clumsy_auror | (no subject)

(no subject)

Distractions are a positive thing.

Books are somewhat helpful, but her attention keeps wandering; the television or music are even less effective. Doing something with her hands is a definite improvement, so Nymphadora's sitting on the couch with a scrap of fabric, a spool of thread, a needle, and her wand in her hand. She's practicing the sewing spells Molly taught her.

As a concession to Bernard's nerves, there's a blanket tucked around her legs, and a cup of tea on the table in front of her.

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An answering nod.

"I liked to... Well, I liked to reread childhood novels, like Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm, when I was laid up."

That she formed comforting habits to help her through the times it happened speaks to their number and frequency more than bare figures ever could.

With an unsteady nod, Nymphadora realizes that her eyes are beginning to sting, and with a convulsive movement and something like a sob, she hugs Kathleen tightly.

Part of it's 'Dora's own pain, certainly. But the magintude of what Dude and Kathleen went through is something she can only now begin to understand.

Kathleen's arms go around her daughter-in-law just as tight, and she smiles against her hair.

"Hey, now." She pats Nymphadora's back. "You go ahead and get it on out if you have to. No matter what you do, nobody's gonna tell you you're wrong, unless you start jumpin' outta airplanes for the thrill of it."

A laugh comes through, very briefly, and the much-larger 'Dora allows herself to be cradled against her diminuitive mother-in-law. "'M so sorry, Kathleen."

"Tsch, girl," Kathleen murmurs, rocking her a little. "Happened decades before you were a twinkle. And we got Baby in the end, didn't we?"

"You d-did, but-- but I can't even b-begin to imagine how you must've felt," she says, sniffling. "I feel like absolute shite, and I've already got two and it's just been once so far for me--"

Kathleen pulls back, her hands firm on 'Dora's shoulders.

"There is nothing to be gained by comparing and contrasting painful experiences."

Her face falls still further. "I-I'm sorry. That isn't what I'm trying to do, really. I just... I'm sorry."

Another nod, and Kathleen leans in, smiling with an effort. "Don't you worry about me. I made my peace years ago. You let me worry about you for a while."

For a moment Nymphadora just looks at Kathleen. And then she nods. "'Kay."

"All right." They just sit together, for a moment, and then Kathleen picks up 'Dora's empty mug. "Let me get you some more tea."

At that, the witch suddenly laughs thickly. "'M gonna float away from all the tea. Reckon it's good for me, though."

"Good to stay hydrated, and water's boring I always say," Kathleen replies stoutly, and marches off to put on the kettle.

Once in the kitchen, the kettle on, the tea in the cup, she leans on hand on the counter and covers her eyes with the other.

'Dora bites her lip, out in the living room, and worries the edge of the blanket.

It takes a few minutes for the water to boil; plenty of time.

She pours the water into the mug. "Where's Bernard?"

"Took the babies out for a walk," she replies, rubbing one eye. "Taking advantage of the bit of sunshine we're having."

Kathleen sighs again and walks back out to sit, two mugs in hand.

"It's just as well. I'll probably weep on his shoulder yet, but I'd like to delay it as long as possible."

'Dora takes the mug with a murmur of thanks, setting it on her knee, hands encircling it to draw out the warmth.

"It's hard," she says slowly, "to talk to him about it. I have an easier time talking to nearly everyone else."

"Is it?" Her brow furrows. "That's unexpected, I have to say. He's such an open book." She sips, carefully. "Dude got real good at talking after the third or so. First time was a real doozy, though. Wouldn't admit he was upset. Just went out and broke the damn tractor."

'Dora smiles sadly. "Isn't him that's having the difficulty, it's me. Just dunno what to say to him. How to explain everything that's going on inside."

Kathleen nods once again. "He's not pressing you, is he?"

"No, not really. I think he wants me to talk about it, but he isn't being pushy."

"Good," she replies firmly. "Because if he was, I'd bend him over my goddamn knee, thirty or not."

That makes Nymphadora smile, albeit half-heartedly. "He wants to fix it. I can't blame him; I do too. But it's not a fixing thing."

"Well, he's not stupid." A sip of tea. "He knows that. Doesn't stop him from driving you a little crazy in the meantime, though, does it?"