Friction || Malia

Friday, January 11, 1923
7:30 PM

It had been a long week.

What he'd hoped they could discuss the morning after Julia had walked into the circus of a bedtime routine had stretched into a week of the woman deciding that they weren't on speaking terms. Maddox hadn't minded at first, if he allowed himself a moment of complete honesty. He'd dreaded the explanation and the implication that he'd somehow undermined her. The man hadn't wanted to have what might turn into an hours-long, emotionally charged conversation about what should have been and how else things could have been handled. His nerves had been fried. Jude had taken some time to fall asleep and had chosen to cry until then. By morning, he hadn't had enough of a brain left to teach his class, let alone assuage the ire his wife evidently still carried.

But now it had been nearly a week, and while Julia showed no signs of wanting to relent, Maddox wasn't of the mind that any marriage he was involved in should be one where the spouses didn't speak. They were in this together, and if they chose to continue being in it together, then there was no ignoring and pretending the other didn't exist outside of the times she dropped Jude off because of her attention being needed elsewhere in such a way that would make it difficult for him to tag along.

He never heard another word about Kathryn's situation, and asking the girl had only produced the basic answer that she wasn't sleeping in her mother's room. She'd shown up at his on the Monday night, but given the friction that already existed between him and her mother, it had been safer to gently suggest she return to Ravenclaw Tower and Julia's quarters. Had she? He didn't know. The girl was hardly talkative or inclined to share beyond what was asked, and what little he'd gathered from the portraits seemed to suggest the little girl had commandeered an old, disused classroom.

An exhausting child.

Jude remained with his wife during the nights; Evander had returned to his structured routine that typically saw him in bed by 8:30. Benji had failed his test for reasons that had nothing to do with staying up then still had to serve the detention for his sugar crimes.

The world, if he didn't look too closely, seemed to have returned to normal. The only difference? His wife had become icy. Everything about the way she carried herself made it clear that she didn't intend or desire to speak to him beyond matters concerning the children. It was the first, in all the years they'd known each other, that she'd turned such a side on him, and at first, it had completely taken him aback. The two had had many arguments, as any friends turned lovers turned spouses would, but this was very different.

It was hardly conducive to reconciliation.

Maddox entered the library after a final reminder to Evander that, on the inside, they used only their inside voices. He didn't take him with him to the library often, understanding that the boy was still too young and eager to constantly be in charge of his own reactions and volume. This night required it. It was too close to bedtime to leave him with either his siblings or the elves.

The pair found her at the front desk, behind a tall pile of books and a smaller pile of what looked like forms. By some sixth sense, Maddox could hear the scream before it erupted, cautioning the toddler with a "shhh," just seconds before Evander could erupt into a delighted squeal at the sight of his mother.

The 3-year-old animatedly clamped both hands over his mouth as he scurried around the edge of the desk to go give her a hug.

Maddox leaned against the desk, blue eyes trained on her as they travelled along her.

"Ready to talk?" He wasn't leaving until they did.

Julia typically wasn't one for silent treatments.

She was a natural communicator; a woman that preferred speaking her mind and having her thoughts known. Never had she shrunk from her own anger or displeasure, willing to typically talk things out before they descended into something worse. Especially, with Maddox.

They'd had disagreements before. Over the years there had been plenty of times where she irritated him or he exasperated her. Being in constant close proximity and as close as they were, it was natural and expected. But those had all been easily remedied with space, little jokes or small eye rolls that always led into half-smiles. Never had they had such a conflict of...wills? Standards? Expectations? She wasn't exactly sure, but the hurt that befallen her that night had stuck. Ugly, sticky and overwhelming.

Maddox knew what he had done. He knew well how she felt about the entire situation revolving around Kathryn's sleeping arrangements, having listened to her talk herself into circles in the effort of convincing her own heart she was doing the right thing.

And he'd ignored it all and went above her. Worse, without even attempting to talk to her about it.

His requests to not have to face her anger because he was 'too tired' at the time had only made her feel worse.

It had been a busy week, but one that she'd powered through, perfectly content to not speak to her husband until he was refreshed, alert, awake, whatever it was he needed to have an adult conversation, and in the meantime she wouldn't be chasing him down for it.

