morning haze [closed]

[carolyn]

Carolyn could not remember a time that she had slept through the night without waking up at least twice. She was restless when it came to sleeping and always had been, so it was a miracle to find that she had not woken up once during the night. What surprised her even more was the fact that her daughter was laying in bed beside her, sleeping. Usually, she woke up whenever Elizabeth came into the room and climbed into the bed, but that had not happened. The young girl had her arms wrapped around one of the extra pillows on the bed; her breaths were steady and quiet. There was a single strand of hair hanging in her face, which Carolyn brushed gently out of her face and behind her ear. Whether it was a motherly gesture or something to calm the annoyance she felt when things were out of place could not be determined, but anyone could take a wild guess and assume that she had done it out of motherly affection for the girl. As of late, Elizabeth had been venturing into her room more often; it was up to three nights a week. Carolyn began to wonder if something was wrong, but she never asked. She was not one to ask questions about other people's well-being; it was not something she did. She cared about her daughter (not that anyone at Hogwarts knew that since no one there knew she had a child), but she struggled to show it. It was easier for her to show her emotions when there was no one else around to observe, or maybe while her daughter was sleeping so she did not know that her mother had lovingly tucked that piece of hair behind her ear.

The woman watched her daughter sleep but did not let her eyes linger for very long. If the girl woke up, it would have been an awkward conversation that neither one of them would want to talk about. So she slid from under the covers and off the side of the bed, careful not to shift the weight too quickly. She did not want to wake her daughter up. The cool air sent a chill down her spine. She wandered over to the bedpost where she had hung her robe the night before. It was deep green in color and made of satin; it matched the pajamas she was wearing. She immediately slipped her arms into the holes and pulled it over her shoulders. She immediately felt warm under the material, for which she was thankful.

Her attention then turned to her desk, where there was pen and paper waiting for her. She sat down sideways on the chair, something she never did, and began writing in her flawlessly neat script. The quill scratched loudly across the parchment, the sound ceasing momentarily whenever Carolyn had to dip the quill into the inkwell.

William,
I know that I have not written to you in a while, but that is only because the term has kept me busy. Between giving lessons and grading papers, I have not had much time for anything else. I have wanted to write you, but time simply has not permitted it.

The writing stopped entirely as Carolyn read the words she had written. How true were they? Yes, the term had been particularly busy, but she had had more than enough time to write to him, her ex-boss and ex-husband. She dropped the quill into the inkwell. Her right arm rested on the back of the chair, and her palm was flat against her forehead. She was obviously lost for words. She knew what she wanted to say, but she needed to say it gracefully. The questions was... how? She sighed quietly and glanced over at the window. The sun had risen into the sky and the light was playing peek-a-boo through the window. She began massaging her forehead gently and shook her head. She reached for the sheet of paper on which she had begun writing the letter and crumbled it into a small ball. She would just wait until he wrote her with new information so that maybe she would have something to reply to instead of trying to start a letter on her own.

[elizabeth]

For over a year, Elizabeth had not really been a sound sleeper. Since her father's death, nightmares plagued her. More times than not she would awaken from slumber screaming, or unable to catch her breath. Her heart would beat against her chest and her head spin. These were not fun ways to wake up, though the adrenaline was invigorating. Since her mother had started working at Hogwarts, there had been a certain reconnection between them. At least they were trying to reconnect. Elizabeth would often find herself in her mother's quarters after hours. The two would normally just talk, or have a cup of tea. Nothing too involved or in depth. Lately, she had taken to sneaking into the woman's room when a nightmare would rouse her from her sleep. It wasn't kosher, but Elizabeth didn't care. No matter how distant they may have become, Carolyn was still her mother. Sometimes, a girl just needed her mother.

She felt a rustling of sheets, and then a hand gently brushing hair from her face. She knew it was her mother. She also knew the woman would never wake her intentionally. Instead, Elizabeth allowed herself to drift back into a restless sleep. Visions of her father began to appear to her. In each one he was dead, but in each one he had a different means of death. Elizabeth didn't know how he had killed himself, just that he had. She had no idea how her mother found him or what he looked like. Her imagination took care of the rest of the story.

Elizabeth had fallen back asleep for what seemed like hours, but in reality was really only about ten minutes. Instead of waking up lazily and rolling herself over, Elizabeth bolted upright, her breath catching in her throat, and a hand grasping at her chest. When she was finally able to breath again, she took deep gulps of air, letting her shoulders rise and fall with each one. Her eyes were wide in fear and confusion, and it took a few moments for her to realize where she was. Across the room, her mother sat with a quill in one hand and parchment on the table in front of her. Elizabeth let her long blond hair fall into her face to hide the colorless, whitened cheeks, and the large fearful eyes. The whole point of climbing into her mother's bed was for comfort, to feel safe. Waking up from a nightmare in front of her was not exactly what Elizabeth had counted on.

[carolyn]

Carolyn stared at the small stack of blank parchment. She knew that she should probably wait until she had something to reply to, but it left a feeling of unease in her chest. She reached for the quill again and began scribbling across the paper.

