DISCLAIMER: JK Rowling thought up Susan Bones, Terry Boot, Death Eaters, Amelia Bones, the Ministry of Magic, the Order of the Phoenix, Hannah Abbot, Ernie MacMillian, obliviate, Ancient Runes and the Floo. Daphne DuMaurier thought up Rebecca, Maxim and the new Mrs. de Winter. And someone else who writes the scripts for the television series Bones thought up the phrase "mania for the truth," at least as far as I know.

CLAIMER: I thought up this particular plot, most of the wording, and the general particulars of Susan and Terry's characters. If it inspires, please inform me. If you use it directly, please also inform your readers. That's all.

WARNING: Hum-de-hum, that'd be, death, grief, lack of communication, war, and self-sacrifice. And a vague writing style. Although this is a little less vague than usual, I think.

AUTHOR'S "ALSO'S": Each section is exactly one hundred words. (hurrah!) Anyone who hasn't read Rebecca by Daphne DuMaurier most most definitely should.

Also, (tee hee, I'm dumb) this was partially inspired by Sirikit's amazing Hufflepuff (mostly gen) fics, as it has made me predisposed to write about those rascally 'Puffs, though of course her fics are better. So go read hers right now!

i.

Now that there's silence, she can hear their angry shouts bounce off the walls and furniture. They say you forget what you argued about, they say you only remember the sweet times, but they're wrong. She can hold the harsh words they spoke in the palm of her hand like some kind of cup of sorrow, a cup that refills no matter how many times she drinks of it.

And she sits across from his chair, and can only picture his fingers, at the edges of the newspaper. She can only see the headlines. "Death Eaters Attack Again," they read.

ii.

When he asked her to marry him, he didn't say it.

When she returned from work so weary that she simply collapsed into him, and he held her so close she thought they might become one single entity, he didn't say it.

Every time she would say I love you, she would listen to the screeching silence and think of a Muggle book, once her favorite. Rebecca. Now it cut too close, but Maxim and his new wife came to mind even so. She choked everyday on his unspoken words. Shall they come only with disaster for me as well?

iii.

It was her destiny to follow in her aunt's footsteps. She had been named for her, and had always thought that that had put a little bit of Amelia in her soul, a little bit of her mania for the truth. And she was smart – not smart like her husband was, but smart enough. So she became part of the Ministry, walking a road already paved for her, while he continued to sell books and work for the Order.

And if he thought, as she often did, of what else following her aunt's destiny entailed, he kept it to himself.

iv.

In the middle of war, he was her foothold, her anchor. She would've lost it if he had not steadied her, even as his life was endangered every day. He'd often say to her, "Just slow down, Susan. Think." And somehow, that made everything seem okay, even as the world was turning to shadow, even as she chased after the people responsible for her aunt's murder.

Then there seemed to come a lull in the danger and the death, and she let her muscles relax and her lungs take a full breath of air.

She shouldn't have, but she did.

v.

"Susan, something terrible's happened at Hannah's . . ."

"What?"

"You go; I'll come soon."

"Yes, all right, come quickly –"

And he kissed her so fiercely, her heart almost broke.

"I will."

His face was the last thing she saw. He looked as if his heart was almost breaking, too.

When she stumbled into Hannah's flat, she wasn't surprised to find her crying – but then she saw Ernie and knew something was wrong. Hannah couldn't seem to speak.

"Where's Terry?"

"Terry's coming –"

But suddenly she knew that he wasn't. Because the something terrible – it wasn't happening at Hannah's.

vi.

She shouldn't have been able to escape. His obsession with probabilities had rubbed off on her and she had calculated it a million times and the simple truth was – it shouldn't have happened. She should be dead, with him.

Grief hit people in different ways, she knew, but this didn't feel anything like grief. Her heart didn't feel heavy, and she didn't cry. She worked hard and then she came home and sat on their bed and she waited to miss him, just like she waited for him to say the words. It was the same feeling, ending in dissatisfaction.

vii.

For a little while, she worried that he would completely disappear from her. It was almost like his death were an obliviate on her soul. Days passed, and then sitting in their kitchen she saw his mug and suddenly thought – oh, Terry.

And the memories came in droves – he's explaining Ancient Runes to her in the Library, and she can smell his cologne; he's asking her to dance; he's tugging on her scarf, laughing; he's wrapping her up in himself and promising he'll never leave her again.

Instead of feeling lonely, feeling him not there, she finally felt at home.

viii.

It's some kind of full circle, she figures, or maybe a paradox. She was never one for literary terms. The fact is, she's forgiven him for not saying it, now that it's too late to give without fear of what he won't give back.

And she can look back at their life and see everything. The sweet and the sour. She cries a little over both, but it is out of love for each. She drinks her tea out of his mug sometimes, and wears his jumper on especially grey days.

A full circle, she thinks. Completion. But not quite.

iv.

I calculated it quicker than anything I'd ever calculated before, she hears him say, with a not-really smile. How many minutes it would take for them to come, after I got the Floo. Six and a half minutes.

She can smell his cologne. He feels very warm – close.

There wasn't time, you see – the Floo takes three minutes, and they might be able to trace it if you weren't all the way gone. There was no time to explain. I had to get you out, even if it meant not saying –

But he had said it. She knew that now.

I'm sorry if the flashback section (v) seemed really short on details, or awkward. It took a lot of thinking and cutting things to get it down to one hundred words. I hope you still got the gist.

This fic was written from the sentence "They say it's the most perfect form of love." My original idea was that "the girl" would think that she would've rathered that he stay with her than sacrifice himself, but as you see it didn't happen that way. I like how it turned out though.

Anyways, drop me a line with your reaction if you will. Any and all questions are answered without prejudice. Well, I guess I would wonder if you asked me about pet lobsters, but I'd probably answer anyway.

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