It was one of her routines, reconciling the returned Restricted Section books against the corresponding permission forms. It allowed her to see which books were still checked out and by whom, and which were expected back by the following day. Sending her assistants on a wild goose chase for dangerous books was never productive, but sending a howler and an angry bauble certainly was.

The library doors swung open, but the woman was too engrossed in her work to look up. In the little playpen behind her, Jude sat, babbling happily as he gnawed on the ear of a stuffed kneazle, now soaked with drool and marked with tiny teeth imprints. He was teething, molars this time, now that his four front teeth had cut. He was more restless than usual, relived only by the homemade teething balm that Fidèle had sent.

A familiar squeal had her glancing up, and a warm smile spread across her lips as Evander rushed behind the desk. His hands unclamped as he spread his arms wide and launched himself into her lap. "There's my lovebug," she said as she gathered him up into a hug, kissing his temple as he settled against her.

Jude, noticing immediately, offered his own excited squeal, dropping the kneazle to hold out his arms towards his mother and brother, insisting he join in on the cuddles. When he wasn't immediately retrieved, he fussed, bouncing on his bottom as he let out another squeal, this time of impatience. A bauble rushed over, pink rather than red, enchanted to hush the little one rather than punish like it did the students. It hovered a moment as Jude's eyes traveled to the orb, watching as it turned several pastel colors before jingling a little lullaby to soothe him.

"Ready to talk?"

Julia didn't answer immediately, having fully recognized her husband was there, but preoccupied at the moment. She lifted Evander with another kiss atop his head and set him in the playpen with his brother. "Be gentle, Ev," the quiet instruction came.

She turned back to Maddox, brown eyes finally lifting to look at him. "Been ready," she said honestly, sitting back in her chair a bit as she crossed one leg over the other. "But you wanted to wait until the morning and I was kind enough to give you several."

"Been ready."

She could've fooled him. That evening wasn't his first attempt to have any sort of conversation with his wife. At every turn and in every language, Julia had made it abundantly clear that she wasn't interested in sharing words with him. She'd shown an ugly little part of her that he often ignored because it had never been turned on him. Dismissive, unengaged and somehow above it all in a way that had nothing to do with jest. It hadn't sat well with him. Much like the ice that coated the ground wherever she'd walked, he'd chosen to ignore it until they were able to have a proper conversation.

He'd been wrong. Regardless of anything else that had transpired and whatever else he may have felt, he should've let her know that Kathryn had turned up at his door. If not the first night, then the second night shouldn't have passed without him sending word along that Kathryn hadn't done any of the adjustment she'd been hoping for.

Maddox accepted his fault there and had come to her perfectly contrite. It wasn't a hill he was willing to die on, nor a matter he thought in need of fierce defence. He'd been willing to swallow his growing resentment over the way she'd chosen to handle it, but his wife certainly hadn't made it easy.

"But you wanted to wait until the morning and I was kind enough to give you several."

"How magnanimous," he drawled, doing nothing to hide how little the reply impressed him. "A whole week I didn't ask for. And they said philantropy was dead." Julia alone kept it alive and well.

His mind wasn't on the boys. His mind was on the woman who, at the end of the week, still clung tightly to the spite she'd stormed out of his room with that night. It wasn't only spite, he knew. There was genuine hurt. Julia had been cut up about letting Kathryn figure things out for herself, wanting terribly to do the right thing and make sure the little girl felt more confident stepping out on her own. Even she doubted whether it was a good idea, but she'd pushed through, believing it to be the most motherly thing she could do.

But he'd known his best friend for years. There was definitely spite.

She was put out by the whole thing and about the way the arrangements had ended up. For whatever reason he still hadn't been able to fathom, she'd changed her own mind about where Kathryn slept – for all the good that had done in the end – while insisting she still kept Jude. His confusion hadn't left him from that night; the rest of him had simply caught up.

A day was hurt; a few days, yes, there was clearly a show of devastation. A week was calculated, and they were too grown.

"I'd rather not move into the next week with whatever this has turned into." Because it was no longer just grieving. "I admit I shouldn't have kept that information from you. When Kathryn came to me, it would've been good to direct her back to you or, at the very least, let you know. It was...an oversight on my part, but not a malicious one."