William,

That was all she wrote. She dropped the quill back into the inkwell and stared at the perfectly etched word written on the parchment. It was just his name and a comma, the way any person would usually start a letter. She brought her right hand to her mouth and played with her lower lip. She wanted to write more, but she could not find the words. She sighed.

Her gaze was brought to the window, which was beginning to let light into the room. The curtains were dark in color and pulled almost completely shut, so not much of the light found its way into the room. What light had managed to find its way in held her captive for only a few moments. She had not watched a sunrise in a year, not since Michael had died. That was something they did together, or that they used to do together. Now she kept the curtains drawn even though she was awake to see the sun rise into the sky. She hesitated and stood to her feet, slowly walking over to the window. She gently pulled the curtain aside and looked out. She had already missed the sunrise. Yes, the sun still needed to come up, but she had missed the most important, most beautiful part. She let the curtain go back to its previous position, turning back towards her desk.

Her daughter was sitting up in bed, and that caught her eye. She looked at the girl and for a moment she seemed concerned, or at least that was the emotion her eyes revealed. She wrapped the robe around her body, feeling awkward that she was in her night clothes even in front of her daughter. She crossed her arms over her chest.

"What is the matter with you?" she asked. The young girl was breathing rapidly, unsteadily. The woman knew that she wasn't choking, for she had eaten nothing. There were few reasons as to why she might behave in this matter, but none of the obvious ones came to mind. She waited for a response. In the meantime, she walked over to the desk and lowered herself onto the seat, casually sliding the parchment with William's name written on it under the small stack. She glanced back at her daughter and continued to wait for the response to the question she had asked.

[elizabeth]

Liza was out of her element in the older woman's living quarters. Students weren't allowed in teachers private quarters, especially for sleepovers. However, the exception in this situation was that Liza had slipped into her mother's quarters, not just any old professor. Circumstances governed everything in life, and that was a lesson Liza had learned at a very young age. With that knowledge, she had been able to weasel her way out of a few tight spots in her prime at Hogwarts. Some of her muggle friends had likened her to a muggle lawyer from time to time. For whatever the reason, Elizabeth was good with words. She especially had a knack for making things seem different than what they really were. It was a skill few people, muggle or magical, possessed in this world. Luckily enough, Liza never really used her gift for evil if she could help it.

This morning, however, her gift with words and explanation would not help her. Despite their personal distance, Carolyn was still her mother, and for whatever the reason, mothers always knew when their children were lying. Not that Liza really wanted to lie anyhow. But what was she to tell the woman? "Well, you asked what's wrong so here it goes: I keep having recurring nightmares and in each one I find father dead in a different way. This has been going on for over a year and I think I'm slowly going insane from sleep deprivation."

Yeah. That would go over well.

No, Liza couldn't mention anything about the nightmares. Not yet anyways. There was no guarantee her mother would even acknowledge the nightmares. She couldn't even acknowledge her own husband's death, of which Liza knew she still believed was natural causes. The girl hadn't even shared the suicide note with her. On that thought, her right hand instinctively reached over to her left wrist and began fiddling with the leather braided bracelet. Her fingers traced over the Ankh symbol of everlasting life, a symbol from ancient Egypt. She was transported suddenly back to her early childhood where she would lay on her stomach in the parlor of their home, her chin propped up by two tiny balled up fists. She watched her father draw shapes in midair with his wand. Pyramids and gods, hieroglyphs and palaces. He could spend hours talking to her about such places, and Liza had always loved the sound of his enthusiastic voice. Though these days, it was getting harder and harder to remember what his voice sounded like.

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed to reveal a pair of maroon pajama bottoms with a gold lion down one leg and "Gryffindor" down the other, Liza tucked some hair behind her ears and shook her head. "Nothing." She replied simply, and stood up, "I suppose just a nightmare. Nothing new."

Liza glanced around the room, her eyes searching for whatever had made the sound of quill scratching against parchment earlier. She could have sworn she heard writing coming from somewhere in the room. After spending every blessed waking moment in a school filled with nothing but books and homework, Liza had become pretty adept in what a quill and parchment sounded like when used together. Glancing at a pile on her mother's table accompanied by a quill sitting in an ink bottle, she assumed this was the source of the noise. Her mother never really was one to discuss personal agendas and so Liza didn't even broach the subject. Instead, she took to standing up and stretching gracefully, almost in a feline-like manner. Then she turned towards her mother.

"I suppose I should get going. I wouldn't want you having to field any questions about why I was seen with you in my pajamas." The words stung as she spoke them. Since her mother had started teaching at Hogwarts, she had completely derailed any conversation that even mentioned she might have children, let alone a daughter right here in Hogwarts. Liza would be flat out lying if she said it didn't bother her one bit. The truth was, she didn't understand why her mother didn't claim her, or at least acknowledge her existence. And with no explanation to go on, it was just that much more hurtful. Especially when, in Defense Against the Dark Arts classes, Carolyn seemed to push her to do more and better with each lesson. It was utterly exhausting, and yet, Liza knew she would be better off for the instruction.

