just taking a quick moment to thank people for the reviews i've gotten. it's really encouraging to hear from you all- keep it up!
hope you enjoy- we're getting close to the end now.
...
In the weeks after I received the motorbike, Lee was a constant presence in my mind.
I am sure that, as I have described the days post Lee's departure, that you, mysterious Estelle, know that this had not been the case before I collected her gift.
Perhaps all the trauma which James had suffered through had distracted me for the past few months, or perhaps, my general adaptness at burying unwanted emotions had once again saved me from regret.
I do not know.
All I can truthfully say is that once I was again reminded of Lee, she never left me. She enveloped me. I did not know how I had survived so long without thoughts of her. It seemed I was doomed to be reminded of her with every action I performed.
Considering how long and hard I worked on that bike, enjoying the way I could experiment with magic in order to add little features to it, this was severe.
Annika thought I was being an idiot, but James (oblivious to my inner turmoil) thought tinkering with the bike seemed an interesting task, and would speak to me often via the mirrors, commenting and making suggestions.
All in all, I must confess that the romantic weekend did not go quite as Annika had planned. She had expected- as had I- that we would spend all our time together, enjoying the peace. It was not to be.
I found myself surrounded by Lee- she was everywhere in the apartment, it was uncanny. Only hours before, it had been my apartment, and yet, just one visit to one little mechanic had completely altered my perceptions. All the emotions I had suppressed bubbled to the surface in a rush of- well, Lee.
Suddenly, I didn't see a kitchen sink. I saw Lee grinning at me as she packed a picnic basket. I didn't see a couch- I saw Lee's long legs made longer by knife-like heels, and her eyes all rimmed in sparkles and black, and her hair all messy. I didn't see a bed- I saw myself, lying with Lee in my arms and blood on my mouth.
The shower reminded me of that morning after the club. The stove reminded me of the pancakes I was making for her. The table reminded me of the photos which used to line it. My room was probably the worst.
It reminded me of the fact that it had once been Yves'.
Also, Estelle, I wondered what she was thinking. I had not contacted her, or thanked her for her gesture- unforgivably rude.
Would she care? Would she have noticed? She was always so very independent, and she never really needed people to notice her actions, or that was the impression she gave. In my mind, I truly felt that she would be unconcerned at my lack of gratitude. Logically, I knew that she would have made the gesture and considered that the end of the episode. She didn't factor 'thanks' into her plans. Ever. Why would this be an exception?
Only, I needed it to be, I realised. I needed her to need to hear from me. I wanted to see her satisfaction with my satisfaction.
I played the conversation out in my mind:
In my mind, I somehow was at her home, in France.
In my mind, she was wearing dress robes, slashed across mid thigh, so little was really left to the imagination, and with a neckline which bordered on indecent. Her hair was cut to her shoulders in a riotous mess of curls, and she had rimmed her eyes with some much black eyeliner that she looked vaguely like a panda. Her nails, in my mind, are black and sparkly. She is carving the words 'PUREBLOODS SUCK' onto the walls of her ancestral home.
"what are you doing here?" she would whisper, shocked and angry, "you fool! How did you get in here? Mon dieu, boys are idiots!"
"I came to see you!" I would then announce, "I know that I'm being stupid, and I know that I shouldn't be here, but I needed to see you!"
"And did you think maybe I didn't want to see you? Did you consider that? Or is your ego so huge that you actually imagined that I would be pleased to see your smug face on my doorstep?"
(Notice here that, even in my fantasies, Lee was a complete bitch)
But what I said to that, in my mind?
Nothing.
My imagination simply could not handle the stretch- what Lee would be like, were I to see her again, what I would say, after the way we left things, was beyond me.
And I was desperate for it to be another way. I wanted so badly to speak to her again, even as a memory, even as a daydream, and yet I could not.
She was gone, and no amount of pretending she was still around would change that. And so, on the second day after our return to school for our final term, I made a drastic decision.
It was reckless. It was foolhardy.
It was utterly and entirely my style.
….
"Woah." I stood up, brushing the dust off of my knees and coughing up soot mixed with mucus. Apparently, overseas floo trips are slightly more taxing to the system.
Allow me to explain-
Enlisting the help of James, ever eager to impress Lily and truthfully quite fond of Lee, I had obtained the address of Lee's charming father, and- employing this, and several other less than reputable tactics- had managed to set things up so that I could floo-network myself over to France during (herein lies the risk) a free period.
Idiotic. Foolish.
Entirely Sirius.
Of course, nobody other than James could know. We'd used the same lounge which Lee herself had employed to get us to that nightclub on her last day, and I had pulled a few well-placed strings to ensure that the journey would be possible.
