Verona, 1575
Her eyes are wet and she's trembling, and he holds her tight and tries to convince her that everything will be all right. She doesn't understand how this can possibly be.
"We'll marry," Anacleto says simply, and she laughs.
"Can it really be so simple?" she says. "Do you think after what happened to my cousin my family will allow it?"
"I would think Juliet's death would open their hearts."
"Not to you," Palmira snaps.
She doesn't want to hurt him, but he doesn't understand. He's a dreamer. That's always been his problem, but that's why she's always loved him.
He sets his jaw in place. He does understand, more than she could ever know, what it is to be denied. But no longer.
"Then we'll run away," Anacleto says, and takes Palmira into his arms once more. He holds her fiercely to him. "Run away with me, or give birth to the child of a slave in your parents' house."
"Either way, a scandal."
"Well, you've always been good at that."
Off the coast of Nassau, 1731
"Any trouble, Mr. Barrie?"
"Clear seas, Mr. Walker. A fine night."
"Aye, so it is."
The second mate of The Black Pearl breathes in the salty sea air and Polly can't help but think he was born for this. His bleached hair has seen its fair share of scorching days on the Main, but it's more than that. The sea is in his very soul, the freedom that comes with it. This is what she knew she could never find back home, what she had been searching for when she talked her way onboard in Dublin.
He sees her looking at him and raises an eyebrow. She turns, hoping the dark night masks her blush. She thinks he's guessed at her secret, and if so, respects him all the more for keeping it to himself. She thinks he must have once known what it is to be held captive by what you were born.
Then again, each member of the crew must have once known that. Ragetti, a footman. Cross, an indentured servant. Barbossa, a Madrid orphan. Gibbs, Cotton, Henderson, all military deserters. Captain Sparrow himself, the bastard son of a mercenary and a slave girl. They are pirates. They make their own fortune.
London, 1811
"Did you hear?" asks Charles, making a place for him at his table. "Little Lady Ambrose, Caroline's friend? Died in childbirth last night – twins, apparently. Shame, really, she was a darling girl."
Andrew nods. His eyes are wet.
Hogsmeade, 1946
A stroke of luck, the backroad behind Zonko's has been entirely bypassed by the crowd of Christmas shoppers. They walk in silence, interrupted only by the crunch of snow beneath their feet and the distant shouts of festivity. They come to a halt about halfway down the road and stare at one another for a moment before finally Pamela breaks the silence.
"This is the part where you admit it," she says simply.
"Admit what?"
"Don't bother pretending, Minerva told me."
The wind whistles past them and Aeneas can't lie to her. His sister doesn't approve, she had made that perfectly clear, but Pamela would understand. She has to.
"It was for you."
"For me?" she scoffs.
"To protect you."
She slaps him.
The aftermath is a dull ringing in his ears where all he can think of is the inherent wrongness in what just happened. This isn't right. This isn't how it's supposed to go. They're Aeneas and Pamela, destinies intertwined until the end of days. This… this oath was to be proof, proof that he would do whatever it took to protect her, to see that she lived the life she deserved.
Aeneas glances at his arm, the still-tender ink hidden under layers of jumper and cloak. When he looks back up, she's already reached the end of the road.
Oxford, 1995
"Oh, do not tell me that's the time."
He quickly snaked his arm around her midsection to stop her leaving.
"Oof, Antony!"
"Darling?" he responded sweetly. Korë wrapped her wings affectionately around a purring Remus. Pippa shot the dæmon a withering look and continued to struggle from Antony's grasp.
"No, honestly," she panted, "Dame Hannah's going to have my head."
"So let her have it," he said, breathing her in deeply. "Tomorrow."
"I can't keep asking Lyra to lie for me."
"She's a good lass, I doubt she minds."
He began to run his fingers through her glossy brown hair. Unable to stop himself, Antony lightly kissed the back of her neck. Pippa shuddered in gentle astonishment.
"Your dorm brother…" she protested feebly. "He'll hear."
"Nice try," he said softly. "You're out of excuses."
And then he kissed her properly, and indeed she was.
(And this is still not the end.)