[carolyn]

Nothing. That was one of the two words women used to dismiss subjects that made them feel uncomfortable or that they did not want to talk about it. Carolyn was not among the group of women who used those words to dismiss the conversation; she had other ways of doing things. She watched as her daughter stood to her feet and stretched. Having nightmares was not normal. What was this girl talking about? The older woman knew that she should ask the question. She knew that she should see what was going on her with only child, but something kept her from doing it. Maybe it was the setting. Even though they were in her living quarters with the door shut, she still feared that somebody might find out about their mother-daughter relationship. It would not be hard to realize it if anyone ever saw them together; they had many similarities when it came to their physical appearance. The only thing they did not have in common was their eyes. Carolyn had dark blue eyes, and Elizabeth had light green ones, just like her father. Of course, Carolyn did not know that. She had not spent enough time with her little girl to know what color her eyes were. The woman felt her heart sinking slowly into her stomach at the thought. She could not believe she had spent seventeen years of her life ignoring some of the simplest, yet most important, things. Or maybe it was the fact that Carolyn did not know how to address topics like most mothers did. She had never been the motherly sort, though she had done well in Elizabeth's youth to make sure that she was a better parent than either of hers had ever been, but she was no longer that same person. Elizabeth had grown independent of her, and Carolyn pulled herself away. But even before her daughter have gone off to school, she had begun to pull away. Nobody really understood why she did the things she did - sometimes not even she understood - but it all had to do with the fear of loss. She was scared that she might lose her husband or her daughter, and she pulled away. So far, the only thing she had to disprove this was a living ex-husband and a living teenage daughter. Her husband had died, and she didn't even know how.

"Nothing new?" she stated hesitantly. She was not sure how she felt about continuing with the topic; she felt awkward. It was not something she usually did, but she was trying to be a better person, or at least that was what she told herself. Chances were, she would take one step forward and six steps back. She made progress, but quickly withdrew into her shell and stayed there. It was confusing to most people, especially to someone like Elizabeth who had a personal connection to her. "You have nightmares often? Is something wrong with you?" The second question was not meant to be rude or agitated. She was asking if the girl was well, if some sort of health issue had taken over. It just came out the wrong way. She remained standing there with her arms folder over her chest, self-consciously trying to keep the front of her robe closed. She was not wearing a bra, not that it mattered much since her chest always sort of floated behind her button-up shirts. She probably could have gone without a bra everyday and it would not have made a difference. But it wasn't just that. She felt awkward in her own skin, and it was really hard for her to overcome that discomfort. She never showed it, but it was there.

The girl made her way to the door and explained that she should probably get going so that nobody saw her. Carolyn glanced at the clock resting on her bedside table. Nobody would be awake at this time of morning on a Saturday, but she did not want to risk someone finding out that her daughter had stayed the night in her room. The older woman sighed. "Well, it's probably too late now," she said even though she knew it was not necessarily the truth. Even if she slipped out of the living quarters, ran across the classroom and down the corridor, and then slipped into her bed in the Gryffindor Common Room, nobody would notice that she was gone. Or at least that was what Carolyn thought. She had forced the tone in her voice to sound agitated or bothered by the fact, but she was actually somewhat relieved that she could very possibly force her daughter to stay. The woman unfolded her arms and ran a hand down the back of her neck. She remembered the tattoo she had gotten. It was a small dove with a heart-shaped ribbon hanging from its beak; beneath it was her husband's date of death: March 23, 2022. She glanced at her daughter. "But if you want to leave, then leave." She had not made it obvious that part of her hoped she would stay, but it was the truth. She wanted her daughter to stay. It would be a great opportunity for them to possibly talk and learn something new about each other. She wasn't holding her breath, though. She had set strict rules for her daughter regarding their relationship while at Hogwarts, and Elizabeth had done well until that morning to follow them. She would likely continue to do the same.

[elizabeth]

There had been times in the past few months when Liza had questioned herself and this new branching out with her mother. Was it a relationship? Could it really be called something along those lines? A rekindling of what had once been there in Liza's elementary years? How many times could she recall the woman brushing hair from her face, or even taking the slightest interest in what was wrong with her? Sure, there had been discussions-- mostly about grades and future endeavors, but never something so in depth like nightmares and their causes. Even the brashness of her response, "Is something wrong with you?"... it was the most loving thing that had come out of the older woman's mouth towards her daughter in years. Theirs had been a house of eerie, steely silence for as long as could be remembered.

There was no pleading tone, no begging for her to stay from Carolyn. It was a simple go if you must. Although, Carolyn had also never encouraged Liza to stay long in her quarters, let alone sleep over. There were simple rules, and rules Liza had done well to follow until this morning. She wasn't even sure why she didn't arise early and leave the room. She simply felt a sense of peace and comfort. Then the nightmares came.