I am sure you are aware that the ministry strictly controls overseas floo trips, and France's Ministry was so adamantly furious with ours (some little hiccup involving foreign dignitaries and their inadvertently promiscuous daughters- my sort of scandal, almost enough to interest me in politics) that trips were nigh impossible, and took weeks to work out.
Lo and behold, though, Estelle, your father came through and managed to wrangle permission for a temporary pass- very much eligible for categorisation as 'people smuggling' between the nations.
I will not name names, Estelle. All you need know was that he owed me quite a favour, and (though he was blissfully unaware of it) so did his very pretty younger sister.
And so, I was there- in France. In Estelle's house.
In, well, the smallest room I'd ever seen.
It was next to empty, and a layer of dust a couple of inches thick coated everything. I could tell from the view that it was an attic room, and from the state of the place that either cleaners were not employed at Lee's house, or that it wasn't currently in use.
But somebody had been here, I could see that. There was some weird wooden structure in the corner nearest the window, and the bed hadn't been made. The wardrobe door was open to reveal one or two lonely sweaters dangling forlornly off of metal coat hangers, but there was nothing personal in sight. No photos, no books; nothing.
I knew I was in the wrong room, what I didn't know is whether or not I'd be able to get out of there.
The door was small, and set back into the far wall of the room. I didn't bother checking it. The handle was broken off, and it seemed to lock from the outside, which, as well as being incredibly odd, was also not at all conducive to an escape route.
It was possible that I would be able to spell it open, but then again, in the house of Etienne Dahlquist, using magic was not a good idea. Most likely everything was booby trapped, I wasn't even sure if my arrival had been monitored.
My only option, bar returning to Hogwarts, and the wrath of Annika, was to try the window. It was old, and dusty, with a film of dirt so thick across it that you could barely make out the daylight outside. But it would probably open, my instincts told me. That weird wooden thing was in the way, though.
With a lack of respect I don't expect you to admire, I thrust the thing out of my way, only to feel it collapse in my hands.
I had been worried that it was some sort of booby trap, some odd French strategy for catching intruders red-handed. But short of giving me a few splinters, it didn't hurt me.
It seemed, in fact, to be a muggle object.
As it folded, its various wooden legs snapping together into one long, compact stick, different things that had been resting on it cluttered to the floor, making far too much noise for my liking.
Cursing like a sailor, I laid the thing down and bent to pick up the pieces.
The first thing I reached for was a roll of coarse material, which unfurled as I picked it up. Rather than just spare cloth, it seemed to be an almost pouch type thing, designed for holding…. Paintbrushes?
"Or course," I murmured, looking back at the wooden thing, what they call an easel? "Raoulf".
And just like that I became more aware of the space I was in.
In that closet had hung the clothes of the person whom Lee loved most in the world. He'd slept in that bed, he'd looked out that window.
He'd painted here.
I scanned the room more carefully. It might seem empty, but Raoulf was, to all intents and purposes, just another pure blood boy hiding things from his parents. I knew very well how to sniff out his secrets.
I tried the closet first, but other than a roll of canvas shoved against the far corner, it was bare. I tried the bed. Under the pillow? Nothing. So, abandoning all semblance of dignity, I sunk to my hands and knees and ran my hands along the bed slats.
There.
A small, low box, shoved between the mattress and the bed slats. I prised it out, shameless in my curiosity.
Did I think about Raoulf's rights to his secrets? No. Did I consider respecting the dead? No. Did I even think of Lee, and how much this might mean to her? No.
I just opened that box, wanting nothing more than to assuage my own curiosity.
There wasn't much inside.
A few photos and some loose sheets of paper. Rough sketches, really.
Shoving them aside, I looked to the pictures.
The first felt like looking back in time. In it, a young couple stood, smiling at the camera, obviously very much in love.
He was dark haired and handsome, thick black hair and a lazy smile, one arm wrapped around her, the other in his pocket.
He looked charming, but there was something almost predatory in his smile, something a little off putting.
She was quite lovely. My kind of woman, in every way. Long, honey coloured hair, falling in loose waves around her face, a sunny smile and legs that were to die for.
I recongised them more by context than actual appearance.
Etienne Dahlquist had retained that head of hair, apparently; it had been just as thick last time I'd seen him, but that was the full sum of the similarities between him and his younger self.
His eyes, when I had seen them, were cold and hard as ice. There was little love in them.
Theses eyes were different. They looked out at the world with pride and defiance, and, it must be said, with eagerness. He would have seemed a complete lout, a complete young prick were it not for the tenderness with which he held on to the girl next to him.
