Hello !
I'm going back to one post every Thursday! I'm coming to the end of my academic semester and I prefer to slow down a bit to be able to focus on my studies ;)
Astoria, Weaslette,
I won't lie and say that everything is fine. That would be downright hypocritical of me. I'm still reeling from the fact that I haven't received a reply to my last letter, I think you'll understand. I feel lonely, more than ever.
Although I'm glad you could find your little haven around the world, I just feel abandoned. We're living through hell here, to say the least. We're taking care of everything. Alone. Yet it doesn't seem to affect you at all.
What about your sister, Ria? Huh? You know that she's been committed to St Mungo's, don't you? Or do you still want to pretend and not face your responsibilities?
Honestly, I'm exhausted. Blaise and I have been acting alone for years, for the sake of Draco and Theo, without any support. We work every day, go back and forth to France every week and all by ourselves. I mean, Potter looks after Theo, so you could say we're not quite alone. But that's the impression I get. That we aren't supported, or understood. That nobody is grateful. And now, on top of all that, we have to help Granger and Daph', who are also sinking. It's exhausting.
I understand that you need to be away from it all, that you don't want to deal with it, nobody can blame you. But that's not what I'm asking. Even one or two visits would make a big difference! You don't realise how difficult everything is here. The atmosphere is heavy. I feel as if my life no longer belongs to me.
Astoria, your sister would probably like to see you, even if it's only for an hour. So would Draco. Blaise and I can't go back and forth to France as much as we used to, so I guess one more visit would be nice. Theo would appreciate it too, I'm sure.
Weaslette, I don't need to tell you that your parents must miss you, although I hardly know them. I ran into your father a few times at the Ministry and he looked like hell. Your brother Bill, too. As for Granger, I think she'd love to see you, although she would deny it for the world. I feel like she gave up a long time ago and every time she tries to get on with her life, she fails. I don't know what to do anymore and I'm not close enough to her to help her. Well, at least I don't think so.
I don't think I'm asking too much by telling you all this. A few days in England and then in France shouldn't disrupt your perfect lives too much.
Hopefully, you'll see reason,
Pansy
Astoria put the piece of parchment back on the balcony table and leaned back in her seat, bringing her cigarette to her lips. She was divided.
On the one hand, she was angry and shocked by the power of Pansy's words, finding them violent, unfair. But on the other hand–she felt guilty, her friend had managed to slightly pierce the bubble she had been trapped in for months. She felt ashamed of having been absent for her loved ones these last few years.
She knew all this, of course. She was perfectly aware of it. After all, she had decided to leave England and travel the world willingly. She had done it to get away from the bad vibes her home country was radiating and to leave the family home built around grief and sadness. She had done it to start a new life, to selfishly enjoy herself.
However, despite her need for space and freedom, she had never wanted to hurt and abandon her loved ones. If she didn't have a good relationship with her parents and sister, the same wasn't true of her friends. They meant a lot to her, despite the distance.
A wave of guilt gripped her heart. How could she have been so selfish? Why had she been so selfish?
When she'd read the part of the letter Pansy had written to Ginny, she'd only seen things from her perspective. She didn't want her fiancée to walk away and leave, nor did she want to part from the happiness and great love they had together. She didn't want Ginny to go away and leave her, didn't want to risk her never coming back. She had been afraid of losing everything over Granger.
She also couldn't bear the thought of returning to an environment filled with grief and sadness. Her life was so peaceful, so perfect. Just the way she wanted it.
She didn't want to see her father again, who tried to get her to come home every month with letters and threats that he never executed. He would promise to cut off her food and stop funding her trips if she didn't come home. He never did. And she continued to travel.
She didn't want Ginny to leave, to go back to her friends, to be taken away. She wanted to keep Ginny all to herself. It was perfect this way.
Astoria bit her lip, unable to make a choice. She felt bad, hating the fact that Pansy was opening her eyes like this. It was hard to feel the pinch from someone other than her parents, but it didn't make her feel any less guilty.
She hated the idea of being wrong, of having made a mistake.
She had never once imagined what her friends' lives might be like. Why should she? Her life was so perfect. She'd followed the whole thing from afar, about the release of some of the Death Eaters, she'd celebrated soberly with Ginny, but nothing more. She hadn't sent letters to Draco and Theodore, nor to Blaise or Pansy. Because everything was already fine, so fine.
She had just selfishly told them about her travels and the perfect life she was leading with Ginny.
She felt like the worst friend in the world, although she loved what she was experiencing so much.
Yet, despite this realisation, she couldn't imagine leaving Zambia, where she had been staying for a week. She didn't want to leave her life, didn't want to change what she had built, because she was afraid of losing everything. She and Ginny had only just arrived and hadn't been able to discover anything of this beautiful country, with its elephantine landscapes and endless waterfalls.