Nearly every night for the past year, horrible visions danced around in Liza's head. Most of the time they were about her father and how he died. She had never known any details, and wasn't allowed to leave school for the funeral so Liza had never seen the body, let alone question her mother about it. Carolyn had always acted like nothing had ever happened. From the moment Elizabeth arrived home that summer up until recent times, Liza felt like her mother just swept the death aside as a mere inconvenience that would be remedied by going about business as usual. At times, it infuriated Elizabeth to the point where she would shout at her mother, call her careless and cold and then storm off. Those incidents were few and far between, and completely out of character for Elizabeth. She may not have had much of a relationship with her mother, but Carolyn was just that; her mother. Liza had no right to disrespect the woman so harshly, and she knew it. Somehow though, she would always come to this conclusion after a tantrum and she would slink back into a room and apologize. Not that it ever mattered. Her mother would just brush it aside, like everything else.

With her hand upon the doorknob, Liza barely turned the knob before stopping. She took a deep breath, steadying her nerves before turning to her mother. Perhaps it was time to come clean about the nightmares. It would be an innocent enough conversation, and one they had needed to have for a long time. A new found confidence washed over Liza and she straightened herself up, pulling her shoulders back and squaring them. She turned around, facing her mother, her green eyes deadlocked with Carolyn's blue ones. Her lips parted just barely and Liza could feel her pulse quicken. Here it was. Moment of truth. The point in time where she either got a straight answer, or would be dismissed from the older woman's quarters coldly. Liza knew she had to do this, and there was no going back once she held her mother's stare.

"Mother," she started slowly, then took another deep breath to continue, "What was it like when...when you found him? What did Dad look like when you found him dead?"

[carolyn]

Carolyn could not remember the last time she and Elizabeth had actually had a decent conversation. She could not remember the last time they were able to sit down and laugh about things. It was simpler when Elizabeth was younger, when she was a little girl. It never took much to please her - just a new dress from the "princess" store or allowing her to dig through the drawer where Carolyn kept her undergarments. Those things fascinated Elizabeth, though the older woman never knew or understood why. She supposed that it was natural curiosity, one she had never experienced since her parents spent most of their time pushing her away instead of pulling her near. Carolyn crossed her arms over her chest as her daughter placed her hand on the doorknob and began to twist it. But then she stooped, turned around, and their eyes locked.

This was not the conversation Carolyn wanted to have. She did not want to talk about Michael or the morning she had gotten up to find him lying still beside her, cold and stiff. When she heard the question escape from the girl's mouth, she felt her heart beat rapidly inside her chest. She knew that it was bound to happen, this conversation, but she had hoped that it had waited a little while longer. Yes, it had been a year since Michael had died, but she was not ready to talk about it. If she were really honest with herself, she would never be ready. Death was not something people talked about, especially if the person who had died was someone near to that person's heart. Michael had been close to Carolyn, though it never seemed that way, and the pain just grew harder to bear each day. The only thing that had kept her sane in the months following his death was Williams' presence. He had gone out of his way to visit her several times a day, and he let her cry on his shoulder. Elizabeth probably would have done the same if Carolyn let her come home, but Carolyn never would have cried in front of her daughter. She had never shed a tear in front of the girl even though it was the one girl in the world who needed to see her cry. Carolyn was not heartless, though it certainly did come across that way sometimes. Especially during moments like these.

"I don't know what you expect me to say, Elizabeth," she stated harshly. It was her tone of voice that said she did not want to talk about it, that she would rather change the topic. She sounded agitated. "He was dead," she stated curtly. "I woke up and he was gone." If the situation had been different, she probably would not have been as upset about it as she was at that moment. She had woken up one morning to find that her husband was gone, and nobody could give her answers. Nobody knew how he died. Not knowing bothered her. She wondered if someone had killed him in his sleep - or if maybe she had done something without realizing it. Men in their sixties did not just die in their sleep, especially not healthy men. "And I couldn't do anything about it." She held her daughter's stare. There was a sadness in her eyes, one that she never showed. Only people who knew Carolyn well enough, like William, would know what the look in her eyes meant. She was desperate for love and affection, and she needed someone to hold her. The only person she had truly let do that was William, and that was only because they sincerely loved each other from the start. Her marriage to Michael had been one of convenience, but she grew to love him. But regardless, she had always loved William and still did. She sat down at the desk and crossed her legs. Even in her night clothes, she still looked chic. She inhaled through her nose and spoke as calmly as she could; her voice was barely audible in the eerily silence room. "And nobody knows what happened."

[elizabeth]

Wrong, Liza thought as she listened to her mother's response. There was one person who had answers, just not the whole picture. The day Liza had returned from school the summer her father had first passed away, she had found a box under one of her pillows. It was light blue in color, like a package one might receive from Tiffany's, with a white ribbon around it. Such a pretty presentation did not prepare her for the contents. Like any child, she had quickly removed the ribbon from the box and opened it. Inside was the braided leather bracelet she had allowed her fingers to trace when she awoke in her mother's quarters. What Liza had not counted on what the letter attached to box with her name penned on the envelope in her father's handwriting. Her heart literally stopped the moment she saw the letter.

For a good long while, she just stared at it, debating whether or not she wanted to open the thing. It would be the last words her father would ever say to her. Would it be advice? Perhaps some soothing words to his little Princess? Something loving and reassuring that would carry her through her rough times? She realized she would never find out unless she opened the thing. Unfortunately, it wasn't anything like she had hoped. No, this letter was an explanation, a justification for the selfish act her father had committed.