Jude squealed, forcing his gaze momentarily to the playpen where Evander had thought it best to try taking the baby's kneazle. "Evander," he warned.

Why he would want something saturated in drool was beyond him, but there were other toys at his disposal, none of them in use.

When the toddler relented, he returned his gaze to his wife. 'I've come to apologise. I wasn't trying to hurt you, but I did. So, I'm sorry."

"A whole week I didn't ask for. And they said philantropy was dead.".

"Well there's plenty of charity cases and someone has to take up the cause." Pettiness was, amusingly outside of this interaction, one of the core things she and Maddox bonded over. Sitting in each other's offices or at the various staff tables, sharing little sarcastic quips and insight about everyone around them had quickly solidified their friendship. They turned their darker humor outward, relishing in finding a kindred soul who seemed to be annoyed by all the same things the other was.

Turned on each other, the feeling didn't ring quite as true, but they had never been anything but real with one another.

Until Maddox started harboring a fugitive in his apartment.

It was the first time he'd ever really hurt Julia. And it wasn't to say that she had expected he never would. Married and with a long life ahead of them, it was natural that at some point they would hurt each other or cause harm where none was intended. Perhaps with time and perspective, Julia would be able to see whatever noble intentions Maddox had had in keeping Kathryn in his room and Julia in the dark, but for now she was blind to it.

A day or two here or there, maybe even a week, the woman could probably understand and easily forgive. Bumps in the road happened, and Maddox was Kate's father. He had every right to parent or soothe their children as she did, regardless of whose that child was first.

But this had been four months. Four, long, deliberate, continuous months.

"I admit I shouldn't have kept that information from you. When Kathryn came to me, it would've been good to direct her back to you or, at the very least, let you know. It was...an oversight on my part, but not a malicious one."

An oversight. Julia didn't react, but she could hardly agree refusing to tell her something for months was an oversight. It was a choice. One that he renewed every single day until Julia discovered it for herself. Her gaze drifted back over her shoulder a moment when Jude squealed his indignation at having his kneazle taken. "Jude, we share with our brother," she said, but the baby was already distracted by the little wooden cars Evander was making a show with.

"I've come to apologise. I wasn't trying to hurt you, but I did. So, I'm sorry."

Julia returned her gaze to her husband and sighed softly, choosing her words carefully before she said them. She wanted to ensure he understood why this was such a shit situation, rather than just assaulting him with words and accusations that wouldn't solve anything. While the woman could be petty, she'd had her fill in the past few moments and didn't need this deteriorating in front of the boys.

And in truth, Julia didn't want to have that type of relationship with Maddox. She'd already done the toxic back-and-forth with a man. Maddox was more important to her than that, which was why, Julia figured, his actions had hurt so much.

"It was four months, Maddox," she began evenly. "This wasn't some weekend sleepover that you forgot to tell me about. You chose not to say anything, even when you knew how sending Kathryn away was tearing me apart. What you did wasn't fine, but keeping me in the dark was worse." She moved a few books out of the way and straightened her papers to keep her hands busy. "Kate will never learn independence if we shield her from every hard thing she fears. You and I won't be around forever and I want - " she trailed off for a moment, feeling herself becoming unusually emotional. She gathered her composure before continuing. "I want to know that she can function and care for herself and not need me or you to feel safe in her own world."

Despite his unnaturally sharp hearing, Maddox pretended not to hear her little jab about charity cases and taking up causes. At only 7:30 PM, the night already felt long and would only be longer still if he went tit for tat with the woman with whom he'd come to make amends.

Maddox was a simple man who'd never been inclined toward unnecessary strain. The sentiment doubled when it came to the people he cared for. This wasn't them and shouldn't have ever been allowed to become them, not even for the week. It had been enough and while he could've allowed that old Gryffindor pride to consume him, he knew he was the head of the family and that when things began to go sideways, it was his job to steer things back on course. That was the lesson his father had taught him, one among many. Some who liked poetry and romanticism liked to call it chivalry. It had been taught to him as responsibility.

There was no deciding that he'd been wrong first and she'd been wrong second so everyone could call it a day and forget it, only admitting to his fault and doing what he could to assure his wife that he would never consciously let it happen again.

Did he like it?

