Chapter Text
Family
There was a great hush when Dorcas stepped through the front door, their previously loud home going silent, as if all the air had been sucked out of the room. A snuffed out candle.
Her father had come to pick her up via portkey, awkward and silent even as he held her between his arms for a long time, clutching at her like she might disappear. Dorcas thought she'd seen a suspicious wetness in his brown eyes but it had been quickly obscured by the shine of his glasses.
Now, her family seemed to be unsure on how to move around her, having obviously waited at the entrance, all crammed together in the small space and talking so loudly she'd been able to hear their words from the garden.
She's lost her mind, Jacob had been shouting, her older brother's voice full of righteous anger, stop it.
She'd known it wouldn't be as easy as the letter had made it seem.
Still, mother rushed towards her, sweeping her up in an embrace – fretting over her windswept hair and clothes and trying fruitlessly to hide the worry in her grey eyes.
“Mama,” She murmured, “I'm fine. You believe me, right?”
Tabitha Meadowes was not loud with her emotions. She often made herself into an unassuming presence, neutral and fair, only ever raising her voice when her children needed it, when her family demanded it. Dorcas had found great comfort in it, in childhood, when fights would break out and her siblings would point their fingers at their sister, aware that she'd receive a lighter punishment.
Her mother was a listener, the kind of woman that inspired calm and a mellow sort of quietness, filled with giggles and whispered games.
Now, though, she was betrayed by her eyes, the quirk of her mouth, the lingering touches she pressed on her daughter's skin, as if trying to reassure herself that Dorcas was still here.
“I do, my dove. We all do,” She kisses her forehead, ignoring her son's incredulous scoff, “But we also know you. And this has never been part of your plans before.”
“But will you keep trusting me?” Dorcas insists, reduced to nothing more than a child under her mother's careful hands, the same little girl that crawled in her arms to cry away her sorrows.
“Always. You know this.”
In her eyes, Dorcas sees the very same glint she often spies in the mirror, the steely determination that keeps her head held up high.
There will be explanations later, fights and loud discussions around the dinner table but now she is in her mother's arms and nothing else matters.
Dorcas,
Fiancée, I should say. Congratulations on your gamble, it has paid off. Upon returning to our house, there were no more mentions of Him nor questions about my future in His ranks.
Grandfather, an usually disapproving shadow in the corner of the room, was quietly satisfied by the match - or so Narcissa tells me. Apparently, he personally ordered it be finalised as soon as possible and demanded they cease their discussions with Him to properly welcome you in our House. What that means, I've no idea but it has bought us some time.
Narcissa says it is likely this will be a quick betrothal, followed by a grand wedding. Mother agrees even as her displeasure is evident. She had wanted me at Bellatrix's side before the summer, I believe, and certainly not at the altar.
What father thinks is inconsequential. As always, I doubt he is doing much of it at all.
What does your family think and what madness pushed them to agree to your senseless request, I wonder.
Cordially,
R.A.B.
Reg,
It does warm my heart to read of your undying devotion to your family - and Orion, most of all! What beautiful sentiments of affection you have expressed towards him throughout the years, I am glad they have not faded.
Congratulations to us, fiancé. Already, our plans are paying off nicely. You should remember to never doubt me again.
I knew it would be quick when I suggested we send off those letters, Reg, there's no need for warnings. Though I fear we'll not make it to the wedding, no matter how soon that may be, if you ever find yourself near my brother. He's not convinced, it seems. Not that anyone is, truthfully.
My family is not as complicated as yours - I ask and, if it is proper to do so, I am given. They need not understand to approve and my grandmother, for one, did not bat an eye at the prospect of our marriage.
Best regards,
Dorcas
They have never had such an awkward Christmas, before.
Dorcas could not help but wish for it to end sooner, caught between her parents' apprehensive look and her siblings' uncertainty.
Jacob had refused to give his opinion, when she had finally snapped and told him to get on with it – and there was the difference between her and her eldest brother.
They had sat in tense silence amidst their extended family, all of them trying to pretend not to have heard the news, and ignored one another, far too stubborn to find a middle ground.
Now, Dorcas lay curled up beneath her heavy quilt, ignoring the creaking of footsteps in the hallways and the noise of her bedroom door being pushed open.
The sound of bare feet on the wooden floors betrays her sister again and she sighs, scooting backwards so Danae could take her place under the blankets – smiling widely and humming in delight, their mother's songbird through and through.