Michael Davenport was no saint by any means, but who could honestly say they were? He had his flaws, just like everybody else, and one of them was a simple affair he had begun. Liza had caught him only once, but neither of them ever spoke of the incident. She had known her mother had grown distant, not just from her but from him too. The man was lonely and he was only human. His letter detailed his guilt. Guilt about the affair, guilt about Liza catching him, guilt about hurting his family and betraying his wife. Then he went on about his loneliness which had led way to a hopelessness he could not seem to get out of. All this followed by a declaration of unending love for Carolyn and Elizabeth, and his concrete intention of suicide.

Elizabeth had never told her mother about the note. She had never even told the woman his death was self-inflicted. What would be the point? He was dead, and Carolyn barely acknowledged it. Would telling her that he killed himself because he was so goddamned lonely really make that much more of a difference? No, Liza had kept that information to herself. Her heart alone would weather the heaviness of that storm until she could weather it no longer. No, what Elizabeth wanted now was to know how. Was it a convention suicide, with a slit wrist or gun to the head? Did he ingest something that acted slowly so he could drift into a peaceful sleep just before death, or was it a sudden, painful and gripping reaction that made him feel as if his heart were exploding? Did a pool of blood soak the bed that he and her mother shared? Was there a pill bottle, or his wand next time? These were all questions Liza wanted to shout at her mother while she shook the woman by the shoulders. Perhaps if she shook hard enough, tears might flow from those cold and seemingly unforgiving eyes.

"That's not what I meant," Elizabeth responded, this time quieter so as not to upset her mother even more. "Was it...was it messy? Was there a weapon, blood, anything?" She registered her mistake almost instantaneously. If her first question had received such a curt and cold reply, this would do no better.

Crossing the room to sit at the small table, Liza flopped into a chair and leaned her elbows on the table. Her hands came up to either side of her head and she allowed her fingers to tangle within the blond strands of her hair. Images from her nightmares past and present flashed in her mind, assuring her she would never have another peaceful nights sleep. With her head still facing downward at the table, she spoke, "I keep having dreams...nightmares about how it happened; About how you found him when you woke up. I don't know anything about it. I wasn't there, I wasn't allowed to go to the funeral or see him one last time. I just don't know, and what gaps I have my head is deciding to fill in the blanks." She took a deep breath and lifted her head. Though, instead of looking at her mother, her eyes stared straight ahead blankly into the wall, "I've had nightmares almost every night for the past year, and I don't know how to stop them."

[carolyn]

Carolyn was confused. She knew and understood what her daughter was asking, but she could not figure out why she was asking these questions. The girl was probably just curious. She had not been at home when her father died, and Carolyn did not permit her to leave Hogwarts to attend the funeral. She had told her to focus on her studies and not let a thing like her father's death get to her. Of course, that was easier said than done. Everyone received the death of a love one in different ways. Carolyn did not know how her daughter had reacted upon receiving the devastating news, nor did she really want to know. It was not that she did not care about Elizabeth - because she did - but she did not think she could handle the weight of her emotions as well as her daughter's. But now that all of this was coming out of the dark and being placed onto the table, there was no way she could avoid it. The seventeen-year-old girl was asking questions that not many people would be brave enough to ask. Maybe Elizabeth felt safe to ask about these things because Carolyn was her mother, but that did not mean she could save herself from the oftentimes hurtful things her mother could say. Sometimes the older woman did not realize what she said or how she said it; it just escaped her mouth in whatever way it felt necessary. The older woman shifted uncomfortably in her seat and looked back at the curtained window. Had her daughter really asked those questions? It was early in the morning and already they were off to a bad start: Elizabeth was talking about her dead father and Carolyn could feel one of their spats coming on. She sighed and rubbed her forehead, trying to prolong having to answer the question for as long as she could. But when she finally did answer, she did not sound pleased.

"Elizabeth, if there were a weapon or blood, do you think we'd be sitting here wondering what happened to him?" She had raised her voice, but only a pitch or two. She usually spoke in a calm, quiet voice, but frustration oftentimes caused her to bring it to a harsh normal pitch. She sighed heavily, not bothering to stifle it in fear that her daughter might get upset, and shook her head. "Do you think I would be sitting here talking to you like this, Elizabeth, if I had woken up next to a body covered in blood? It was bad enough waking up next to a body. I..." Her voice cracked and she fell silent. She looked down at her hands resting on her lap and began playing with the rings on her left hand. Nobody would believe her if she said that she loved Michael, but she did. She may not have loved him when they first married, but she had grown to love him through their marriage, and that love had only matured after the birth of their daughter. She took slow, deep breaths to calm herself and to keep herself from shedding the tears that were lingering in her eyes. She did not look up at her daughter.