Not to mention this routine, this life they had created together. She couldn't risk stopping it. What if Ginny abandoned her? What if she found someone else? What if she realised they didn't belong together? Her beautiful, sweet Ginny.
Astoria glanced at the parchment still in front of her and sighed. She had to make a decision quickly. The risk of a return to Britain was looming large and it scared her to death. If Ginny were to read this letter–she didn't dare think about it. The risks were too high.
And Astoria didn't want to go home. It was too perfect. She didn't want to lose everything she had built. She would soon be married, in a little piece of paradise, surrounded only by her fiancée, a matchmaker, and animals, and she didn't intend to give it all up for a world full of sadness.
Morgana would punish her later for what she was about to do.
Astoria took out her wand, took a deep breath and cast a spell on the parchment to burn it to the ground.
"Ria?" Ginny's voice called out from inside their thatched house.
"Coming, love," she replied, stubbing out her cigarette amidst the ashes of Pansy's letter.
"Am I dreaming or did an owl just drop something off?" Ginny asked as she stepped out onto the balcony, wearing nothing but her knickers.
"Gin'! Get dressed!" she exclaimed, widening her eyes.
The redhead rolled her eyes in response and crossed the few feet between them to sit on her lap.
"There's no one around, relax! So? It was an owl?"
"A letter from my father," Astoria lied, putting her arms around her fiancée's hips. "I burned it without reading it."
Ginny giggled and leaned in to kiss her.
"I was about to go out for a swim under the waterfalls Iushomo told us about. Are you coming?"
"If you stay dressed like that, I'll gladly come," she replied with a smile that was anything but innocent.
oOo
Theodore was sitting at the end of one of the sofas in the living room, opposite his husband. The latter had been reading Pansy's letter for about ten minutes already and looked worried.
Harry was frowning, readjusting his glasses on his nose every ten seconds and fiddling with his wedding ring with his thumb, which worried Theo considerably. What could be in it? What could Pansy have said to make Harry so worried?
Had the law changed? Was he going to be locked up in Azkaban? To be separated from Harry once again and live through hell in this prison of woe?
His heartbeat quickened at the mere thought.
He was even beginning to relive some sensations. The putrid smell of the cell. The dampness and the cold. The laughter of the other prisoners, their screams, their cries. The rocky texture of the floor–
Everything came back to his mind. It was as if he was there again.
A drop of sweat beaded on his temple and trickled down his jaw as he clasped his hands in his lap to keep them from shaking.
He glanced at Harry, who seemed as focused as ever on his reading. Theodore was too hot, he needed to get out. He felt cramped in this sofa, in this room, in this manor. He wanted to go out, to run and feel the wind in his hair to prove to himself that he was free.
Because he was free, wasn't he? He was no longer in Azkaban, he was free. Free. Free. Free.
He stood up abruptly, unable to stay in place. He saw Harry look up out of the corner of his eye, but did his best to hide his anxiety. He didn't want to worry him for nothing.
He walked to the window of the room and pretended to be interested in the scenery outside. To tell the truth, he couldn't see much. It was dark and a thunderstorm had been raging in the area since the day before. Yet he continued to give the impression that he was doing so.
He didn't want to interrupt Harry's reading.
He clasped his hands behind his back and took a deep breath to try to calm himself. Four seconds of inhalation. Hold for seven seconds. Eight seconds of exhalation. It was his healer who had given him this technique. He'd been seeing him for a few weeks, after Harry had insisted he went for an appointment.
A man in his fifties who had neither lived through the war nor the confinement in Azkaban. Theo was only going there for his husband. He didn't want to, and lied at the end of each meeting when Harry asked him if it had gone well. He would say yes and that he felt better. Because it was simple.
It was his own therapy.
He realised that his breathing had slowed and that his body was no longer prone to twitching or other symptoms of anxiety. He closed his eyes and took one last deep breath.
When Theo turned to his husband, the letter rested in his lap and his head was down, staring at it, looking thoughtful.
"What does it say?" Theo asked as he approached him again.
Harry didn't answer. He just sighed and dropped his head back onto the sofa.
"Is it that bad?" Theo grimaced as he sat down next to him and grabbed his hand.
Harry shook his head, but didn't speak. He remained thoughtful, too focused to answer. So Theodore remained silent and just stroked the back of his hand with his thumb so as not to disturb him. He would explain later.
He knew Harry by heart. When something was bothering him, he tended to lock himself in his thoughts until he found a solution, or explode in frustration. He just hoped it would be the former this time.
Harry was far less calm and thoughtful than Theo, that was a fact. However, if there was one thing that Theo envied, it was his ability to improvise and not think too much before acting.
Although it was a double-edged sword, Theodore sometimes regretted not being able to do something without having anticipated it. He tended to plan everything, down to the last detail.
While many admired him for his calm, diplomacy and cunning, he found himself far too cautious for his own good. He liked to think that Harry helped him balance things out.