It was the bitterest pill he'd had to swallow in the longest while. Not because the man had issues saying sorry when he was wrong, but because it came at the tail end of rather nasty emotions he was still reconciling. Maddox came to the library because he was genuinely interested in getting his wife and best friend back. That didn't erase what had begun to build each time she dismissed him or bounced her gaze past him while he'd attempted to engage her. He'd entered clinging to both feelings but had chosen to allow only one of them to speak. The one that wouldn't plunge them further into this hellscape of pretence and discontent.

With the boys settled again, the heaviness of the conversation returned.

"It was four months, Maddox. This wasn't some weekend sleepover that you forgot to tell me about. You chose not to say anything, even when you knew how sending Kathryn away was tearing me apart. What you did wasn't fine, but keeping me in the dark was worse."

"I know." He did. He did know and hadn't come to feign ignorance on such an indisputable matter. "It's not something I intend to repeat, and I know it's not something I should've done. I'll be honest, it was easier." Something he suspected she'd already concluded on her own. "She kept showing up with her trunk; you were adamant on where she stayed--" he raised a hand, hoping to cut off any interjections she'd rightly earned. "I'm not trying to excuse it or ask you to see it my way. I'm admitting that I took the easy way out when I shouldn't have before letting you know again that I'm sorry."

It had been easier. Maddox hadn't wanted to be involved, then had wanted to be left alone, then had settled for not wanting to be caught. It had been a slippery slope, one he held no interest in sliding down a second time.

Kate will never learn independence if we shield her from every hard thing she fears. You and I won't be around forever and I want - "

Maddox saw the moment the shift occurred inside Julia. The hurt had risen again, the devastation over the choice she'd taken so many months back. Her reasoning? Perfectly sound.

But...

"I want to know that she can function and care for herself and not need me or you to feel safe in her own world."

He moved around the desk, conjuring himself a chair to sit next to her. Without waiting for permission, he reached for her hand, pulling it to him.

"We aren't shielding her from every hard thing she fears," he said gently. Maddox hesitated, unsure it was the right time and not wanting it to feel as if he was trying to justify what he'd done. But it felt important and perhaps should've been said much sooner. "I know we won't be here forever. I'm sure a part of her knows, too. We can make her feel safe without us...but there's nothing wrong with letting her know that while we're here, she can still find safety in us, too. It was a big ask for such a short time."

Classes without her mother, an entire house she was told would be her family, club duties, separate meals and a baby brother she treated like the plague whenever she was allowed to get away with.

It was his turn to sigh.

"I'm not trying to undercut what I did. I came for the apology and hope you can accept it."

"I know."

Julia nodded, a small acknowledgement that she believed he did. They weren't teenagers or even young adults. While she and Maddox were still new to parenting in many ways, and while they were still figuring out marriage and what it looked like between them, they were old enough, wise enough, to understand when there was malice or not. Maddox wasn't dim or unintelligent, and Julia knew if he said he understood, then he did.

There was no reason to reiterate or double-down.

"It's not something I intend to repeat, and I know it's not something I should've done. I'll be honest, it was easier. She kept showing up with her trunk; you were adamant on where she stayed--"

Easier. Didn't that sum it up? Another soft sigh escaped her, her shoulders dropping slightly this time. It wasn't that what he'd said was any big revelation. Rather, she knew Maddox well and if there was an easy solution to problems that he could see, then he usually took it. It was his Gryffindor nature, she supposed, partly exacerbated by how easily he tired. Easy answers meant less exertion on his behalf, even if it was mental.

But easier didn't make right, and easier sometimes meant that one person came out the other end looking golden while the other sat with egg on their face.

Maddox was also softer than he let often let on, especially when it came to his children. As a disciplinarian, he had no problem laying the law down, but every one of his kids knew the special parts of his heart to touch when they wanted to. She knew Kathryn held a special place with him - despite her adamancy that he vacate her mother's space in the beginning. And perhaps it made him less able to turn her away when she'd showed up with those big blue eyes of hers.

"I'm not trying to excuse it or ask you to see it my way. I'm admitting that I took the easy way out when I shouldn't have before letting you know again that I'm sorry."