The young girl moved to the other side of the room and sat in the extra seat. Carolyn could see her out of the corner of her eyes. Inhaling deeply, she bit down gently on her lower lip. Her daughter could not possible realize how much this conversation was bothering her - and if she did, she was doing her best to make sure it continued. Was it some sort of mechanism to get back at her for all the years she had spent ignoring her only child? Carolyn did not considering it "ignoring" her. The girl had gone off to Hogwarts, and life had to continue. And it did. After several quiet moments, Carolyn inhaled deeply and lifted her head. She had managed not to shed a tear, but remnants of moisture were present in her eyes. "I thought he was sleeping," she stated quieter than usual. "He was lying on his back under the blankets with his eyes closed. I thought he was sleeping."

[elizabeth]

It had been the first time Liza had seen emotion in her mother's face since she could remember. Granted, it wasn't much, but it was enough. There was only a flicker of sadness and a slight glaze of tears before both had rediscovered their place behind Carolyn's mask. Liza didn't question it. She knew better than to keep pressing an already exhausted subject, but she couldn't help herself. What about her feelings? What about her questions and her closure? Maybe her mother didn't want to acknowledge the life-altering event, but she didn't hold the right to speak for Elizabeth as well.

She had observed her mother enough to know that Carolyn probably couldn't face her own emotions. More than likely, she no longer knew how. The fear of releasing those flood gates brought with it the possibility of drowning. Which was why Liza needed to face her own emotions. She had to, or it was all going to eat her up on the inside. Liza had taken a page out of her mother's book and had started bottling her feelings for quite a while now. It seemed to be simpler in the long run. Especially when it came to talking to her mother.

The only difference was that Liza was not made to be as hard or as cold as her mother. She could feel herself hollowing out, becoming a mere shell with each passing day. Liza knew, at some point, she would crack--end up in St. Mungo's with the other loonies where she would sit in silence and stare at a blank wall, mouthing words to herself. It was her main fear, the main reason she kept pestering her mother. What she hadn't counted on was her mother's response.

The woman seemed genuine, and Liza was not used to that. Almost as soon as her mother had spoken the words, Elizabeth had felt incredibly guilty for even bringing up the subject. It was never her intention to hurt her mother in any way, even if she didn't understand how she was hurting her. Carolyn had barely acknowledged the death of Michael, let alone show any emotion about it. Liza certainly didn't have the intention of causing pain. Then again, when it came to her mother, Elizabeth couldn't seem to do anything right.

I-I'm sorry, Mother," Elizabeth squeaked out, her eyes still staring at the far wall. She didn't want to be the cause of another argument. All she wanted was answers. Since she wasn't allowed to go to the funeral, to say her goodbyes and ask the inquiries to
just about anyone else. Liza wasn't stupid. She knew what things she could and could not ask, and things she was better off letting go. Sadly, the nightmares had forced her to bring up her father.

Elizabeth closed her eyes tight so that creases formed in her eyelids. Each and every nightmare image of her father's death flashed across the back of her eyelids. Every bloody, devastating image which made 'lying in bed under the covers' simply inconceivable. "I've pictured it so many ways...horrific ways. I didn't know what was real. I didn't mean to upset you, Mother."

[carolyn]

Carolyn toyed with the rings on her finger. Neither of them was particularly spectacular. One was a white gold band with diamonds around it and the other was just a regular gold wedding ring. They complimented each other and while they were both expensive in their right, neither of them stood out. People thought she was married, or at least that was what she assumed. She wore her rings for a reason, and that reason was because her husband had died and she had no intention of remarrying - or at least that was what she told herself. Deep down, she really did want to find someone to love her. She had lacked so much love in her life that once she found it, she had to have it. It had turned into a strange addiction to her. But not only was it her need to have love and be needed and wanted, but the fact that she did not do well alone. She was dependent on other people, or at least her emotions were. She stopped playing the rings on her finger and sighed, glancing up at her daughter.

"Well, now your mind can stop filling in the blanks," she said harshly. She had not meant for her words to come out like that, but they had. It was one of those things she needed to work on - or not. She stood to her feet, feeling the cold stone floor beneath her, and walked over to the window again. She pulled the curtains aside and looked out at the grounds. It had rained the night before; there was water dripping from above her window. Maybe that was the reason why she had slept so well. She sighed to herself and focused on her reflection in the window. She looked older than she remembered and her eyes were weak and tired. She sighed and let the curtain close once again, walking over to the bed and taking a seat. Her back was to her daughter. She began twisting the rings around on her fingers again, still willing the tears in her eyes to disappear. She knew why she was having so much trouble containing herself. She had not taken the chance to mourn her husband, and all of the emotions were bring brought to the surface as a result of talking about him and his death. She lifted a hand and brushed away a tear that had just escaped from the outward corner of her eye. She inhaled deeply and there was an eerie silence in the woman's living quarters. And then she broke the silence by opening her mouth and offering a confession.

"I miss him."

She closed her eyes and immediately saw his face. She was beginning to forget small things, like the wrinkles around his eyes and the way he smiled whenever she kissed his cheek. Sometimes he would crinkle his nose whenever she did it, just to be funny. But forgetting those things was not new. She had already begun forgetting those things while he was still alive because she had started to push him away too soon. Now trying to remember things was harder, and it was progressively getting worse. If it weren't for Elizabeth, she would have forgotten his eyes. He had the most beautiful green eyes and she remembered hoping that their child would have his eyes - and she did. Carolyn made sure that there were no tears lingering under her eyes before she shifted her position on the bed and sat so that she could see her daughter. But she was not looking at her. She was looking down at the solid colored sheet on the unmade bed.

