The Travers Family's Ancestral Home.
February, 1953.
There's a light rain today. It's mid-morning, and I'm in my private study writing when I hear the knock at my door.
Faint, delicate;
Above all else, reluctant.
And that's how I know exactly who it is.
From my place seated at my desk, I furrow my eyebrows as I consider the silence that follows this first series of knocks.
What's the rush?
There'll be more.
Staring down at the inky letters I've just penned now drying before my eyes I set my quill down and place the newest addition on top of the ever-growing stack of carefully ordered parchment.
Muggle tools: I write the muggle way.
But don't ever tell anyone that, yes?
It's our little secret.
It must be.
Why a secret? Because in my life, in my family - my circle - such things are not tolerated.
Then again, a great many things about me are not tolerated.
Leaning back in my seat, I tip my head towards the set of double doors.
Chestnut.
It's a good wood;
A warm inviting colour; full of knots that serve to remind us of its living origin.
Sure enough, as if on cue, a fresh series of knocks, this time the slightest bit more insistent.
No use resisting any longer;
She's found me.
Not that I did a very good job of hiding myself away to begin with.
Sighing and shaking my head, I clear my throat and prepare to initiate the inevitable, "... Come in."
The door flying open, I'm greeted with the familiar spellbinding sight: gorgeous black curls and the swish of long, expensive fabrics; her gown and cloak sweeping the floor as she shuts the door behind her.
As I stare at her, she straightens up and gives me a tight, forced smile, "Travers."
"Rada."
"Saw in the tabloids of The Prophet that your parents are away on a holiday."
"Correct."
Big name families like ours know no true privacy; everything's fodder for tabloids, for public consumption.
At any rate ...
Gone, yes.
Across the ocean, in fact.
Gone to Canada, to visit distant relatives.
And in their absence, I've relished being able to be more true to myself.
To wear trousers; to raid my father's wardrobe for his dress shirts and ties.
As a matter of fact, despite an overall depressed mood I find myself feeling confident today as a result of my choice in dress.
Charcoal grey trousers, wide legged with magical adjustments hemming them just right.
A plain white oxford shirt, buttoned and tucked.
YOU ARE READING
Coiled (Book 1 of 2)
Fanfic"This is our story: Reggie, Evan, and I." A Marauders Era story that follows the reader (FMC), Regulus Black & Evan Rosier through their last year at Hogwarts into the First Wizarding War. This is book 1 of 2, and contains the first two parts of th...
