(Rated M for depressive Azkaban etc feels.)

She slept.  Tarron was a bulwark against the cold, against memories revisited in despair and dreams until they'd worn their own little black pits into the walls of her mind. Most days, they stayed there, not bleeding out or over, but on this day nothing could hold them back. Not even the warm refuge of her husband's presence.

Aisling had made her way to the garden early, several hours before she might have awakened under other circumstances. She had not had a garden then, in that small flat that they had shared in the first years of marriage. And so to wait there kept her isolated from those memories, from all the clear and tiny details that called them forth.

And now she was curled up on a wooden bench, arms crossed under her chest, chin and legs tucked in as close as she could as if the atmosphere was freezing.

If it had been so cold, she would not have noticed. Her mind was always filled with walls and barriers, structures to keep the memories back, pain and ice and shadows that still bled through, at times. Especially at this time. There were always a few bad days. Days where she was quiet and huddled and lost until she'd pulled herself back out.

Days where everything was hard. And this day, it would be even harder. She didn't know where her daughters were. For they were away from home, outside her sight, outside whatever gestures she would make on this day to watch out for them, and to hold herself together.

In her dreams she heard them crying again as they had that night.

Rowena kept looking back at her father, at her little sister. But she kept her pace steady, even as her hands clenched inward.

She was not oblivious. She could put the pattern together, the days where her mum was alternately withdrawn and clingy, staring off into the distance and then wrapping Rowena and Sophia in crushing hugs.  Rowena couldn't say that she understood the war, Azkaban, Dementors. All she knew was what they'd left behind.

And she never knew quite what to do. "Mum," she said, slowly walking towards the figure curled up on the bench. "Mum, we're here." Maybe that was enough.

Sophia, on the other hand had been in oblivious bliss to the undertones of a more darker day. The weekend spent at home had become more of a distraction than she wanted it to be, and harbored a bit of anger that she was requested to be pulled from the school for a visit. She worried of course, greatly, of their family, but sometime after Christmas Sophia realized that with her marks as poor as they were (perfectly acceptable to any other student) she worried too much of these things. Was she not always scolded for constantly trying to fix things that were far too broken to ever cure?


Her mother was one of them, wasn't she?


"And then he threw the worm at me, Father. Right at me. Dirt and all," She huffed with her little hands stuffed away in her fur muff, heels clicking of her (too high) shoes. Where had they even come from? "That is of course, after he insulted mother by saying she was the worm in question." Telling on Frank[1] as she went, she kept her eyes forward as if having only used the story as an excuse to manipulate the situation enough where the attention was kept on her, so that her sister could scope out the details before the parents tried to hide how serious the situation was, one more time.

"I'll never speak to him again."

And there she was, and Sophia's heart broke.

1.	http://absitomen.com/index.php?topic=14369.15

"Did he, now?" Tarron's tone held that glacial disapproval that was usually reserved for particularly pretentious letters -or, alternatively, Edwin Glass. Worms thrown at his daughter! The very idea. "You ought not to until he apologizes, then."

Not that he could quite deny being the worm-chucking type himself, at that age, but that sort of thing had almost always been Evie's realm; he'd usually been the victim of it, the straight-laced elder brother who got poked and prodded to see if he'd mess up in front of their father.

Despite the gravity of the situation, Tarron was rather glad of Sophia's chattering, even if she did stop when they located Aisling. Having the girls out of school was a blessing for many reasons, even if it had taken quite a lot of letters back and forth.

Despite his rather cold and sedate nature, Tarron did miss the two of them dearly. The house seemed dreary and dead without them running about yelling (well, Rowena running about yelling, at any rate) and their presence did much to cheer him up, even if it wasn't evident to most.

And it was good to have them here on this day, when Aisling seemed unable to not slide into depression. Tarron had not shared her experience of Azkaban, though a day rarely went by when he didn't wish he could have gone in her place. But he rather felt it did her little good to dwell on it as she sometimes did.

The girls were at once a reassurance and distraction, then, or so he hoped.

"Aisling," he said, an eyebrow raised, hands locked behind his back in his usual pose. "You'll catch your death out in this."

Tarron's voice cut through the cage of memory, through the broken defenses of her mind turned in upon herself. Aisling shivered, then turned her head, still curled up tightly against what only she could see. "Everywhere was cold. And I like the flowers."

They were fresh and alive, so much the opposite of that dark dead place. It loomed over everything, this day, and everything felt as if she'd just stepped off the dock from it.

