Prisoners of Azkaban, Probationary Diaries August 2009, Prisoners #19-09-1979 and #09-01-1960

oooOooo

August 11, 2009

It seems we have acquired…a domicile that should satisfy authorities in so far as the conditions of our probation are concerned.

It should…irk me that we had to depend on connections of the Patil chits to acquire a place of residence. It ought to…humiliate me that we had to take charity from Draco to pay for our home.

But—there is no vexation, no sense of degradation.

Perhaps a faint feeling of relief; maybe a slight touch of annoyance.

Possibly a hint of glee. After all—albeit in a round-about manner—the Minister for Magic himself (my dear old friend Lucius Malfoy) has paid for our house.

You stand and stare and count the window panes. Three times sixteen the dormer windows; two times sixteen the ground floor windows; three times four the ones in the shed where my potions lab will be.

You break my heart.

And I? I stare at this cottage that should be the house of my dreams—after Spinner's End!—after Azkaban!—Merlin help me! And I compare it to the house of my delusions, of my hallucinations, that small white house where I have lived with you, where I have loved you, for more than eleven years now.

This house is situated on the north-western edge of the headland beyond Hogsmeade Station; a perfectly ridiculous place to build a house. We can just hope the midges-repelling-charms will hold. And both of us could do without that view.

My house was at the coast benefitting from the warmth of the Gulf Stream and the endless freedom of the Atlantic Ocean. There were no midges. Nor flea. Nor lice.

This house has a green door and shutters.

Satin-green, you whisper.

But the door of my house was red. I painted it for you, the Muggle way. A Gryffindor door for my Gryffindor girl.

At least both houses are white.

There is no orchard here. In fact, there's nothing left of the gardens at all but weeds. Long since they have succumbed to neglect. Gardens don't take kindly to even a year of disregard. And from what the Patils told us, this land has been untended much longer.

I try to remember Natalie McDonald.

She was a child under my care; I ought to remember her.

But I don't. The faces blur together—their flesh stripped away—their skulls glaring at me, accusing me—

I swore to protect them. All of them.

Suddenly you turn to me. You stare at me now, with those huge brown eyes of yours. As if you can hear what I think. (I wouldn't put it past you.)

"Natalie lived," you say.

For a moment panic grips me, and I hang suspended, helpless, between two worlds: a cottage at the lake, with a green door, satin-green shutters, and neglected gardens—and a small white house in a sheltered cove, with a bright red door, and an orchard of apple trees.

Then I'm falling, falling—

and when I open my eyes, I'm kissing you.

oooOooo

A/N: Many thanks to Mia Madwyn for looking this over.

Further notes:
"satin-green shutters"—a textual allusion to the song by Chris de Burgh

"falling, falling"—can be interpreted as a textual allusion to the song by Alicia Keyes

Natalie McDonald— was Gryffindor student three years below Harry; in real life, she was nine-year old Harry Potter fan who died of leukemia after writing a fan letter to JKR. JKR created her character to honour her. She is the only real person to appear in the series, apart from Nicolas Flamel. (Source: Wikipedia/Nel, Philip (2001). J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter Novels: A Reader's Guide. Continuum International Publishing Group. p. 25. ISBN 0826452329.)