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booksmarts and broomsticks
act ii , take a breath
chapter twenty-four , save me from tears

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➖DRIA LOCKABY➖
christmas 1992

THE CLINKING OF CUTLERY upon the surfaces of plates was all that could be heard as the three Lockaby children and their mother, wordlessly, ate through their Christmas dinner.

A Muggle radio, that Julia had acquired from one of her many ex-boyfriends, sat on top of the kitchen island and was connected to one of the Muggle channels, belting out Christmas songs amid the occasional advertisement. Dria recognised the song that was playing, as she felt her stomach fill but willed herself to keep eating — so as to avoid the inevitable conversation; it was song called Last Christmas by a Muggle pop duo called Wham! or was it Spam!, in all honesty Dria wasn't too sure.

She had a very clear memory of when the song had first been released in the December of 1984. Dria had been nine at the time, while Maisie and Michael would have been four and a half. She remembered her dad making fun of her mum for taking a fancy to one of the singers George Michael — it was Michael George? — and her throwing a sprout at him in response while the twins giggled away. It had been their last Christmas all together as one big happy family before the divorce.

Dria wondered if that song playing had been the reason for their conversation to lull — although it hadn't been entirely stimulating before then. It was a big reminder of what Christmas used to be, and it was laughing the four of them in their forlorn faces.

        "You want my last spud, Mais?" Dria cleared her throat, her voice quiet as she jabbed the last roast potato on her plate with her fork and outstretched it towards her sister, who sat opposite her.

        Her younger sister looked up from her plate, where she had been smearing around what was left her gravy, and gave her sister a small nod before taking the fork from her, with a short sigh.

        Dria was aware that she wasn't alone in her feelings of disheartenment and that Maisie and Michael were far from thrilled with the arrangements they found themselves in that Christmas. The only upside to their stay was the dinner they'd just eaten — although, Dria would have gladly traded it off for burnt turkey or maybe a sausage roll at her dad's house.

        But as Dria looked around the table, it seemed that even the dinner wasn't enough of a silver lining for her brother. Michael had barely said a word throughout the entirety of their stay in Westminster — much less throughout the meal they were eating, and had barely touched a thing on his plate.

        "Michael, you should finish your plate." Julia spoke up, a few moments later, her attention landing on her son. "You don't want all this to go to waste."

        "I'm full." He replied, shortly, his eyes not meeting hers and remaining stubbornly on his plate.

        Dria let out a slow exhale, her lips pursing a little, recognising his withdrawn behaviour and the short-temperedness that would be soon follow. The blonde wasn't all too sure on how her mother would respond to his irritability, so quickly interjected, deciding she better be on the receiving end of it.

        "Michael—"

        "I said I'm full!" He snapped in response, turning to face his sister with his nostrils flared before sinking back into silence.

         "Righto." Dria tutted amidst a small sigh, before following his suit and slumping slightly in her chair, falling back into silence.

Maisie was shooting worried glances at her twin from where she sat beside him, as she nibbled at the roast potato on her fork.

"This is really nice, Mum." She mustered, turning her mother's attention away from the glass of wine she was sipping.

"Thank you, Maisie." Julia replied, sitting up straighter in her seat, before turning to her elder daughter, with an arched brow. "How about you, Dria? Are you liking the food?"

"Yeah, it's great." Dria pressed her lip together in a tight-lipped smile, nodding in response. "Thanks, Mum."

"I added apricots into the stuffing, as you like them so much." Julia spared her daughter a wink, before taking another sip of wine.

"Yeah, that's great." The blonde replied, clearing her throat once more as she spoke, at which her mum gave her a chuffed smile.

Dria decided not to mention to her the fact that she hated apricots. She didn't want to argue with her about something so trivial.

        "Right, shall we do some presents then?"

        Julia's words may as well have been the starting pistol in an athletics race based on how quickly her three children shot up from their seats. However, it was fairly evident that their haste wasn't to get their hands on their present — okay, maybe it was partly that — but in fact to leave the oppressive silence of the dinner table.

        Maisie and Michael didn't even reply to Julia as they left their chairs untucked and left the table, making directly for the Christmas tree at the other end of the open space, where two sofas were also situate, upon one of which Figaro was curled up in a ball.

        Dria, on the other hand, rose from her seat and pulled out her wand from her pocket, and cast a simple charm over the dirty crockery ladened across the table; oh, the perks of being seventeen.

        "I'll clean up, Mum." She said with a small smile, already kicking the door open to the kitchen and disappearing behind it with all the levitating plates before her mother could offer any kind of response.

        Dria let out a relieved sigh when her mother made no objection to her offer, as the remainder of the plates entered the kitchen and assembled themselves beside the sink. With another flick of her wand, the tap started running hot and a squirt of Fairy Liquid caused bubbles to emerge in the rising water.

