A/N: Ooooh second chapter (insert Draco Malfoy finger wiggle)

I don't own any of these characters although I lowkey wish I did. Minus my OC's of course. Anywhooza the pain train has departed, we're no longer in angstville and we're headed straight to fluffville with a few pit stops for exposition.

(I might have maybe taken that analogy a little too far.)

Also this is an author desperate for reviews and feedback, it keeps my grubby little fingers typing.

the parting glass

"you can never get away from where you've been."

Margaret Atwood

"I think that's all of it." My mother murmured from beside me, she takes in the empty foyer of our house. Her black hair is twisted and pinned to the back of her head by a plastic clip. My mother's hair, however, is a force to be reckoned with, a few defiant loose strands dangle and kiss the nape of her neck. "So many memories."

I can tell she's thinking about my father now, a sad pang echoes around in my ribcage. It goes silent when nothing calls back to it. My mother shifts her weight and squeezes the large cardboard box a little tighter. Because even though it's been three years she's still barely holding on.

"We'll make more, mom." I promise, I want to reach out and hold her hand but she's still desperately clutching the moving box to her chest. Instead the ends of her lips quiver in an almost smile, and for the time being it's enough.

With a final sigh my mother gathers up her sadness, "I'm going to take this out to the truck, I'll be waiting whenever you're ready."

I watch her leave, the screen door bounces shut and for a moment I can't tear my gaze from it. The creaking fills the entire house, a farewell song meant only for my ears. I've already said my goodbyes to the house, which made me feel silly and small until my mother reassured me that it shouldn't.

"It's hard to say goodbye to things we've known our entire life." She whispered softly; she'd cradled me in her arms like she did when I was a child. She stroked my forehead lovingly as I cried. "Don't be afraid to miss the things that matter."

"But it's a house!" I had blubbered and she'd laughed at that. It was a short burst, but a real one and even though I was in anguish over feeling like a child that had made me feel good.

I decided to take one last look at my old bedroom, I had inhabited it for as long as I can remember. It had once been brimming and overflowing with my things, it had been my space and I occupied it well.

I find the marks my father had penciled into the wall when I was younger, to signify that I was growing. To prove that I had been little once. I run my fingers along the groves, and I feel sad knowing that someday it'll be covered up.

I scan the room until I find what I'm looking for, in the corner where dulled floral wallpaper meets, the scratchy outline of a wolf is visible, etched into the wall a few centimeters above the alabaster white trim. It would be nearly impossible to find if you didn't know you were looking for it.

I've dreamt of the wolf ever since my father died, and like clockwork I'd wake up every night with my fingers twitching. Burning. Begging me to offer them relief, the furnace only cooled when I'd churned out a few jumbled drawings.

It had been really bad one night, which led to my messy graffitied wolf. I covered it up with my dresser in fear my mother would see it. I didn't want her to chastise me for drawing on the walls, I shouldn't have bothered though. She's never noticed things like that.

The sunlight filtering in through the curtain-less windows warms the room and I know it's time to say goodbye for real now. My mother's waiting for me in the car, and for all of the things I am leaving behind there are about a million more I'll be saying hello to when we get to Washington.

My parents lived there when they were younger, but my mother had wanted to leave, and my father was hopelessly in love with her. So, we came to Minnesota. I think I visited their home a few times when I was young, but I hardly remember it. If Emily ever wanted to see my mom it was her that came to us.

So, naturally I was really surprised when my mother had announced we were moving to Washington during dinner one night.

"I have something to tell you." My mother grimaced, like it pained her to speak. She set her fork down and paused for a moment, most likely to gather her thoughts. "I'm sure you've heard on the radio, but the bear attacks are getting bad again." I nodded along dumbly, a little unsure as to where this was going.

"With your father gone I don't feel so comfortable here, anymore." I cringed at the mention of my dad, her voice broke a little. Years of suffering later and she could still burst into hysterics at the thought of him. I pushed my food around my plate in an attempt to keep the tears at bay. "which is why I think we should move."

"Move? Where?" My hand stilled, I had so many questions.

