Disclaimer: Not mine. No money exchanged. No offence or infringement intended. Doing this just for fun. I make no claims on Harry Potter, which belongs to JK Rowling, et al. Nor do I make claims on the labours of Loreena McKennitt, Alfred Lord Tennyson, or Sir Thomas Malory whose works belong solely to themselves, their estates, and their designated representatives.
A/N: So you're aware—this is HD Slash with character death—consider this the tissue warning. More extensive notes at the end of the chapter. Thanks for reading!
6.
"Alex wake up."
It was Claire, wrapped up in the shawl Grandmum Molly made her last Christmas. The sun had set and Dad was asleep, fingers still tangled in my hair. Claire fussed, moving his hand away, "C'mon you've been in here for hours. Let Daddy get some sleep."
"Claire," I rasped. "He's—"
"I know Alex. We had a long chat this morning." She said sadly as she pulled me gently from the chair and helped me from the room.
"Where's Father?"
"Out on the deck. We've been talking."
"How is he?" I was almost afraid to ask.
Claire led me to my room and sat on the bed. She sighed, flipping her long braid back over her shoulder, "His heart is breaking Alex—it hurts so much to see. He-he knows—Daddy didn't have to tell him. Th-they're so close you know? I think he's felt it coming for a few days."
I nodded.
Claire cocked her head looking up at me, "Do you remember the bloke I dated fifth year? The one I met at The Harpies concert?"
I was confused by the change of subject, but welcomed it nonetheless, "Er-yeah… he was from Amsterdam…Jens or something."
Claire threw me a dirty look and continued, "Yes Jens. It's not like I've dated that many guys Alex, really!"
I smirked. She knew I was having her on. Claire was chased by many but only allowed herself to be caught by a privileged few.
She stuck her tongue out at me then grew quite serious, "Did you know he asked me to marry him summer before sixth year?" She smiled wanly at my apparent surprise. "I guess you didn't. It's not like he wanted to get married right away. He just wanted us to be engaged. He said we could wait until after graduation to make any definite plans, but he wanted everyone to know that he loved me and would be with me forever."
"You never said anything. I had no idea it was that serious."
Claire shrugged. "I told Father later. He took it rather well actually. We had a nice long talk; he only threatened to lock me in my room if I started dating again before I was 30." Claire chuckled, "And he promised not to hex him and to keep Dad from ripping Jens' bollocks off and feeding them to Fang, the second."
I smiled, it sounded like something Dad would do, though Claire must've made major concessions for Father not to hunt him down and hex him 'til doomsday.
"I take it you said no."
She nodded, "I had to turn him down. I-I cared for him…a lot, but…I didn't love him. I didn't…burn for him like Father and Daddy do. They share one soul Alex. I want that someday. I want someone who breathes for me. Father and Daddy…they love each other so much…it's hard to see sometimes—it's like something so beautiful that you have to turn your head away it's so bright."
"Hmmm…like a well so deep it'd take a thousand lifetimes to reach the bottom," I added.
She nodded, her eyes shining in the dim light. "I'm afraid for him Alex," she whispered. "I don't want him to waste away to a shell of man just waiting for his chance to die."
I tugged her over until she was leaning against me. "I don't know how it's gonna be Claire. But I have to believe he'll make it through. I'm not going to give up on him."
"Me neither. I just worry you know?"
"I know."
We sat in silence for a long time. I thought about Father and Dad and Claire and me. Somehow, I had to believe, that we'd all make it though.
The next day a pall hung in the air. Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron came early in the morning, arriving before all the other aunts and uncles. Dad greeted them but was so weak and in so much pain he couldn't really sit up so Father and Uncle Ron propped him on an incline with lots of pillows which seemed to help his breathing. Father stayed beside him on the bed the whole of the day and none of us left the room. As our family gathered we talked to each other quietly or cried or sat in silence. There were no loud or prolonged goodbyes; it had all been said already.
Dad drifted in and out of consciousness until very late in the afternoon. Through the French doors that led to their private balcony we could see the sun beginning its descent over the ocean.
Dad's eyes opened hazily as the setting sun cast a glow over us all.
"Draco?"
Father reached over and cradled Dad in his arms ever so gently. "I'm here Harry," he said softly.