She supposed she understood that, and despite him not asking her to see it his way, she could. If she weren't so concerned with trying to help her daughter acclimate and find some semblance of independence - to be able to open up a bit and make real friends and connections - she couldn't say she wouldn't have done the same. Had Julia not been so certain that allowing Kathryn to stay with her instead of with her dormmates would be detrimental in the long run, she wouldn't have insisted the girl sleep elsewhere.

She supposed the shock of knowing that no adjusting had been happening, that no efforts to integrate into Hogwarts society had been happening, made it easy to snatch Kathryn up that night and march her right back to Julia's quarters.

When she faltered though, Maddox came around the desk, sitting down beside her and took her hand. She let him, soaking in his warmth that she had missed in the week they'd not spoken. Brown eyes raised to peer into blue, her expression softening with his. He had always been gentle with her when he knew she was struggling. As a rule, Julia preferred keeping her harder emotions to herself, but somehow he'd always been able to see through it. Perhaps she was more transparent this time than others, but he was being gentle with her all the same.

I know we won't be here forever. I'm sure a part of her knows, too. We can make her feel safe without us...but there's nothing wrong with letting her know that while we're here, she can still find safety in us, too. It was a big ask for such a short time."

She knew on some level that he was probably right. Kathryn had been asked to adjust to a lot in a short amount of time, and for a little girl with rigid routines, it had been a struggle. "I don't know how to find the balance," she admitted finally, feeling shame wash over her. It wasn't often that Julia conceded defeat, but parenting was a whole new arena. She hadn't been eased into it with a baby and learning how to mother that child over time. She'd taken on - gladly - two traumatized children and had done her best with what she knew how.

Julia hadn't grown up sheltered and coddled. She'd been treated the same as her brothers in the aspect of independence and fortitude. She'd been raised to be strong and self-sufficient, by a man who didn't know how to raise daughters any differently than sons. A woman in a man's world, expected to carry the strength of a man but the delicateness of a woman. Breaking that habit - curse - was a difficult one. "If I keep her close and give into her, then she's coddled. If I force her into uncomfortableness, then I'm a bad mum." Or at least it felt that way sometimes.

"I'm not trying to undercut what I did. I came for the apology and hope you can accept it."

She tilted her head slightly, giving him a look that said he should have known better. "Of course I can," she said, squeezing his hand a bit. "I'm sorry for the cold shoulder. I was just blown away, if I'm being completely honest." A small smile reached the corners of her lips. "But melt my heart why don't you? It's incredibly sweet to see how she trusts you."

"I don't know how to find the balance."

Had there ever been a more accurate statement given on parenthood? There was a balance; there was no doubt there. In every child, there existed a happy middle ground that could avoid most of the damage and produce the maximum outcome. How many parents actually found it? He knew he hadn't, not even with his own children after all the years he'd had with them. There were times when he still messed up. Too lenient, too harsh, not enough attention, making too much out of something. When fatherhood had been unceremoniously thrust on him—twice, without warning—Maddox had been terrified. He knew there was more that went into rearing children than feeding them and making sure they had a roof over their heads.

Morgan had lost her mother, leaving him her only parental source for guidance and comfort. It had been left to him to make sure she grew well and felt secure. Did he always get it right? His daughter might be the first to say he hadn't. He'd met Evander at the beginning of his life and had watched his personality unfold, but even with him, there were days he wondered if he'd made the right call for the forgiving toddler.

Now, he had Benji, Kathryn, and Jude. It was still too early to ruin their youngest son, and Benji was nearly a man, but Kathryn...

He didn't suppose he'd found the balance there any more than Julia had. Should he have let her sleep in his room for so long? The jury had already given the verdict there. It was one of the many Catch-22s that came with child-rearing. He was sure it brought her peace. He was sure it gave her a place to retreat to and decompress from the days she'd endured, but like Julia, he wasn't sure it'd taught her how to handle such conflicts. "No one's got all the answers, and for every child, we'll need to try something different. What I've found is that...sometimes prioritising which lesson is most important in the moment makes things a little less muddy. I don't have all the answers. Some days I barely have half the answers, and that's okay. The kids are fine."

As fine as their ragtag hoard could be.

"For Kathryn, we'll just keep trying. " Maddox cracked a wry smile. "We can't get it wrong forever, yeah? At some point, we'll be right, even by accident."