But what was strangest, Estelle, about this photo, was how much it echoed a myriad of moments throughout my relationship (surely there's another word) with Lee.
That was us, with the arrogance and the pride and the knowledge of our own worth. 'Challenge us' their smiles said 'we dare you. We'll tackle anything you throw at us- the world is ours and we rule it together'.
"Would you look at that," I muttered, staring, to all intents and purposes, into the face of my mirror image, "hello, Mrs Dahlquist."
She was, I'll have you know, as lovely as her daughter, and with the same fire in her eyes. I was so struck by the similarities to Lee that I smiled to myself as I looked at the photo- she was so beautiful, so defiant.
Nothing could beat this woman, with her smirk, and her raised chin. She had one eyebrow cocked as if to ask, 'can I help you with something?', as if to say, 'I know I am beautiful- stare all you like, you cannot have me'.
She was indomitable, I could tell. And she belonged in full to the man by her side.
This man, so like me, and so in love with her.
It was an odd feeling, staring at that photo- I felt vulnerable, almost (disgusting emotion, that one), and as I wrestled with this awful feeling of openness, and emotion, the moment became even more awkward.
When my pants caught on fire.
"Holy shit!" I screamed, jumping to my feet and batting at the flames with my bare hands (bad idea), "dear lord, are you crazy?"
"Asks the intruder?" a voice drawled tiredly, "asks the Englishman rifling through a box of photos in somebody else's attic."
And suddenly, I stopped batting, and let the flames die out. I felt a sense of purpose dawn in me, and a strange, encompassing calm envelop me.
Despite myself, I was already smiling, and I released a breath I hadn't known I was holding as I turned to face her, "hey there, cheton," my grin was manic.
My enthusiasm went sadly unreturned.
"What on earth are you doing," she whispered, and I could feel my face fall, "you can't be here. How did you even get inside?"
"Lee," I ventured, unsure, "it's me…. I don't understand…."
"I know it is you." Lee snapped, "I am no halfwit. What I don't know is why you are in my father's house?"
"Well, obviously I came to see you.." I snapped back at her. Obviously I needed to talk to you."
"Obviously?" she breathed, eyes flicking away, "there is nothing obvious about this. Not to me."
"I-" my voice died as I looked at the expression on her face. She looked on edge, wary, scared?
What she didn't look like was Lee. There was none of that dismissive confidence, that wry charm and subtle vivacity in her expression. I'd been just so happy to see her- just her- when she'd arrived that I hadn't bothered to look more closely, to see the things that had changed since last we'd met. And the more I looked at her, the more I saw the differences in place of the similarities.
Her clothes, I should start with. Robes. Robes as casual wear- she never wore robes. But here they were, and not tight around the waist and short, but brushing the floor and elegant in cut- flattering, yes, as was anything Lee wore, but modest and conservative.
Her posture. No languid grace here. She was ramrod straight, head tilted upward, hands held stiffly by her sides, feet together.
Her hair. Pulled back into a sleek braid, about half an inch shorter than when she'd left, the curls brushed smoothly back off of her face so that not a single strand escaped the braid. I don't think I had even seen so much of her face. She was exposed.
And while she looked as beautiful as you'd assume, there was something timid about her, something unsure. She wasn't used to being so fully accessible, you could tell.
"You look different." I told her frankly, "you don't look like you."
She raised her chin slightly, "and so who do I look like?" she asked, and there was a hint of her old defiance in it, but it was faint.
"Like…" I considered, "like Sissy."
Her eyes flashed a little, "you talk a lot of nonsense, Black."
"Just because you don't want to hear it, doesn't make it nonsense," I snapped at her, "god, what have they done to you- Lee, they've changed you…"
Her nostrils flared and her hands tightened on each other so much that I could see little crescents of blood left by her nails when she released them.
"Who are you to come in here and presume to tell me that they have changed me?" she asked, voice low and dangerous, "who are you to presume that they have changed me?" she asked, voice low and dangerous, "who are you to presume anyone can change me at all?"
"Your friend-" I began, but her expression cut me off.
"Not that, Black," she said darkly, "never that again."
I scowled, feeling nervous, "don't be stupid."
"I'm not. I'm being smart. Smarter than I have ever been with you," she told me calmly, "I always thought you cared- always thought you'd change in the end, and it would all be alright. But I was wrong, and I will never lie to myself about you again."
"Then why did you give me the motorbike?" I asked, beyond annoyed, "obviously you wanted me to come here."
She raised an eyebrow, and I noticed that her eye makeup was nonexistent. She looked younger. Less herself, or more herself, I wasn't sure.
