QLFC Round 13
Kenmare Kestrels
Beater 2
Prompt: Othello (To be based on. I chose the theme of race.)
Optional Prompts: 9) (setting) a Muggle restaurant 13) stranger
Word Count: 1463
BETAs: marauderX (Laura) and Queen Bookworm the First (Sanchita)
-0-
It's funny how peace is so still, so delicate, just before it breaks.
Peace curls around your ribcage, threading your bones with a quilt of calm and budding contentment. It sends its veins through your body, blooming in your chest, your eyes, that writhing feeling in your gut that's at the same time uncomfortable and not. Gnarled roots, somehow beautiful and fragile, creep along your arms, sheathing your body in the essence of bliss. Peace, delightful and tender, and so easily gone.
For May, peace was Muggle London. She lost herself in the intricacies of non-magical life, the mysteries greater than any spell she had ever learned. More difficult, too, she thought as she nudged a handful of Muggle coins back and forth on the table. The language of pence and pounds would forever escape her, just as the massive Galleons escaped Trevor.
Trevor was her peace, her tranquility. A moment when she could step away from protective spells and corrupted wizards into a world of simplicity and feeling, of love. The burning love that spread like cancer across her being until she was enveloped in it. The scent of him lingered on her sleeve, his taste on her lips, more intoxicating than any drug.
He wasn't ordinary, not really. No one was ordinary in her eyes, with the magic steeped so deeply in their bones. But Trevor had the gift of being invisible. A simple schoolboy with average grades, average looks, living in an average home. While May struggled with Defense Against the Dark Arts, Trevor sweated over AP Biology. They were yin and yang, opposite and alternate, like magnets drawn together in one click.
It seemed to have always been that way—the connection, the rope that bound them together. Back in fifth year she had stumbled out of the Leaky Cauldron with her hair flying about her head in a globe thanks to a wicked hex. Blinded by the burning tears, she had stumbled onto the street and directly into Trevor's armful of homework. Paper fell like rain about them, and he had raised his eyes from the scattered sheaths to face her.
She didn't know what she thought about love at first sight, but it was a passion that drew them together, an undeniable bond. She found herself, her true self, in his arms.
Now more than ever she hungered for him—the effortless smile that hung from his lips, the sparkle in his eye brighter than any spell. Her fingers drummed on the base of her wand, a nervous habit, as she waited for him. Nails scraped against a chipped linoleum tabletop, picking at the layers of bacon grease and the history of strangers that flaked away like dust at her fingertips.
May's head sprang up at the tinkling of a bell, the door to the tiny restaurant swinging open. A blustery breeze tousled the hem of her skirt and overcoat, a thrill of hope creeping up her like ice.
There he stood silhouetted in the doorway, powerful frame stoic in the half-light. His eyes met hers at once, a deep muddy green that reminded May of summer and rainy days and all things wonderful. Shoes squeaking ever so slightly on the dirt-smeared tiles, he crossed the floor and met her lips quickly, oh so briefly, but long enough to tie his string to her heart.
She thought of the world in strings—forget Deliberation and Destination and all of the fancy Apparition terms. May knew she was bound to the location by a string, a faint thread wispy in the wind. If she only knew when to tug the string, she could travel anywhere. And every time she touched Trevor, that easy, golden gesture, he tightened the string to her heart.
Now it throbbed with every breath, swelled with every second, as he drew in a shared breath. Then the connection was severed as he sat down, eyes shimmering with a merry sort of joy only he could understand.
"How goes Potions? Or was it Transfiguration? Maybe you can Transfigure my paycheck into that of royalty; I swear my landlady's out to get me with this rent." He smiled, beamed. May cherished Trevor's honesty, his genuine love of the world. He could find light in the darkest situations, love in the land of the lost. To May, her existence was one of strings and magic and Trevor; but through Trevor's muddy-green eyes, the world was one of joy and laud.
"Neither are preferable, now that Snape's started dumping on essays." May reached out to touch his hand, to feel the beat of life under his skin. He wrapped his fingers around her, entwining them in a moment. She took in a shallow breath, absorbing him like oxygen. Knots of worry seemed to melt away in Trevor's presence, releasing the baggage of stress and the toll of magic. It was a simpler life, and certainly a confusing one, but she adored it.
"What's your alibi?" he asked suddenly, smirking with an air of mischief that set her hair on end and had her grinning along with him. They mirrored one another, hands clenched and eyes shining in the dingy, unassuming cafe.
"My what?"
"It's something sleuths call your excuse. You're supposed to be where, exactly?"
"Hogsmeade, but holidays are coming up and the teachers have lost their will to enforce law anymore," May joked, and Trevor's brows knitted in mock concentration.
"What was the name of that one teacher? McCormick? McDonald's? You know, Catwoman. I can't imagine she's given up on being a hardass yet."
"McGonagall, and she certainly hasn't. Sprout is more forgiving."
There was a lull, a short but never-empty silence, when Trevor simply sat back and observed her. She loved these moments most of all, when he dropped all pretenses and took her in, scrutinizing every feature. A rosy blush bloomed on his cheeks and he grinned again. "You look beautiful, May. I mean it!" he countered, watching her roll her eyes. "And I'm certainly glad you didn't get caught."
Fractures. The smallest bits of crystal shoved out of place by swallowing pressure, the sparkle of glass as it rends apart. She dropped her gaze, unwilling to meet Trevor's eyes.
"I hate having to meet you here. Once every few weeks, with only owl post to talk to you by. Do you know how much owl dung I've had to clean from my kitchen?" He noticed her expression, tightening his grip on her hand. "I'm only joking, May."
"I hate it too." she whispered, the words falling soft from her lips, "But things are changing at Hogwarts. The whole Mudblood scare, then Umbridge… People are starting to look down on non-magical people more than ever. If someone finds out about us…"
"They won't." Insistent, purposeful, sure. So, so sure. If this was love, he was blinded. She supposed she was, too, because she didn't see the Death Eaters enter the restaurant after them.
They said it was a randomized attack, a strike against Muggles in a bold show of Voldemort's power. Something that happens to someone else. The problem is, everyone is someone else to someone else. The Ministry's eyes nearly popped from their heads when they saw a girl crouched over the bloody form of a young boy, screaming spells and sobbing into his shirt.
The world was dusted in fragments of peace, but no longer was it a tranquil warmth. Peace crystallized, hardened to sharpened points that dug into May's heels when she walked. Peace was shattered, blown to bits. And so, May supposed, was she.
May couldn't hope to understand that terrible, monumental question of why. The darkest recesses of her thoughts whispered to her at night, trails of thread winding together into a spool of doom and despair that clutched her heart. Perhaps they knew. Perhaps they knew she was magical and Trevor was not. Perhaps they had hunted her and Trevor down because of the match that could never be. Perhaps it was her fault that Trevor had been lost to the world, that his joy and his laughter would never bring a smile to anyone's face again.
May didn't know if she believed in fate, that great looming deity that hung shadowed in alleyways and prophecies. But perhaps it was to be. Trevor was a Muggle and she was a witch, and what was to do with that?
But every time she heard another student talking about 'the accident,' claiming 'just a few Muggles were done in,' a roaring beast clawed its way to the surface in May's chest. It pierced her heart and emptied her lungs, sending her reeling.
Perhaps Muggles and witches weren't to be. But it certainly didn't feel that way.