Then she saw her daughters, and she jerked her head up, scraping it on the end of the bench though she didn't notice as she pushed herself up to a sitting position. "You're safe, I, I was so worried. I'm sorry I wasn't here, I should have been here, I said I've never leave you again." Her voice wavered and her hands shook from fear and relief as much as from the cold. She couldn't find the thought that remembered why they'd be gone, why it had all bled together now.

Everything was broken. And Rowena, she was the eldest, she was supposed to know what to do. How to help, how to make things better if not good.

As if she had any idea how to do so. As if anyone did.

She still rushed over to her mother and stood there, hesitant for just a second before she wrapped her arms around Aisling. "We're here, Mum. We were just at school. We're fine."

Aisling's body felt so cold, and Rowena could feel the shaking, the shivering. She turned to look at her father, her sister. "She's cold. Do we have a blanket?" Maybe that was the something, anything that she could do.

Sophia stood there, like a stone--part of the garden, or an angel in the mausoleums. She felt cold, despite her proper attire, and her little muff that warmed her hands. But it wasn't the sort of feeling that came with the weather, it was the solid pit of dread. She felt angry and confused, and wondered if her father would even stand for such nonsense. With a look up to him, and how he moved to comment on her being outdoors Sophia squared her shoulders with her stance to say,

"I think the proper course of action is to go inside, I fear that no amount of blankets will warm her," A deeper meaning to that scattered bit of an observation, made the hair on the back of Sophia's neck stand up. Rowena could be so dense sometimes.

"You're safe, I, I was so worried. I'm sorry I wasn't here, I should have been here, I said I've never leave you again."

It was funny, Sophia thought, that she never felt so far from her mother as she did now, standing right here.

"Was it a bad dream?" She asked hopelessly, as if needing to find somewhere she could chime in, but as she gave a glance to her father anger swelled. How could he let her get like this? Why bring them here to even see it? Was she going to die? With a few unshed tears Sophia huffed in an attempt to control her emotional warfare, and looked at her mother.

"Can't you dream inside just fine?"

Tarron was about as lost as he always was. Being an older, traditionally raised wizard, the idea of therapy as muggles saw it escaped him. He came from an older world, one where people coped with their eccentricities - or just got over them in private. For Aisling to have these strange episodes so long after the fact was terribly worrying and something he simply had no answer for, no cure.

Appealing to her sense of sensibility was about all he could usually think of to do, not being the coddling sort, and so he stood ram-rod straight, watching the two girls as they worried and fussed.

He put a hand on Sophia's shoulder, looking down at her a moment with a minute shake of his head. Was it a dream? He really, truly did not know. These episodes were usually less...vivid. Having the girls gone had made this episode the worst in some time, and the first time he had to wonder if his wife could even really see them. She didn't seem to be in the same room or decade as they were. Had the blow to her head earlier this year contributed?

"Going inside would be best," he said, firmly, in the gentle tone that nonetheless said he wished to be obeyed. "Krix can bring tea." Tea was delightfully, wonderfully normal, and normal was what he'd prefer the house to be.

"You're all safe." Aisling felt as if she were babbling, lost even when it came to words. But they were all there, watching her, and she had enough of herself to see the worry in her eyes. So she pushed herself to her feet, wavering, reached out to steady herself and found Rowena's hand.

"Let's go inside," Rowena said, gently tugging her mother towards the door.

Aisling followed slowly, not resisting, led on by her eldest child. It seemed such an effort to lift her head and yet she did so, looking over to Sophia with her father's hand on her shoulder. "There were dreams again, memories, I can't tell, the Healers won't let me take anything for them."

She clung tighter to Rowena's hand and looked to Tarron. A few tears slid down her cheek to smudge the remnants of her makeup. "Promise me they'll be safe. That their brothers will be safe." That was why she couldn't sleep, why she merely had to dream. So they'd be safe.

"You're all safe."

"Of course we are safe, we are home, Mother. Here in the garden, walking inside to our home. That happens to be standing perfectly tall," If not just a little smaller than the last visit, she was growing more and more every day. She was almost ready to let down the hem of a few of her gowns. However, she still held her father's hand, even now--even then. She would probably hold it when he was an old man and she a grown woman, she loved how warm it was within her own, and even now brushed her little thumb over his knuckles in hopes he would do the same.