"Emily's been trying to convince me since – well, for years now, she seems to think we'll be safer back home." She mumbled that last part tripping over the word home. I could tell it hurt her to say this. "I think we should move to Washington."

My mother had stated it with a bit of uncertainty, but her mind had already been made up, she was immovable on the subject. Not that I pushed very hard, for as much as I loved Minnesota, and this was my home I couldn't help but think a change of scenery would do us both some good.

And so here we were.

She sat in a truck with all of our belongings and I stood in the ghost of a room, both of us in different spaces, but hearts breaking all the same.

I need to leave; I've been standing here for too long. Yet, I find myself hesitating in the doorway. This'll be good for us. This'll be good for us. This'll be good for us.

With my mind made up I head to the front door; I can't bring myself to look at the empty walls or I know I'll only want to stay longer. I'll want to keep looking at our deserted museum of a house. But I keep walking and it's the bravest thing I've done in a long time.

I find my mother waiting patiently in the truck, she's got her knees up on the steering wheel and a colorful book of crossword puzzles rests in her lap. She's hard at work.

I pull open the door to the truck and climb in, it takes a bit of effort since I am not used to it. Mom figured it made more sense to drive the U-Haul to Washington ourselves. Emily came up to help last week and drove our car down to Washington when she left. Everything was squared away. The only thing left to do was get there.

"How are you holding up, Maggie?" My mother's quiet voice penetrates the silence as she pulls the seatbelt over her chest and clicks it into place. She trains her dark eyes on me and gives me a sad smile.

"It was hard to say goodbye, but this'll be good for us." I assure her strapping myself into the car. She nods in understanding, it's not the first time I've told her this. It's become something of a mantra since she declared we were moving.

"Long drive ahead of us, what shall we listen to?"

"Hmm, whatever you want." I pretend to contemplate it for a moment, but in reality I could care less what we listen to. Our taste in music differed greatly, but I could tune it out if it was too bad.

"Alrighty." She mumbles and presses play on the radio. As she pulls out of the driveway I couldn't fight the feeling that everything was changing. This'll be good for us.

It's late when we get to the La Push reservation, we'd already planned on spending the night at Emily's and doing the brunt of our moving tomorrow morning when Sam's friends could help. While I was grateful for the aide his friends promised, I couldn't deny I felt a little apprehensive. Sam was always so serious, his eyebrows constantly fixated in a deep furrow. Like immovable stone, when he smiled it was at Emily. If all of his friends were like that, tomorrow would be incredibly awkward.

It doesn't take mom long to find Emily's house, I knew she lived on the reservation when she was younger, but I was surprised at how well her memory still served her. Even though it was well past midnight, Emily sat on the porch waiting for us. I couldn't help but smile at that. If ever anyone could be the embodiment of good things, it was Emily.

Mom switches the ignition off and slips out of the truck effortlessly, Emily tackles her in a hug. A sister's greeting. I feel my heart swell at this, I knew, for whatever reason, my mother hated this place. But Emily was now a stone's throw away and that could only be for the better.

I exit the truck also, albeit a little slower than my mother. I take in my surroundings but there really isn't much to look at.

"Maggie!" Emily exclaimed before enveloping me in a hug, there was something to be said about Emily's hugs. They always left you feeling warm and clear-headed. Like her touch alone could put everything into perspective. "I'm so glad you guys are here, I've missed you both so much!" She cooed, Emily was probably the only human being in the entire world that could coo and it wouldn't be annoying.

"I've missed you too." I replied, Emily pulled away only long enough to see the smile that had spread across my face before wrapping me up in another hug.

"I just can't believe you guys are actually here," She whispered, squeezing me a little tighter than before. "I kept thinking your mom was going to change her mind, but you're here, both of you." Disbelief coated each hushed word and I felt a pang in my chest.

"I know, it was a long drive, but here we are." I try and force the words to be light and airy like Emily's, but instead they just come out half a chuckle, half a grimace.

"Oh, I know it! You two must be exhausted, listen to me rambling on. Come in!" Our embrace ended and she grabbed my mother's hand effortlessly lacing their fingers together. I follow behind a little slower.