They complemented each other in many ways. Theo was teaching his husband to think more before acting, and Harry was teaching him to improvise. They still had a way to go, but just seeing him lost in thought like that made him proud.
Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, Harry lifted his head and locked eyes with Theo.
"What about a little trip down south in a few weeks?"
oOo
The day was ending and Draco was lying across his mattress, his feet dangling over one side of the bed. His breathing was ragged, his heart was pounding, and he felt as if he had run a marathon.
In reality, he'd simply walked out of his room, sat down in the armchair in the hallway and rushed back into his little cocoon of comfort. A big challenge was over.
He had been practising this for a few days, adding an extra difficulty each time to improve. The day before, he had simply walked to the chair, without sitting down. The next day, he would spend more time in it, in order to contemplate and analyse the whole corridor.
He had also taken advantage of the last few days and his free time to try to calculate Granger's new departure and arrival times. He had been greatly relieved to discover that they hadn't changed at all. She was leaving and returning as usual.
He had therefore been able to plan his outings every day. The rest of the time he spent lying on his bed or by the window waiting for Wynn to come back from his walks.
Since her arrival, he had never once closed the bedroom window. In this way, his owl could come and go without hindrance and rest in the nest that Draco had made for it out of dirty clothes. He had worked hard to build it the day after Wynn's arrival.
He had motivated himself to do it, remembering that it was in the best interest of his owl. His new friend.
She sometimes came back with surprising finds, like dead field mice or insects of all kinds, which could repel Draco. Despite all this, within a week, she had become the perfect companion to his boredom.
When he returned from his daily exploration missions, she provided a distraction that kept him from brooding in his bed and plunging into dark thoughts. Sometimes he would even open his mouth to talk to her a little. This was rather rare as he was no longer used to talking to anyone, but it kept him busy.
Besides this rhythmic and precise daily routine, Draco ran into his housemate every day, or at least the one who hosted him. She had become part of his routine, every morning and evening. So much so that, despite their lack of communication and familiarity, he waited impatiently for her to knock on his door. Because that was his rhythm, because that was how his day could work. That was how he wanted to continue. Because it was simple.
Every morning he woke at dawn, thanks to the sunrise. He deliberately left the shutters open in the evening, so that the sun would act as an alarm clock. He would then dress in Blaise's clothes—from the large stash that Pansy had given him—and sit cross-legged in front of the door to wait for Granger.
He always pretended not to have heard her, so as not to appear completely mad, and answered after the second time. He would collect his breakfast and lunch, thank her quietly, and then watch her go.
It never lasted very long. He didn't dwell on her presence or her person, he just waited for that moment in the day because it marked an important point in his routine.
After that, he would entertain himself as best he could until lunchtime, and then enjoy the cold meal Granger brought him each morning.
He only saw her again in the evening, when she brought him his dinner tray, which often consisted of hot soup, a starch—overcooked rice, poorly made pasta, or steamed potatoes—and a different piece of meat each time. Draco had assumed she was getting it from a good butcher, since it was the best part of the meal. Whether she served him chicken, beef or lamb, he knew he would have no complaints.
In a week, she hadn't served him fish once, which had saddened him. He preferred it to meat, but, of course, hadn't commented on it. It was far too frightening, he didn't want to have to face the consequences of such an act. This was easier.
The good thing about these meals was that they were quite balanced and fed him enough to keep him full. He had no doubt that with this, he would quickly gain weight again. For although the food Pansy brought was better than Granger's, it was often too light for him to be satisfied. Tiny courgettes with olive oil would never be enough to get him over so many years in prison.
He had never complained about it, of course. It was incomparable to the meals he'd had to eat in Azkaban. He remembered throwing them up several times because they were so disgusting.
It was the roar of Granger's white monster that brought him out of his thoughts. He raised his head and stretched with a sigh. He stood up and walked over to the window, just in time to see her go through the front door of the house and disappear inside.
He then realised that Wynn hadn't been home for a few hours, which worried him a little. He hoped with all his heart that she hadn't hurt herself, or been attacked. Usually she came back to sleep several times a day, so that she would be in shape for the night, which she spent outside. Sometimes she was the one who woke Draco up in the morning, just before sunrise.
He therefore imagined that she must have found a shelter in the forest where she could rest, just to reassure himself. This rarely worked, his mind always rationalising the situation by telling him that there was no reason for her to have done such a thing. He tended to get angry, as he couldn't find any way to calm the negative and parasitic thoughts that were clouding his mind.
He decided not to focus on his owl, however, and sat cross-legged behind the bedroom door. He needed to think about something else.
Granger and dinner. It was a good distraction. And he was quite content with it.
And that's it! See you on Thursday 01/10 for the next chapter!
Thanks to Acciobraincells and DontStopHerNow for their support.
Don't forget to leave comments and follow the story to support me ;)