"Father she is scaring me," She whispered up to him, "She is out of her mind. Speaking of wild foolish things like...brothers." There were no such things as brothers! Her parents were not having more children, the two of them was more than enough! Practical even.

"And being unsafe in our own home."

To see Aisling so out of sorts was always upsetting, and Tarron did not do well with being upset. He habitually squeezed Sophia's shoulder back gently, vitally aware of how grateful he was for her in that moment. She had grown so much in these last few years – since that distant year when she had been with her sister, screaming in the empty flat and left alone with him.

Rowena tugged her mother towards the house, and he followed, stepping forward to take Aisling's arm gently. “Of course, Dear,” he said, tone soft and deep, reassuring. “Things will be alright. Come – let us get out of the rain.”

Sophia's words...he would speak to her in time. Now did not seem a good time to confirm the poor dear's fears.

“Rowena darling, come, help your mother,” he added, gesturing to the redhead.

"Come on Mum, you can watch the rain from inside. Krix'll find you a blanket and you can rest." Rowena kept her tight grip on Aisling's hand, but didn't dare look up at her mother's face. This was all wrong and broken, wasn't everything from the War supposed to be fixed now?

Father had to fix it.

Aisling just followed her daughter silently, and the black train of her dress trailed across the damp stones of the garden path.  Once they were inside she collapsed onto a couch, and cupped her face in her hands. "I...when is it? It's so hard to remember."

Aisling's fingers pressed into her forehead. "But you're all here. I missed you...I...I wish I could sleep." She patted the open space on the couch next to her. All she needed was to have them there. Or so she hoped.

Sophia didn't stay in the garden long, her shoes clicking over the stone just as heavily as her heart in her chest. It was hard to explain how much she wished she hadn't come. It was nice to get away from the castle a little, but after yesterday's activities she wanted nothing more than to be there gushing with her friends about the night before. However, Sophia would never admit that, she would of course force herself to say things about studying and the like.

"I...when is it? It's so hard to remember."

"Remember what Mother?" She asked rather blandly, seating herself on the other couch across from her family, and ignoring the rest of what their mother went on about. Sophia thought she needed more than just sleep. If Father wasn't going to tell her what was going on, Sophia was going to find out herself.

"Is it something from the war then? Did you know that one of our Professors is rumored to have to tie himself to his bed so he doesn't walk the halls at night screaming about a fire and trying to get us out of the castle. Perhaps you would sleep best if you were forced to. They do make a few mixtures for that." With a nod to her sister to go get her potions book and show them,

"Rowena knows. She is going to be a potions master I can just feel it." With a smile to her twin, Sophia did her best to turn the conversation.

Tarron sat on the couch next to Aisling. He rather wished he could have explained this to the children on his own, without Aisling's presence; this was the sort of thing that he felt having a rational explanation for beforehand helped immensely. Especially when Aisling was in this kind of state and he felt there was little he could do about it. He laid a hand on Aisling's shoulder, pulling her against him, the gesture rather more tender than he usually displayed in front of others.

"Yes," he said, to Sophia, his tone low and simple. He wasn't sure how to explain this, with Aisling next to him, listening. It was easier to explain this, to rationalize it, in broad terms - in terms that rather simplified the issue, perhaps to an insulting degree. But he didn't want the children to know the details - not at their age. "It is."

He watched the two girls a moment. "The Mediwitches have made various recommendations, but this-" He wasn't sure how to explain it, and it showed in the way his expression twisted, the way he pressed his lips together. "Her suffering is not so overt if you are here," he said, finally. "It has not been...like this..." A glance at Aisling. "In quite some time."

Tarron was there. Their daughters were there. That should have been enough, in truth. Enough for rest and comfort and a bit of hope. Aisling leaned into Tarron's grasp, her expression shifting from the confusion of earlier to sheer exhaustion. So long as she could feel, could see them, it might be well.

"There's no need," she said, as Rowena made to stand and retrieve the books Sophia had mentioned. "The Healers were insistent that I not take any sleeping potions. I can ask again, but-" Such topics were not the province of healers. Or of any within this wizarding world. Some matters they were quite content to forget. "Tell me about how you've been, both of you. It feels like I've missed so much." Those few words were all she had energy for at that moment.

Rowena glanced between her mother and sister, but kept her place. "I'll make a sleeping potion you can always take one of these days. I promise." She nodded fervently and then squeezed her mother's hand. "We got to do charting for Astronomy a couple of weeks ago. The sky was pretty but it was very very cold."