"I gave you the motorbike," she said, "as a goodbye present. As a 'thankyou' present. A gesture- I don't know! It just felt right." Her composed façade was shattered. I was pleased.
"Like the wall," I said, "like when I painted the wall for you. That felt right. That was a thankyou, a gesture…."
"A goodbye?" Lee's mouth twisted into a snarl, "an apology? A way to assuage your guilt?"
"Maybe," I said, trying not to be angry with her, "but more than that- I was trying to show you how I feel. I was trying to express the way I feel about you- about your personality, how clever you are….."
"How you feel about me?" Lee's eyes were huge, she looked like a ghoul, almost, or some sort of ghost. Oh, Estelle, I can see her now, how pale she was, how drawn and tired. How wretched and furious, "you don't even know how you feel about me! You have no idea!"
"Sure I do," I answered, confused by this odd turn of conversation.
From the look in Lee's eyes, I knew that I'd made a mistake saying that, "trés bien," she smiled cruelly, finally looking more like the Lee I knew, "enlighten me, prove me wrong! How do you feel about me?"
I had no idea at all.
What to say? What to say? With her staring up at me with those eyes, so imperious and condescending. Daring me to be wrong, but somehow, deep down, hoping I was right- that I had an answer to her question.
I didn't.
"I miss you." I said finally. Honestly. Confidently. Inadequately, "I wish you still lived in England."
She snorted, "oh, how romantic! You came to my house to tell me that you're a little put out that we can't meet for morning tea anymore?"
No matter that I'd broken into her house, that I'd cut school and travelled across an ocean (sort of) to see her, Lee wasn't happy. How could she be when I'd gotten the wording wrong?
"You are such an insane bitch," I snapped, forgetting my promise to keep my temper, "you leave me this bike, and then you act surprised when I come to say thankyou."
"Yes well, for most people, a note would've sufficed." Lee drawled.
"Since when have you been like most people?" I asked, reasonably, I might add.
"Since when have you cared?" she snapped back at me, "now if you'll excuse me, I have a place to be."
I scoffed, "yeah, naturally. As soon as I rock up, you have a place to be. Just freaking brilliant, Lee. That wasn't an excuse at all."
"Oh, I don't plan my life around you!" Lee hissed, "I am busy today- so leave!"
I was just furious by now, just plain enraged. What, was this just not enough for Lee? I turn up, cross country, in her house- despite the fact that her father would kill me on sight- and it isn't enough? She doesn't consider this quite sufficient?
"what is your problem, Lee?" I demanded, "here I am- for you, I'm here, and you treat me like dirt, like a problem!"
"You're not here for me," Lee said, shaking her head with an evil gleam in her eye, "there is an ulterior motive here, there is always an ulterior motive with you- you have never ever done anything for me and me alone."
"That is a lie!" I snarled, "that is a downright, stupid lie!"
"Name something, then," Lee snapped, "name something you've done for me, for my good."
I thought. It didn't take me long to figure one out, "I- saved you from that wolf." I said, mentioning something that had long lain dormant between us, so long that I still could not refer to the truth of the incident, "I did that for you."
"Please, you did that for Remus," Lee scoffed, which I thought was quite massively untrue, "you were so worried about him the next day, but you didn't even check if I was alright. That was for Remus, and for you."
Well- alright, maybe it was mostly for Remus, but I hadn't wanted her to die, either, had I? But no matter, I could think of something else.
"I helped you get out of working with Slughorn, that time in the holidays, when we were stuck at school together," I said, simply as a filler, "I told him you were helping me with my essay."
She frowned, "I told him that. You just didn't contradict me."
"The wall- I painted the wall," I said. Surely that was plenty. Surely that said everything.
She raised an eyebrow, and though she looked so scornful, I felt an embarrassing pang in my heart at the sight of her looking so much like she used to. There she was- there was my Lee- standing ramrod straight or whatever, that face was hers and hers alone, "we just established, Black," she smiled tautly, "that the wall was a way for you to alleviate your guilt. After you left me to face my father alone- when you knew how scared I was, when you knew my mother had only just died."
Despite my argumentative streak (perhaps, rather than being a Sirius with an argumentative streak, it would be more accurate to term me an argumentative with a Sirius streak. I am sure you could relate), Remus seems to have rubbed off on me more than I had known, and I held my tongue. Swiftly enough, I changed the subject.
I remembered, in a stroke of genius, a night by the lake. Skinny dipping- icy water… Macgonnagal in a dressing gown. And a slender form, floating in the dark water- alone.
"I saved you," I said, "I jumped in that water for you, that night by the lake." She looked unnerved, "everybody said you were fine. Everybody thought I was being an idiot- but you weren't fine and I knew it."
