her soul stung. Just like every good mother, she wanted to love her daughter. In this world she couldn't express it. They had titles and reputations to uphold. Relationships provided a weakness. She couldn't be weak. But oh how she wanted to run up and hug her daughter, watch her mask fade, and feel the relief of a true mother daughter bond.
But she didn't, there were always people watching. People from the Dark Lord's side and from those against the Dark Lord.... she stood there and as the train chugged away and watched it fade into the distance. She stood there longer than any other parent and as the sun climbed higher and higher into the sky only to fade once more and bring about the cool breeze of the night she stood still. No one bothered her. She was a statue, a piece of the background.
Dahlia Travers stood at Kings Cross station, Platform 9 and 3/4 from 10:30 that morning when they first arrived at the train station, until 11:00 that night. She would've stayed longer if Arthur hadn't come to find her.
"Dahlia?" He walked up slowly to the woman and slowly placed a hand on her shoulder.
She rose the opposite hand to the shoulder he touched and held his hand in hers, not looking away from the horizon the train had disappeared into. "It's getting late, Arthur. I need to check on the children."
"No ma'am, they're off to Hogwarts, remember?" He squeezed her hand, "We're at Kings Cross."
She finally looked up then around, slowly as if in a trance. "So we are..."
"Shall we go home?"
She looked at her butler and saw the worry in his eyes. Arthur had been working for the Travers family for 20 years now. During that time he'd learned everything there was to know about everyone in the house. He'd loved Dahlia since the beginning and after a few special nights they'd shared, that love only grew. He loved Morgana too. She was practically a daughter to him. This family was his as much as his own blood was.
Dahlia leaned in and pecked him on the cheek. "Yes, I think I'm ready."
The affection surprised him, but he did not lean away from it. Instead he offered his arm which she took and together they walked away from the tracks and apperated away.
They landed on the edge of the Travers estate, still arm and arm. Arthur was the first to take a step towards the house, but Dahlia pulled him back. "I said I wanted to go home, Arthur."
He looked into her eyes and saw the desperation that resided there. "This is your home, Travers estate."
She shook her head, a little at first then more and more violently.
"No, no, no, no," she sobbed and let go of his arm, wiping her eyes in the way a child would. "I wanna go home. I wanna go home! I wanna go home!"
Arthur stood there in shock. He'd never seen her this way.
"I wanna go home! I wanna go home! I wanna go home!" she screamed over and over slowly sinking into the ground.
She sobbed on the ground like that for hours, no one that came could fix it. Eventually, St. Mungo's was called...
Dahlia Travers had finally broke.