The Weight
"It's so busy in here," says Bella. "Is it this crowded for everyone?"
When Bella tips the scale of sleep, her words slur and drop like a regular girl's. Closed, her eyes aren't so thick, and she looks more like an angel than a statue. She puffs out a whimper as Andromeda crawls inside and tugs the blankets up to their chins. "Where is it loud?"
"You went away."
"I came back."
"Yes, you came back," Bella replies.
In their twenties, they're the first to know about the war, mostly because Bella's the one starting it. In their twenties, Andromeda's not supposed to be here, but they can't detangle themselves as easily as carpets can burn, and everybody knows that Aunt Walburga's just cutting threads. Sometimes, Walburga and Ted have a lot in common.
"Tell me about the noise," says Andromeda.
Bella's throat is a lot older than the slashing of her wand, freshly and liberally applied. "In my head. Well, it's hard to go looking in there sometimes, but magic gets it out. It's my magic, not theirs. Does that make somebody a thief?"
"No, there aren't any thieves."
"Promise?"
"Just go to sleep, sweetie, it's bedtime."
"Okay."
In the dark—the proper dark, not the stealthy kind outside—Bella is docile, even submissive. Andromeda knows to pour herself back through the door before Bella's eyes start to sting again. Occasionally, she thinks everyone's pink on the inside, until she remembers how heavy the weight is and how it never comes off.
A/N: This fic is about nothing, but I'm unsticking it from my head anyway. Hope you liked?