She smiled contemptuously, but she couldn't hold it, "Black, don't you try to make out that.."
"Oh, I knew they'd get you out without my help," I said, anticipating her statement, "I knew that. But I jumped in anyway, because I knew you wouldn't ever have wanted to walk out of that lake alone. I knew you needed somebody by your side. I knew it, Lee." I took a deep breath, remembering, "and even though people laughed at me for it, and even though I'd known they would, and even though it was freezing, I jumped in that lake. And I held your hand under the water, so nobody would know you felt scared and alone, and all they'd see was your defiance. And while I did that, I pretended not to see your sadness. Also for you."
There was an uncomfortable silence.
Lee was looking out the window, and her eyes looked slightly wet, though she wasn't crying. But even as I watched, her mouth hardened.
"I never needed you to save me," she said tightly, "I never asked you to save me."
I smiled, "of course you didn't need me to save you," I said, "all you needed, all you ever need, is the reminder that somebody cares that you come back to them, and that there's somebody there who will wait for you while all the world moves on." Truer words have never been spoken.
She said nothing.
"And you don't need to ask, Lee," I told her quietly, "because, whether you know it or not, I care enough about you to be there, even when you're too proud to ask."
"But you weren't there," Lee snapped, and I knew that she was crying now, "you weren't there, not when I needed you most."
"And I regretted that so much." I told her honestly, "and I know enough now to be able to say that it will never, never happen again. I'll always be there for you, Lee, to remind you to come home."
I'd been standing less than a metre away from her for about half an hour, and though it'd been months since last we'd spoken, we had yet to touch. I knew it was best that we didn't. She didn't want to seem weak, and, Estelle she wasn't weak. She never ever was.
So I let myself look at her for a moment, and then, still clutching that photo of her parents, I stepped into the fireplace and whispered an address.
That night at the lake, she'd wanted to walk out without me, she'd told me she didn't want it to look like I'd carried her out.
I knew that now was no different. She would come back on her own, when she was ready for it.
She would come back.
….
Back at school, James was frantic.
Frantically asleep, that is.
"You suck at keeping watch," I told him, kicking him awake. He jumped a little, sleepily kicking around and wiping what looked like a tony trail of drool off of his mouth. Lovely.
He blinked blearily, "yeah, well your pants are all singed and disgusting. I can see your boxers."
Oh. So they were. I had forgotten about that.
Gradually, realisation dawned on him and he sat upright, "oh, how's Lee? Did she send us a message? Did she mention Lily? Remus? Peter? Me? Annika? Does Annika even know? Does she know you got the motorbike? What did she say? Is she giving them hell for us?"
"Bloody hell, mate, shut up," I snapped, massaging my temples. Overseas floo trips sucked, "Lee. Right, she, uh….." in my mind, I saw her frightened face, her strange disease, her fragility, "Lee is- Lee. Of course. She sends her love to everybody, and she set my pants on fire for breaking in to her house."
James grinned, "naturally. That's so very like Lee."
I smiled tiredly, "yeah, it is, isn't it?"
"So, she said hello?"
"Yeah, to everybody. She said she misses us all, but she won't be long in coming home." I closed my eyes, "she's really giving them hell for us. In fine form, she is. All black eye makeup and crazy hair. And I tell you, the length of that skirt…. She was challenging the laws of decency," I waggled my eyebrows at James, and he laughed.
"Sounds about right," he said, " I love it when Lee challenges the laws of decency- god, she's got great legs….so, is she coming back soon, then?"
I smiled, genuinely this time, and with hope and determination, "oh, yeah," I said quietly, "she'll be back here before you know it."
….
How sad this memory has made me feel, Estelle.
How sad and how lost.
The photo, you see. I still have it. Perhaps I should enclose it in here, so that you could keep it and see for yourself. The young man. The young woman.
I admired them both so greatly. I was so taken by their beauty and their arrogance and their charm that I did not consider the message that Raoulf was surely giving me from the grave.
After all, no matter how sweet they were as children, the Dahlquists did not live happy lives.
Etienne, with his good looks and his charm and his wit, became cold and manipulative. He died alone in a great empty house, having severed all links to his family with his bitterness and selfishness.
His mistakes cost him his entire life, and in essence, his freedom.
And Lee's lovely mother?
Need we discuss? Her strength was all a show, in the end. She was dead by her own hand before she was 40.
How ironic, that at 17 I thought myself and Lee to be a mirror of them.
How ironic, and how very, very fitting.
If only I had paid more attention to my own insight. If only I had remembered the fates of the Dahlquists when my own choices came along.