She could feel the hard marble of the kitchen counter pressing against her back as she leaned against it, breathing slowly. The blonde was happy to have gained a moment's respite from her family, and could feel a weight lifting from her shoulders in the minutes she stood alone.

Shaking herself from her reverie, she decided to stop the running tap — before the kitchen suddenly became a swimming pool — and waved her wand gently at the pile of mucky pots. Setting down her wand upon the counter behind her, she let herself watch as, one by one, the pots dunked themselves in the soapy water and began cleaning themselves.

This occasion of the oldest Lockaby dwelling alone had not been a rare occurrence in the week or so she'd been staying at her mother's, in fact it was the only environment in which she found herself comfortable while there. Dria was more than happy to lock herself away in her room, scribbling various notes upon page after page of parchment — after all, those NEWTs wouldn't do themselves! — and maintain minimal contact with the rest of her family.

         And it seemed that's how the rest of her family would prefer it to be as well.

        The air between the blonde and her mother was still tense since their altercation during the summer, and instead of opting to smooth out the cracks in their relationship, they remained silent in the hope that nothing would crack it further.

        Michael, as aforementioned, had also adopted this silence that had washed over the family, all too gladly. Dria couldn't help but notice his behaviour become even more tetchy and irritable since he'd first visited her in the Hospital Wing — which had become a much more common occurrence, although with fewer words and far more attitude from the boy. Although, Dria had put it down to him being an almost teenage boy, and tried not to take it personally.

        He, too, would be found alone in his room with the request to be undisturbed and he wrote away in a little black book that he'd acquired at some point over the course of the autumn term. Dria only hoped that he was channeling his frustrations into its pages rather than at her at every opportunity. She rather missed the vibrant, albeit, twat of a boy he'd been before; subduction didn't suit him.

        As for his twin, she also appeared to be down but Dria was sure that the atmosphere of the townhouse would cause the world's happiest man to frown. Michael's secrecy was evidently taking a toll on her as she was used to him confiding in her, no matter how trivial the problem was. But the young Hufflepuff refused to let anyone see it, her older sister knew better, but, for her sake, let her believe otherwise.

        In the nine days — yes, she'd resorted to counting — they'd been away from Hogwarts, every afternoon Dria would hear a soft knock at her door and in Maisie would waltz with a tight-lipped smile, flour smeared across her cheek, a cup of tea and a plate of whatever baked good she'd been slaving over in the kitchen, that morning.

Dria could very much vouch for the banana bread and had unashamedly found herself leaving her room more than a few times — eight — in order to grab another slice to "fuel her tired, studied-out brain", of course. However, the apricot frangipane tart was not her cup of tea; not that her mother would know that ...

         All in all, the happiest person in the house over that Christmas was Figaro and he was a cat — and a very easily impressed one at that.

        With a soft clinking sound, Dria was awoken from her daze to see all the plates propped up on the drying rack beside the sink and let out a slow breath, realising her respite had come to an end.

        Plastering a small smile on her face, she stowed her wand back into her pocket and kicked herself off the edge of the counter before making her way back into the other room.

         It didn't take long for her to notice her mother's absence from the room by the lightness the atmosphere now beheld — the blonde assumed she'd gone to the loo, probably in need of the respite from the occasion just as much as her daughter was. The stereo was still blasting out music, that echoed around the whole room, it was some song or another singing about an NYPD choir. Dria thought on it for a second, before deeming it to be a very strange topic for a Christmas song. However, after listening to a few more of the lyrics, made note to recommend it to Jackie — the abrasive name-calling would go down very well with her, she had no doubt.

         Maisie and Michael were sat beside one another, just before the adorned tree, surrounded by the wrapping paper that had once encased the presents. A mild chatter was passing between the two of them, and small smiles etched upon their faces — it may have been small, but so far the only sight of sincere happiness that Dria had seen under the roof since she'd arrived.

         As Dria took a few steps nearer to her brother and sister, she soaked in the appearance of the living room; it certainly looked the part. 

        Stockings were lined along the mantle piece, next to ornamental houses and other various decor that her mother had collated over the years. A strong scent of pine could be smelt from the Christmas tree, as Dria sank into a spot on the sofa beside Figaro. The tree, itself, was covered in fairy lights, tinsel and baubles of red and gold.

        Dria recognised three ornaments in particular, that hung upon the pine's strong branches, that brought a sad smile to her face. Three identical baubles of deep wine red and etched across their matte surfaces, in a cursive golden font, were the names of the three Lockaby children.

        The blonde remembered her father hanging them gently upon the tree for the first time in Mulberry Cottage, that Christmas in 1984. The tree had been a damn sight smaller than the one stood before her in the present, but it was enough. Everything was enough then.

        The sight of them made her miss her dad, her head falling into her hand gently as she thought of him alone on Christmas of all days.