"If I keep her close and give into her, then she's coddled. If I force her into uncomfortableness, then I'm a bad mum."

"You indulge her, yes." There wasn't a soul who could deny the little girl was pampered differently. "But maybe someone should after everything. She's only ever known adults who take and taught her there's a price for their kindness. She's already learned not to lean into others when she's uncomfortable. Forcing more uncomfortableness won't change that. If anything, it might teach her that it's something she must face alone without ever reaching out. That's not the lesson either." Not for a girl who already had a hard time accepting family and letting them in.

Quiet as Kathryn was, it wouldn't do any of them any good if she started keeping secrets while uncomfortable.

She took his hand, accepting his apology, and for the first time since entering the library, Maddox felt himself exhale. He was relieved to see an end to the cold war that had been waged throughout the week. The man had gotten his wife back and was more than willing to put it behind him.

"I'm sorry for the cold shoulder. I was just blown away, if I'm being completely honest."

"Not as blown away as I think I was when she wouldn't stop dragging that heavy trunk up to the towers. I taught the levitation charm. I don't know if she learned it." But the scraping he'd heard along the stone floor suggested otherwise.

"But melt my heart why don't you? It's incredibly sweet to see how she trusts you."

He rolled his eyes at that little smile, refusing to acknowledge the implication that he, Maddox Barlowe, was anything but the pillar of firm discipline. He groaned and leaned in for a brief kiss. "Kathryn trusted that if she was persistent enough, I'd be the one to fold first. She's a little too observant for her own good." Maddox reached a hand out to brush gently against her chin. "Stubborn like her mother, too."

"No one's got all the answers, and for every child, we'll need to try something different. What I've found is that...sometimes prioritising which lesson is most important in the moment makes things a little less muddy. I don't have all the answers. Some days I barely have half the answers, and that's okay. The kids are fine."

It made sense didn't it? There was no 'one-size-fits-all' approach to parenting. The tougher, no-nonsense hand she took with Benji was far different than the gentler approach she often needed with Kathryn. Being the same mother for both of them or any of their other three just wasn't feasible as they were all different people with different sensitivities and needs. It was...overwhelming, but the burden fell on her as their mother. None of their five children had asked to be here, and so it was up to them as parents to figure it all out.

He was right though. At some point, something with Kathryn had to work, even if it just meant they were a little more lax with her than they were the others, as unfair as it might seem.

"You indulge her, yes. But maybe someone should after everything."

Hmm. Julia supposed she hadn't considered that perspective, but Maddox wasn't wrong. Kathryn had been through more in her short eleven years than most people had been through in a lifetime. It was inevitable that the lessons she'd learned throughout the way required a sort of approach that respected that. Julia had always tried, from the first day, to let Kathryn lead in most ways. She'd stood back as the girl had established her routines, as she'd decided how she wanted to try new things or not try them.

It wasn't to say that Julia had been completely indulgent to the point of neglecting her parenting. She corrected Kathryn when it was required and guided her in moments the girl seemed uncertain. While Julia could never say she understood all the horrors her daughter had faced when she was younger, she knew enough to never want to add to them. Did it make her more permissive than she should be? Maybe.

She sighed. "I suppose we'll need to find a compromise, whatever that looks like." Julia didn't want Kate feeling shut out or displaced, and had she known sooner that her daughter was simply finding her own way around the issue than actually adjusting, perhaps she would have already found a compromise that would have worked.

She caught his kiss, holding him there a moment longer, her smile growing when he pulled away.

"Kathryn trusted that if she was persistent enough, I'd be the one to fold first. She's a little too observant for her own good. Stubborn like her mother, too."

"She knows a sucker when she sees one, is all." First real disagreement behind them, Julia was relieved the resume the normalcy between them that included soft touches along her face and little compliments hidden behind faux exasperation. "She's remarkably resourceful when she wants something." Sighing with resignation she glanced back to the boys. Jude was chewing on Evander's sleeve, a spot of drool now visible, while Evander seemed unbothered and distracted by the kneazle he'd now procured without effort.

"Want to get them settled for the night?" She smiled at her husband, an eyebrow raising slightly. "Pretty sure I remember offering reconciliation after your apology." She tugged him from his chair as she stood, nodding for him to grab Jude while she scooped up Evander, drool and all.