Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor am I affiliated with it in any way.
Promises We Broke
His name is Darling.
Her name is Helena.
Kenrick Falerin Windsor Darling.
Helena Selestina Godwina Ravenclaw.
He's wealthy, which was the first thing my mother told me about him, and noble, which was the second. While I'm unable to fathom the impact a man called Darling could ever have on my life, I cannot deny that my mother is right about one thing. Despite the fact that he is twelve years my senior, it is a smart mach, he and I. But, then, mother always did know smart.
She is the most radiant creature that has ever crossed my path. Perhaps it is the hunter in me that recognizes such a rare beauty and wishes to possess it, but there is something softer in my heart that sings whenever I see her. I have spoken with her mother, who is the good friend of an acquaintance of mine. I've never before spoken with anyone as brilliant, and she seems amenable to a union between our families.
/-
I have agreed to the engagement, but the brief courtship period before the marriage has been, thus far, uninspiring. The baron is rather dull, if I'm honest, and far from an intellectual delight. His interests—as typical of most barons, I suppose—include such fancies as fox-hunting and dog-breeding. Sadly, as I can't be bothered with where a dog prefers to place his genitals, the baron and I find little to discuss.
She has agreed to the engagement, and I could sing. I will do everything in my power to make her realize that she hasn't made a mistake in accepting my hand. I'll teach her about the dogs and I'll take her to the stables to meet the horses. I long for her to give me her token as I ride out to a hunt.
/-
This engagement would go more smoothly were the baron to stop talking. He's rather fetching to look at, if I'm honest, but he does prattle on about nonsense, which rather ruins the mirage.
Oh, I fear I babble like an idiot whenever I'm around her. I talk about everything and hardly allow her a word edgewise. Curse my boyish nerves!
He does try, though, which is more than I might say of my previous, more pompous suitors. I had assumed that a healthy combination of boredom and disdain might dissuade the baron from the betrothal, but I was apparently mistaken in my original estimation of him. He has already won the game and my hand, yet he seems to strive for something more—my personal approval or affection, perhaps.
I would do everything for her. I would lay down my life should she need it. I wish I could tell her without sounding like a complete fool.
God, he must love me.
God, I love her.
What a joke.
/-
The wedding will be… passable. The baron has spared no expense and has given me everything that I ask for. I don't particularly have a taste for cherub hedge sculptures, and I was mildly surprised when he actually granted them to me, but they will flank the raised platform where we will be wed. The flowers have all been dyed a devious scarlet for the evening, and my wedding dress—which cost a small fortune—will appear as a beacon of virtue amidst it all. I find I quite enjoyable spending the baron's money.
My lady's taste in décor is… unusual. I have never, however, seen her light up so radiantly or smile with such enthusiasm as she has while preparing for the wedding. I had feared that she hated our arrangement, and worse, that she hated me. Seeing her now, so thrilled to be planning the evening of our union, my heart soars. All those fears for nothing. She loves me.
/-
The wedding is tomorrow and, like a damn bride, I'm feeling feelings. I feel as though I haven't eaten, but I couldn't touch a bite if I wanted. My palms are sweaty, which is so unbecoming I could faint, something I feel nearly ready to do anyway. This just won't do. I need to think.
Helena is gone. She's stolen her mother's diadem and fled the evening before the wedding. I have been bestowed the duty of searching for her, but I can barely move for the breaking of my own heart. Still, I must look into her face and know the answer. I should know why my fiancé has denied me so cruelly.
/-
Oh, this is something out of a nightmare. My mother's ridiculous attachment with her diadem has forced me into hiding. I was never allowed to touch the thing as a child, and now she would deny me the use of its power on the eve of my womanhood. Now, when my head is so full of thoughts and feelings that it could burst, mother, why? I hope—which is a new emotion by far—that Kenrick can forgive me.
I have only heard stories about the capabilities of Lady Ravenclaw's diadem, but it is most commonly known as a focus to channel one's thoughts. To know that it is the one thing Helena took with her when she ran speaks to me of a number of unpleasant things. Of what was she so unsure that she should need such a device? On the night before our wedding, what could have been ailing her so severely that she would steal her mother's most treasured possession?
/-
I've seen Kenrick following me for some time now. I have hidden my mother's diadem in a tree. I haven't even been able to use it, but finally the unfamiliar thoughts in my mind are beginning to slow down and collect themselves. Funny how I began knowing precisely what I wanted, lost sight of myself, and am now finding something in me even I didn't know existed. But I have run so far. How could I ever go back now? Nothing I left will be waiting for me when I return.
I've known her location for some time, now. She has been in Albania. She must have hidden the diadem somewhere, for I have never seen her with it. Full circle, we have come, my love. I began my journey pursuing my prize, won her, and am now hunting again. I do not have it in me to be angry with her for what she has done. What mortal bride in turmoil wouldn't flee the country were she able to perform such magics? I cannot begrudge mine her sabbatical simply because she has the means to travel great distances.
/-
I had expected to be the first to approach Kenrick, but he came to me in the forest. He had been drinking, which was quite unusual for the man, usually in complete control of himself at all times. He fell to his knees on the ground. I've never before seen any man humble himself in such a manner. He begged for an explanation—for my return. It was all I wanted to return, but unprepared, I stared at him, unable to speak.
I cut open my bleeding, beating heart, and I handed it to her. Delivered it, not in a gilded box as I had intended on our wedding night, but I presented it to her bare and raw. I emptied everything I have ever felt and known about my love for her onto the grounds of the Albanian forest. The drink was strong in me that night, but every word was true. And she said nothing. She stood like an unforgiving statue, staring down where I knelt on the ground.
The cold steel of the blade didn't hurt like I had imagined it might. I felt suddenly very tired and fell forward into his arms. He caught me as though I were no more burden than a paper doll, his own face far more shocked than mine. I begged my eyes to tell him that which my mouth seemed unable. I needed to tell him what I hadn't even known myself until I had seen the passion and fury for me in his eyes in the moment he'd raised his hunting knife.
God, I think she loved me.
God, I love you.
What have I done?