        "Dria, look at this! It's what Hannah and Susan sent me for Christmas!"

        Her sister's sudden cry brought Dria out of her momentary sadness, as she focused herself on Maisie. The young girl was sat upon the floor, outstretching a tray of Fudge Flies towards her sister, as she chewed a couple herself.

        "You want one?" She asked, arching a eyebrows with a knowing smile that her sister soon mirrored.

        "Of course." Dria chuckled in response, before plucking one from the tray with a grateful nod, and turning her attention to her younger brother that sat beside Maisie. "Did Seamus and Dean get you anything, Michael?"

         "Yeah." He murmured, throwing her a fleeting glance as she bit into her Fudge Fly.

        "What?" Dria tried again, with a light sigh, hoping to get a more compliant answer from the boy on her second try.

        "Just some stuff."

       "Fascinating." The blonde tutted, as she slouched back in her seat, her attempt of conversing with her brother having fallen short once more. 

        Dria's eyes briefly landed back on Maisie who spared her a soft smile before handing her a pile of wrapped parcels that she recognised to be the ones she's been given by her friends, before she'd left for the holidays.

She was less than surprised and found herself letting out a light scoff upon opening the present from Jackie and Tess, which was a copy of First Love, First Loss by Amorette Deneuve that the blonde had every intention of throwing at their heads when they were reunited.

Penny had sent a collection of cauldron cakes as well as an eagle feather quill, which Dria had coincidentally bought for her in return.

         And then there was the one that had been taunting her, from its position under the tree, from the moment she'd placed it there, the week before. The brown paper package from Oliver that now sat on her lap, as she ran her fingers over its surface. Part of her was still thrilled by the gesture and intrigued as to what its contents could be, while the other half was anxious as to whether he would like the last minute present she'd managed to orchestrate with the help of her friend's brother.

Of course, the entire operation was carried out with Jackie's immense opposition, as she insisted upon — before forcefully succeeding in — writing 'DICKHEAD' across the top of the letter that Dria had addressed to the Irish Keeper.

After reflecting on the reaction Oliver gave her when she'd told him about Eoin being on Irish National team, Dria thought she'd try her luck in asking him for a signed picture to give the boy. Thankfully, he had been more than happy to assist the girl — Jackie had grimaced with a gag when Dria had announced his compliance.

And so, she found her mind running at a thousand miles an hour while she hoped her efforts had not been wasted.

With a quick reminder from the rational side of her brain, the blonde shook herself out her worried phase and turned her attention to the brown papered package upon her lap.

         Her lips pressed together in anticipation as she peeled the wrapping off to reveal two hard-back books. The cover of the first was a deep navy blue and the name H. Pollingtonious etched beneath the title which read; The Healer's Helpmate.

         A light scoff of humoured disbelief left her lips as she recognised the book from the advert in Witch Weekly that she'd mentioned over breakfast, one day that previous November. Dria turned it over in hand, scanning the blurb as a small smile stretched across her face, amazed by the fact he'd remembered such a flippant comment.

         The book that lay beneath only caused her smile to broaden and a hearty chuckle to leave her lips. Her blue eyes landed upon its burgundy cover and the illustration of a Golden Snitch drawn upon it. Dria couldn't help but shake her head in amusement at the edition of Quidditch Through the Ages that she held in her hands.

        She turned it over in hand much like she had The Healer's Helpmate, and let out a soft breath of surprise upon a small piece of parchment that slipped from within its pages.

        Dear Dria,

        I hope you appreciate the irony of your
        gift ( although, I'm sure you'll find the
        Pollingtonious book more than helpful )
        but you still have plenty to learn about
        the greatest sport on the planet, and I
        thought this would do the trick.

        Surprisingly, there's more to it than the
        injuries it causes — including over 700
        fouls! — and I'm sure I'll make a
        Quidditch player of you yet.

       Hoping you have a very Merry Christmas.

       Oliver.

As she read the note, Dria could feel the smile stretching across her lips and didn't bother to hide it as she folded it and tucked it into her pocket, before turning her attention back to the books.

"Who's that from?" Maisie piped up, upon noticing her Dria's board smile and flushed cheeks as she scanned the books in her lap.

"It's from Oliver." Dria replied softly, her eyes not leaving the blurb of the first book as she read over the words it beheld.

"Oliver?"

Dria's eyes widened upon the voice that entered their midst, tearing them away from the Keeper's gift and meeting the excited gaze of her mother, who had re-emerged into the room with an eyebrows arched in her eldest daughter's direction.

"Who's Oliver?" Julia repeated, folding her arms across her front with a smirk as she took a few steps closer to Dria.

"Nobody." The blonde rushed hastily, gathering the books in her hands, dismissing her mother's question as she felt her shoulders tense, but it achieved very little due to the contribution of the young boy sat by the tree.