“Jacob said you're getting married,” The ten year old whispers, looking around as though someone might pop out of the shadows and reprimand her for her late night escapade, “Are you?”
“Sure am,” Dorcas groans, burying her face in the pillow, “Why?”
Danae tugs at one of her braids, seemingly studying the contrast of their natural brown hair with the pale blonde her older sister had chosen years before, and giggles quietly.
“Who's marrying you?” She laughs, mean as only kids can be, and Dorcas makes a sound of protest even as amusement bubbles up in her chest.
“What do you care? Jacob didn't tell you to be mad?”
But she already knows the answer. It is such a Jacob thing to do, she feels her previous anger come back at full strength, has the urge to wake her brother up just so she can scream at him for meddling.
Danae shrugs, finally letting go of her hair.
“You don't look sad about it,” Her younger sister says, “He told me you would be but you're not, so it's fine.”
Truthfully, Dorcas is sad sometimes, upset at the changing world around her – but not Regulus, not this, specifically. Just everything else.
“Smart. More than he is, at least.”
“Dad says I'm smarter than you both.”
“Now you're pushing it.”
Dorcas,
I find that receiving the approval of an elderly woman that is believed to have gone mad about three decades ago is not as reassuring as one might've thought.
Sincerely,
R.A.B.
Reg,
Your latest letter ended up in the wrong hands and now my youngest sister seems to have sworn revenge on you, in our grandmother's name.
That'll teach you to bad mouth my Head of House.
Eagerly awaiting your apology,
Dorcas
“Child.”
Dorcas freezes, coming to a stop in the middle of the deserted hallway – the New Years is to be celebrated at their family's oldest property, imbued with magic and carefully hidden among the sprawling hills, as is their family's tradition.
Out of everyone that might've been calling, she had not been expecting her.
“Grandmother.” She turns quickly, lowering her head respectfully as the old woman steps closer.
As the Meadowes are a matriarchal line, it is her that guards their family's riches and has the last word on nearly everything that goes on under their roof.
Had Dorcas been Heir, the match she seeks would've never been granted – it would've meant bowing their head to another House, weakening their name. She is not, though. The honour is all her cousin's and grandmother has not protested so far.
Where Dorcas' mother is quiet dignity and soft hands, Evelyn Meadowes is harsh angles and discerning looks – those ancient eyes seem to strip her of her defenses, raking across her skin as if trying to find her weakness.
She stands up straighter.
“I've been in talks with Arcturus, lately,” Her voice is low, each word weighted carefully, “We've agreed to wait until the summer but the contract is drafted, ready for us to sign.”
“Regulus had informed me it would be soon.” Her conviction rings true once more, she hopes, doing her best to meet grandmother's green eyes.
Her efforts are for nothing, it seems.
“Listen to me now, girl. The moment I put our name on that contract is the moment your future becomes set in stone,” Dorcas swallows at the harsh sound of her cane being slammed against the harsh stone beneath their feet, “Last chance to back out. Am I sending it back signed or am I telling the old crow to stuff it where the sun doesn't shine?”
She had not been lying when she told Regulus her family is less complicated than his – but they are just as proud.
Grandmother wants her to accept, it has been plain from the very beginning. She'd answered her request a little too promptly, after all. It would elevate their family even more, already prestigious as they are, they can only benefit from trying themselves to the oldest remaining magical House in England. The Blacks, she imagines, have a very similar reasoning.
But this is where they differ: Dorcas' family would sooner slit their own throats than cause harm to one another. Their pride is swiftly pushed aside, when it comes to the family's safety.
Last chance, Dorcas thinks and it is thrilling and terrifying and a million other things that she is not able of naming just yet.
“Sign it.” Her voice doesn't waver, doesn't falter.
Grandmother Evelyn gives her one last searching look before her eyes soften and a sharp smile pulls at the aged lines of her face, a glimpse into the wildness she must've held in her youth.
She nods at her, respectful, and strides past, leaving behind the same scent of lavender that has been a constant in so many of Dorcas' childhood memories.
Dorcas,
Summer. I despise the heat but I suppose August will do fine. If we manage to plan for my birthday, we'll have one less date to remember.
Regards,
R.A.B.
Reg,
You're a wizard, I trust you'll find a way not to melt. The problem lies with me, having to go through my N.E.W.T.S. while looking for suitable attire for my own wedding and being pestered by the combined forces of our Houses.
I have not yet received your apology,
Dorcas