Dad leaned into him heavily. "It's too quiet in here—feels like we're all tiptoeing around a dying man." He smiled faintly as only he would at such a moment and weakly poked Father in the ribs. "Tell us a story love. Recite one of those epic things you liked to tell Claire and Alex when they were little."
Father shook his head violently, his eyes shining with tears, "Harry…I-I can't."
Dad squeezed their clasped hands on his stomach. "Of course you can Dragon. I know...tell the one about the fisherman and the fairy…the one that starts 'On either side of the river lie, Long fields of barley and of rye, That clothe the world and meet the sky; And thro' the field the road run by…'"
Voice ragged and pained as though he'd swallowed ground glass, Father continued, "And up and down the people go, Gazing where the lilies blow, Round an island there below…Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Little breezes dusk and shiver Thro' the wave that runs for ever, By the island in the river…"
The poem was special to sister, my parents and me and we each knew it well. It was one of Dad's favourites, and ours too—the bitterly sweet and beautiful story of the enchanted island in the river where lived a lonely fisherman who fell in love with nymph. They'd lived happily for many a year until the nymph was called back to her people who were leaving for the Summerlands over the sea. The fisherman was left with their small daughters as his wife returned to the Fae and sailed with them into the mists.
When were young , if he could be coaxed into speaking rather than just holding us before bed, Father would recite a stanza or two of the ballad each night, as it was quite a long poem. It's one of those oral epics that's become something to study in a classroom instead of something shared aloud in the twilight before a roaring fire.
As he reached the verse where the fisherman calls to the fairie, his voice faltered, "Wait! Tho' calls the beauty of the sea, My heart, my soul's sun,I do beseech thee, do not leave me lost without the warmth of your love—"
Dad picked up, his eyes closed and voice fading, with words we'd never heard before, "His love answered—no matter where you are I will love you for you are the heart of my heart, my light in the darkness, the breath of my soul." Dad coughed a little, his voice growing still weaker, but with fierce determination he continued on, this time with the familiar lines, "You are simply my best time, my sweetest laughter. You are my most peaceful sleep and still you find new ways to love me…always…" he could not complete the line, his breath coming more and more slowly.
Claire's strong voice pierced the hush then. It could not be left unfinished. We needed the precious words spoken and neither of our parents could do so now. "Always," she said steadily, though I could hear the echoes of her tears, "you will have my hand to hold…"
"Always, and ever." I said ending the words of the inscription Dad had carved into a sculpture of his and Father's hands on their wedding day, knowing as I did so that he had gone.
Our extended family left quickly at Claire's urging, Uncle Ron led a quietly sobbing Aunt Hermione from the room last. My sister came and stood at my elbow then guided me away too. I understood. Father had shared Dad's last living moments with those of us they loved, but for his final goodbye he needed to be alone.
As we left I turned to look back at him…in seconds he had aged far beyond his years. He held Dad close, whispering to him. What was it Claire had said? So beautiful you have to turn your head? She was right.
Tbc…
A/N 2: Okay this gets a little complicated…but here goes my best effort...the epic poem/ballad Draco recites is actually a bit of lyric I nipped from Loreena McKennitt's "The Lady of Shalott," which by the way is a beautiful song. McKennitt's song is inspired by (or a very loose adaptation of) the poem "'The Lady of Shalott" by Alfred Lord Tennyson, which is thought to be loosely based on Elaine, the maiden who was in love with Sir Lancelot, from Sir Thomas Malory's epic of Arthurian legend, Morte D'Arthur.
The context in which I use the lyrics is by no means the original intent--obviously the fisherman and the fairy have no place in poems and songs about Camelot (grin), but being as I had no idea how to write something that would sound like an epic balladI borrowed from an actual one. And in case you go looking for either of those works, lemme say that I wrote the part of the "ballad" where Draco stumbles. "Wait! Tho' calls the beauty of the sea, My heart, my soul's sun,I do beseech thee, do not leave me lost without the warmth of your love—" is not a line from the works of either Tennyson or McKennitt.
And while I'm giving credit where credit is due for lines in this story that aren't mine…the inscription on the hands sculpture is a quote I saw on a very beautiful sculpture of hands entwined a few years back. The whole thing is as follows: You are simply my best time, my sweetest laughter. You are my most peaceful sleep and still you find new ways to love me. Always you will have my hand to hold. Always, and ever. Anon
Review please, I'd love to hear from you!