"Dria's boyfriend."

"What?"

"Michael!" Dria audibly gasped, her face contorting into an expression of betrayal as her gaze met that of her brother which seemed completely unfazed as he dropped her in the shit.

The blonde couldn't stand her mother at the best of times and had only dreaded what she would be like if the blonde ever had a boy in her life — and Oliver Wood was hardly just that.

"You have a boyfriend, and you didn't tell me?!" Julia gushed, as Dria's nostrils flared in annoyance both at her mother and her brother, her grip tightening upon her books.

"Because he's not my boyfriend." She dismissed her again, before looking back over at her brother with an incredulous gaze. "Michael, are you kidding me?"

"Dria, don't lie to me." Her mother warned, arching a brow again as her daughter let out a large sigh of exasperation.

"Mum, I'm not lying!" She told her firmly, trying desperately to keep the anger rising within her at bay. "Please can you drop it?"

"This is typical." Her mother went on with a tut as Dria buried her head in her hands, fighting the urge to claw her hair out. "You know you never tell me anything."

"Well, maybe that's because you wouldn't listen even I did!"

Before Dria knew it, her head had whipped up from where it had been buried in her hands and every feeling of exhaustion, frustration and fury had left her control; the girl saw red.

"Now, that's not fair." Julia disagreed, her tone losing its playfulness and a questioning look creeping onto her face.

"Oh, really?" Dria scoffed, her nostrils flared as she grinned her teeth in a meagre attempt to control her temper. "Because the way I see it; you having no interest in my life until the second a boy is mention seems pretty unfair to me!"

"That's not true." Julia couldn't seem to come up with a better answer as her daughter's accusation hit her.

"Isn't it?" Dria retaliated once more, mirroring her mother's stance as she rose to her feet, with crossed arms and an arched brow. "Who are my best friends, Mum? What's my favourite subject at school?"

Julia's mouth opened and closed as though she had something to say, but if she did it wasn't being said and wouldn't have the chance to have been as Dria ploughed on.

"And never mind me, what about Maisie and Michael?" The blonde asked, pointing harshly at the twins who sat on the floor, mildly alarmed at the scene that was unfolding. "Who are their friends? What about their birthday? You forgot that last year. Maisie won't say anything but I will!"

It had escaped Dria's attention that the volume of her voice had raised considerably since the beginning of their argument, leading her mother to adopt the same volume with her attempt of a reply.

"Well, I'm sorry that I'm such a terrible mother, Dria!"

"So am I!"

With her final statement, the room fell into silence as Dria's gaze bore harshly into her mother's, the weight of her daughter's words finally sinking into the woman.

Dria could still feel the anger boiling in her veins, but pressed her lips together as she tried to control her temper. She couldn't stay another second in her mother's company; she wouldn't.

"Enjoy your apricot stuffing." Dria finalised in a calmer voice although it was laced with spite, as she scooped Figaro up from the sofa and strode towards the fireplace.

"Dria!" Her mother cried in objection, albeit not moving a pace from where she stood as she watched her daughter take a handful of Floo Powder from the urn atop the mantelpiece. "Dria, don't you dare!"

Stepping into the fireplace before she could hear another word, Dria squeezed her eyes shut, breathing heavily.

"Mulberry Cottage!"

With a flash of green flames and an unimpressed yowl from Figaro, Dria had yelled her destination, threw down her Floo Powder and soon the noise of her mother's shouts were left behind.

        She felt her feet hit the floor of her destination with a harsh thud that sent a shock up her leg, but she had yet to open her eyes. Her grip was still tight around Figaro, as she attempted to regain control over her breathing and the knot she felt forming in her chest.

        "What are you doing in my fireplace?"

        Only at the amused tone of her father did Dria allow her eyes to open, but instead of seeing an expression to match his tone, she saw one of worry as he surveyed her.

        As Figaro jumped down from her arms, Dria began aware of the tears that were streaming down her face and the uneven breaths escaping her lips as she attempted to swallow choked sobs.

        In a flash, her father had discarded whatever task he had been doing and wrapped his arms around his distressed daughter, wondering just what on Earth his ex-wife had managed to do this time.

       Dria held onto her dad tightly, as she let a tidal wave of pent up emotion leave her, sobbing into his shoulder while he rubbed her back, soothingly.

       "Suppose now would be a bad time to offer you a sausage roll, wouldn't it?" Allan Lockaby whispered with a light chuckle into his daughter's ear, smiling upon hearing a ghost of a chuckle amongst her sobs.

        She knew full well that there was never a bad time to be offered a sausage roll, but in that moment she abandoned the thought and continued to hug her dad close to her; just allowing herself, for once, to let it all out.

𝖙𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖆 𝖘𝖕𝖊𝖆𝖐𝖘!
and that's called
catharsis, love x

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