Realizing that the bed was still unmade, she stood to her feet. It did not take her long to tuck the flat sheet under the mattress and make sure that it was tight - so tight that a coin could bounce off it. But in the midst of lining the pillows at the head of the bed, she stopped and lowered herself onto the uncomfortable mattress. She sat on the edge of the bed with her back to her daughter again. And without any hesitations, she brought her hands to her face and began to cry quietly.

[elizabeth]

Liza sat there, allowing everything that had just transpired between mother and daughter sink in. She hadn't been used to her mother showing any sort of emotion in front of her. Not since she was a child. Yet, here they were, in a completely awkward and painful situation, and all because Liza had no self control. She always wanted answers. Her whole life had been consumed with discovering the answers to her personal inquiries, whether it be academia or something much closer to her heart. With her mind dedicated to whatever task at hand, so many times Liza forgot to think about anyone else who may be involved. Their feelings, their memories, their hearts-- none of it seemed to cross her mind. She simply wanted her answers, despite what she might overturn in the meantime. This was one of Liza's flaws she had inherited from her father. He was never as cool and calculating as Carolyn seemed. Michael Davenport was a man of brash decision and bullheadedness rival to none. In this way, Liza took after the man. In almost every other way, she was her mother-- right down to the wall being built around her heart and the bottling of feelings.

After a moment, Elizabeth lowered her head and conceded to let her forehead bang softly against the hard wood of the table. What had she done? Why was she so desperate to know information which was only going to hurt the two of them? Her intention was never to hurt her mother. More than anything, Elizabeth simply wanted the woman's approval and acceptance. She never wanted to hurt her. Far from it, actually. For whatever the reason and despite their distant relationship, Carolyn was her daughter's role model. She was who Elizabeth hoped to be when she was grown. A woman with sophistication, a steady job, and the knowledge of all her wants and desires. To Elizabeth, Carolyn was someone to be admired, and someone to aspire to be. If only she had the courage to tell her mother such things, than perhaps their relationship wouldn't be so tumultuous.

Still, without malice or forethought, Elizabeth had managed to hurt the woman and now had no way of knowing how to fix it.

With her eyes shut tight and her forehead still resting on the table, she spoke up. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you sad." And it was the truth, though she was sure the way it came out sounded rather snarky. Didn't all teenagers sound that way when apologizing to their mothers, though? Elizabeth lifted her head when she heard the soft crying. This was not like the mother she had grown to be wary of in her teenage years. This was a different woman, a new breed she had never seen before. And yet, the site of her mother crying about her father softened the girl's heart. Elizabeth stood up and cautiously made her way towards Carolyn. Gently, and ever so slowly, she reached her arms around the woman's shoulders and hugged her gently but securely. Elizabeth allowed her head to rest in the crook between Carolyn's shoulder and neck and closed her eyes. The worst that could happen was that Carolyn would throw her off and become angry. There was always an exit strategy for that response. However, it was Elizabeth's hope that her mother would just embrace the touch of familiarity and love. That she would accept it and maybe just hold on for a bit.

"I miss him too, Mother," She spoke softly, almost melodically into the woman's ear, "I can't even remember the sound of his voice anymore, or his laugh. I sometimes think that makes me a horrible daughter. What child can't remember their parents voice?" It was the most honest Liza had ever been with her mother since she turned eleven. What's more, the younger woman even allowed herself to cry in front of the woman. Her arms held on tight around Carolyn, as if she were a life preserver against the waves of emotion and memories barreling down on Elizabeth. Closing her eyes tightly, Elizabeth let a few tears moisten her cheeks, streaking them with sadness. "I'm so sorry, Mother. I didn't mean to cause you pain."

In only a few short years of life, Elizabeth had felt as though she had lost two parents. Her mother began drifting away once she had been accepted to Hogwarts, and her father began drifting after losing the attentions of his wife. Maybe if she had been at home more... maybe she could have seen the signs. Maybe she could have coaxed her parents into reigniting their love. Maybe then her father wouldn't have killed himself and her mother wouldn't have to hide her pain. After all, you can't hide what's not there. The thought had crossed Elizabeth's mind once or twice since her father's death. What if it was her fault? What if there had been signs--signs she had missed because she was so caught up in her own petty school life and friends?

[carolyn]

Carolyn never wanted to be like her parents. She never wanted to mirror their thoughts or their actions, but it had happened anyway. She had spent so many years bottling her emotions up inside as a child that it was the only thing she knew how to do. She had spent so many years putting a wall up around her heart so that she would not be disappointed when someone claimed to love her but abandoned her. She stopped having high expectations of herself after she got pregnant and lost that baby. Everything that she had known throughout the course of her life was beginning to creep up on her and have a negative effect. Like now. She was sitting on her bed with her head in her hands. She was allowing tears to flow freely, but still took the precaution to hide them. She saw crying as a sign of weakness. She was crying in front of her seventeen-year-old daughter, the only person she had left. And the worst part of all was that she was at Hogwarts and could not run away from it all. She had taken the teaching position there, and giving it up was simply not an option.