The faint sound of whistling could be heard with the slightest of breezes, along with metal clashing against metal -

Wind chimes.

Dream catchers hung from the ceiling as well, dangling and twisting in the moonlight. It was mesmerizing. I let my hand crawl up the porch banister slowly, the wood is weathered and whittled away at, by time, and circumstance. For some reason it makes me smile.

This house has a history.

Not a single sound could be heard, save for the whistling of the wind and the ever present song of knick knacks that hung from the porch. It's an overwhelming song that beats and beats always interrupting the temporary silence. My fingers twitched in response.

I had no idea what time it was, just that everyone went to sleep a while ago. Sam had ushered the effervescent Emily to bed after she'd showed us our sleeping arrangements. Mother had taken the spare bedroom and I took the couch, we could have shared, but mom snores.

I flutter my fingers repeatedly in an attempt to make the twitching stop. I've had the tic long enough now to know this won't work. But I try anyway, an ache coils up my forearm and settles in the tips of my fingers. I want to cry from how bad it hurts. I tap my fingers against my stomach rapidly but the burning always finds its way into my bones.

Hot, it's so hot.

I throw the blanket to the side and sit up, my chests heaves and my shoulders shake from the effort of keeping quiet. My mother doesn't know about my tic. It developed right after my father died when she was lost in her grief.

I mean, what was I supposed to tell her? Hey, remember dad's funeral. Yeah, that was sad. But, also remember how I thought I saw a wolf. Well I think it probably cursed me or something because now I have this thing, it's like a tic or something and it's only ever satisfied after I draw the wolf. So, yeah, do with that ridiculous information what you will.

That would go over so well. My mom would probably have me committed.

Slowly, much more so than my tic would like, I crept up. I take a step forward, and then another. Each step echoed loudly in my ears, and I cringed at the unexpected squeaks. I pray the whole time that I don't wake anyone up, what would I even say?

When I get outside the wind calms the burning in my fingers, I know it won't be for long but for now I am calm.

"Who's there?" came a low gravelly voice sending my heart into a frenzy, heat spread to my cheeks. An entirely different kind from the one perpetually woven into my fingers. I had been caught. Worst of all I hadn't even seen anyone, but sure enough a large silhouette was slouched over on the steps. He didn't bother looking at me, I probably wouldn't have been able to make out his features anyways, it was too dark.

"Maggie, who are you?" I replied cautiously, the man didn't sound angry, he didn't really sound surprised either. However, I knew to be wary of strange men I'd never met, especially at night.

"Hmm." he grunts in response, and for a moment I don't think he's going to answer my question. He tilts his head upwards, and lets out a long sigh. "I'm Paul."

"Okay, Paul. What are you doing out here in the middle of the night? And why are you at my aunt's house?" I felt braver now, but I still let one hand rest behind me against the doorknob of the house. Just in case.

"Everything's so much slower at night. You know? Like during the day nothing ever sits still. And sometimes you just need to be still." His voice sends my heart beating, and not in panic. Something about it was calming, almost. "It's easy to forget that we were all human once."

"What else would we be?" I ask feeling dumb.

"I don't know." He muses and I let my hand fall from the door knob. A strange silence settles over us.

After a moment he speaks again,"Sometimes I feel like I'm floating and there's nothing really keeping me here. Like yeah it's gravity, but I have this sinking feeling that one day it won't be enough."

Once again I'm rendered speechless, I don't know what it was, but something about the night always makes sharing secrets with strangers easy.

"I think I know what you mean." I start off carefully, a little unsure, a little unsteady.

"Hmm, do you?" He ponders before abruptly standing, "I believe I may have overstayed my welcome." Feet hit wood and then grass and he's gone. I want to call after him but what would I say? He was a literal stranger, for all I knew he might not even know Sam or Emily. And he was just sitting out here.

But he wasn't hurting anyone. A part of me screamed, a much larger, more logical part responded. But that doesn't matter! He could be a serial killer.

I stare out into the darkness feeling unsettled, deeply. My fingers weren't twitching anymore, the ache now a distant memory.

And sometimes you just need to be still.