Thinking about fics, doing paperwork, and listening to my Ipod are all to blame for this.
The title of the fic is a song done by The 69 Eyes, the one that happened to come on and give me the little push to procrastinate a bit more. It's pre-Deathly Hallows…well, technically, before Scabior gets chucked into Azkaban. I get this feeling...I'm not happy with it, but I took the time to write it, so I'll just post it. Whatever.
It had, like every relationship, started out so well.
She had bumped into him in a corridor at the Ministry; she was too busy looking over a file, and he was over-tired, stuck being the intern getting everyone their coffee and tea.
The tray he had been levitating crashed onto the carpeted floor, her papers flying everywhere, getting soaked. Some of the drink had spilled onto the both of them, but it was fixed with some quick wand waves. The china, sugar bowl, pitcher of creamer, repaired themselves, shattering in reverse and fell back onto the tray. Her papers were siphoned of the stains, as were their robes and clothes underneath.
Names were exchanged. Lorelei. He took in her dark red tresses, dark blue eyes, freckles splashed across her nose. Quite cute.
He asked to see her, what department she worked in. She told him, and thus began a habit of sharing breaks together, spending their time discussing their internships, school house, opinions. He loved her smile, her willingness to say what needed to be said. She had been the one to kiss him first, a strange experience for him (one he enjoyed nonetheless).
She would play with his hair, kept short then. Run her fingers through it, ruffle it, play around and make him look like his wand backfired on him or something. She found his disgruntled glare adorable, simply because she knew he wasn't angry at her.
Things had been going well, that much he could have said.
That had been a good two years ago.
Things had since taken a sharp turn from both of their expectations. They were too different; she wanted a good career, stability (something she didn't have growing up), a loving man. Scabior had two of those things, but stability was not his forte. He...was barely around, so she didn't know what he expected out of their relationship anymore.
He had gotten into a job that he couldn't get out of. It used to be just stealing, nothing fantastic. Minor heists, a side thing to make extra money. She didn't like the idea of being linked to a criminal in the times they were in. On the brink of war, blood status being questioned; no one wanted to be around a Muggleborn.
Not that she was. She was a Pureblood, as was he.
But something had changed. It became less of a relationship, more of an estranged partnership. They hardly saw each other. He'd leave before she woke up. She wouldn't see him at the Ministry; as an Auror, he was tossed into the field; his tracking was superb, and they used him as often as they could.
He had stumbled into their flat late one night, nursing a bleeding nose and limping. Bruises adorned his torso upon closer inspection. He refused to go to St. Mungo's like the stubborn moron he was.
It wasn't the first time. She was more of a caretaker than a girlfriend. Whatever had been between them was long gone, she surmised. She would hold his head over the loo when he was too plastered from trying to stop stressing out about his debt. She'd heal his broken bones as best she could; his nose had not healed properly and bared obvious signs of having been hit. Sex was out of convenience, not because they wanted the other.
Whenever her friends asked, she'd force a smile and say things were fine. They all knew something was wrong. She was only fooling herself and she knew it.
It was taking its toll on the both of them, and they knew it eventually would all come out. He had drank too much, said too much, did too much.
The morning after their argument, assuming he remembered much of it, she had packed her bags.
"This isn't working," she had looked at him with acceptance, her hand soft and so warm against his unshaven cheek. "You know it, too. I know you do. I can't…I can't keep doing this."
He said nothing. He didn't stop her from leaving, didn't beg her to stay, that things could be fixed. Not because he didn't love her or didn't care, but because he knew she had been right.
And he couldn't drag out the pain by thinking she'd come back. He had always heard the stupid phrase of letting something go if you love it. He didn't understand until she slammed the door behind her. He had to love her enough to let her be happy and not be dragged into the mess he had created for himself.
She was hurting. Behind those sapphire eyes of honesty and love and happiness laid the pain she was hiding so poorly. If one knew what to look for, they'd see it written all over her face.
To say that he wasn't in pain would be a downright lie. To sleep alone sent a sharp ache through his heart. It was too cold, the bed too large.
His farce of a trial some months later was hell, going through it with people who only cared about saving their own skin. He would have wanted nothing more than to have Lorelei kiss him one more time before he had been thrown into his cell.
Her eyes haunted him in his sleep, he longed for her comforting gaze but would never find it. He only found the hidden faces of Dementors, the stone walls around him, and more often than not, just darkness.
He had seen her once, while dragging a bunch of truants and some Muggleborns into the Ministry so many years later.
Still wore her hair long, she still had freckles, but she had changed. She was a department head now, if he remembered, and the way she carried herself suggested dominance. He glanced at her left hand, two rings on her finger. Her hips seemed wider than he recalled; she had become a mother at some point. It didn't detract from her figure , but it was strange to see that she had moved on.
While he still kept on his career as a criminal; although his actions were legal under the new Ministry, his job was still not highly thought of.
Their eyes met for a brief second as she looked over the shoulder of the person she was addressing. He nodded to her, and she returned the gesture, watching him walk away towards Umbridge's office.