Try as she might, she could not hide the fact that she was crying. Her body trembled as she refrained from letting out sobs. If she were alone in her room, she might just do that. She would cry her eyes out and not worry about the noise, and she would probably stumble aimlessly around the room in search of something to throw at the wall. But her daughter was there, and she dare not lose her cool in front of her - at least not more than she already had. And then she felt her daughter's arms wrap warmly and comfortingly around her shoulders, and she could not but let out a low sob and bury her face into her daughter's shoulder. She could not remember the last time she had cried - especially like this - but she had to admit that it felt good. So many years of bottling up emotions, and finally she was letting them all flow freely. Well, maybe not freely, but freely enough.

"You remember more than I do," the woman said honestly, her voice cracking slightly at the sound of her words. She fell silent and let the silence sink. She let her daughter hug her, but she did not return the hug. She just let the young girl's warmth comfort her for a few moments - because she needed that. But once she had had enough, she stood to her feet, wiped the tears off her face, and straightened the robe she had tied around her body. Although her eyes were red and puffy and there was still presence of moisture on her face, she placed her hands on her hips and exhaled.

"Coffee," she stated simply, raising her brows as she wandered over to the pot she had for warming water. She filled it using her wand and then performed a second spell to warm it. Once it was center-of-the-sun hot, she whipped up a small cup of coffee and sipped from it. She did not say anything else in fear that it might cause the girl to ask more questions that would provoke more emotions. She sniffed and sat down at her desk again, crossing her legs. She needed to write a letter to William. She had to see him. She needed to see him. She just hoped that she could write a graceful letter without sounding desperate. But in the meantime, she glanced at her daughter.

"Have you been working on that spell?" Of all the things she could have said, she chose to mention schoolwork. She really did not know how the emotions thing was supposed to work. "You were having trouble the other day in class. Did you work on it?"

[elizabeth]

In reality, this small gesture between the two of them -- Liza hugging her mother and Carolyn allowing her to do so -- was a monumental breakthrough for the two women. It didn't matter how long it lasted, or if it was even helpful. Just that it had happened. Even though Carolyn didn't reciprocate the hug, which Liza had a feeling would not happen anyways, the fact that for one moment, one precious moment, there was nothing but emotion and love between the two women was considerable.

Then, Carolyn did what Carolyn Porter did best: she broke away. She had had enough, taken her fill, and now it was time to move on. Elizabeth couldn't blame her, mainly because she was guilty of the exact same thing. Would she have liked to be held by her mother in turn? To be coddled, soothed, and told everything would be alright? Of course, but that wasn't the world she lived in, nor the family she had been born into. Yet, Elizabeth didn't blame her parents. She had a good childhood, and never wanted for anything. She was looked after, fed and clothed, had a beautiful room and comfy bed to sleep in. She was fortunate. So, when her mother went back to business as usual, Elizabeth knew it was better just to follow suit.

Elizabeth kept her back towards her mother when the woman started for the table. 'Coffee.' The word was so inviting and invigorating. Each morning, Elizabeth started her day with a cup of coffee, black of course. She wasn't overly fond of those students who made their own lattes and whatever else they could figure out along the way. Liza wanted to keep her body clear of all those extra additives and sugars. Besides, drinking coffee black always offered more caffeine.

With her back still turned towards the table, Liza took the neck of her shirt and wiped her eyes and face clean. What an emotional way to start the day. Once she was satisfied her appearance would not evoke any concern or blunt ended questions, she turned and walked back towards the table where she pour herself a cup of coffee.

Then came the questions about school. The homework, and practicing, and never-ending reports to professors who barely looked them over. There was something to be said about those students whose parents taught within the school. Elizabeth, for one, couldn't ever get out of homework even if she was sick. She couldn't skip Defense Against the Dark Arts whenever she felt because her mother would know. The woman always watched her like a hawk when their DADA class was in session. And yet, no one knew the two were related. Carolyn had preferred it that way and Elizabeth didn't argue. It was a bit hurtful at first, she would admit, and Liza didn't fully understand the reasoning. Then the first day of class came round and Elizabeth full understood why her mother wanted to protect Elizabeth's true lineage. It really was for her best interests.

With a sigh, Elizabeth sat down at the table and poured herself of coffee. "Yes, I have been practicing. Although, I'd perform a lot better if you weren't always hovering over my shoulder in class." Though blunt, it was the truth. For whatever her reasons, Carolyn had always been tough on Elizabeth. When the woman began teaching at Hogwarts, she became even tougher. Nothing was ever good enough in DADA. Her papers could always be better with more detail or specific key points. Her spell casting technique could be stronger, more tight and less sloppy. Carolyn expected perfect results from her daughter at every turn, or at least that's how Elizabeth perceived it. "You are aware there are about twenty-three other students in the class. You could just as easily be critiquing them throughout the class." Elizabeth took a sip of her coffee and grinned. Perfect. Hot, strong, black, just the way coffee was supposed to be.