Chapter Twenty-Eight:

A Million Pieces

The wind blew in hard from the west the first morning of 1997. As the front door opened, Evelyn could hear the wind whistling down the drafty hallway from her seat in the front room. She was trying to focus on the Transfiguration book in her lap, and had been relatively successful until the two people she was least interested in seeing just then appeared in the doorway.

Ginny stepped into the room first, snow melting on the crown of her head forming a dark, wet halo. She was flushed and smiling, almost glowing as she stood there, casting a look back at Harry. Harry, however, was looking at Evelyn, who eyed them only for a moment before forcing herself to look back at her book. She didn't greet them, and was happy to hear Ginny say softly, "I wonder where Hermione might be. Let's find her, Harry. I want to hear about her trip."

Evie kept her eyes focused on her book. She never once felt compelled to call out to them or to tell them that Hermione had left to spend a few days with her parents before term started. When she heard a door snap shut upstairs, she was certain that they wouldn't be returning, and she finally looked away from her useless book. She couldn't keep her mind on any of the sentences anymore. She allowed her eyes to lock onto the flames dancing in the fireplace, letting her mind wander. She was tired and hungover.

As she let her mind go, the image of Ginny kissing Harry came back to her unsolicited. Evie didn't know why she felt so upset about it. It wasn't as if Harry had promised her anything. They had a single moment, in this very room, and nothing had ever really been said. She had probably exaggerated the whole thing in her head, she thought, but, still, she couldn't help herself. She felt disappointed. She had spent more time than she was willing to admit imagining herself kissing Harry. He had been one of the first people she had felt comfortable with after her memories had returned, and she had allowed those feelings to ease into friendship and then attraction. She had built up these ideas of them together: kissing at New Year's when the opportunity finally presented itself and she couldn't make any more excuses; spending the last few days of break escaping from Grimmauld Place to walk hand-in-hand in a city and country that was finally starting to feel like home to her; and going back to school, where they could sit in the common room with Hermione and Ron, practice dueling, and steal kisses between classes.

As all those daydreams moved across her mind, she realized how much she had actually invested in these feelings. She had really misled herself, she realized. He had never once considered kissing her, holding her hand, or any of those things. He had simply been nice to her. He was friendly.

The realization made her feel sad, and her stomach sank, thinking that he had been, all this time, wanting Ginny. A deep, envious feeling spread through her, and she hated it immediately. Harry and Ginny were together now, she knew, and would return to school as a couple. She would be his priority. Worse, she would be around all the time. Evelyn knew she'd have to accept it as a fact; there was no way around it. She would have to push away these feelings, steel herself, if she wanted to keep him as a friend.

She sighed, staring deeper into the fire. School would distract her, classes, homework, exams. She longed for it. Back at the castle, she could spend time with Serenity and Christian—as much time as possible—and go to the library with Hermione. She could play endless hours of wizarding chess with Ron. She would fill her time, distract herself with little projects, until she was simply desensitized to the fact of that Harry and Ginny were a couple. Until she could move on, meet someone else, forget this disappointment.

Her mind wandered briefly to Theo. Was he the great love of her life? Did she believe in soul mates? She had thought so only a year ago, and could remember that feeling vividly—although it felt a world away from where she was now. There had been so much drama between them, which all felt trumped up to her now. But that drama came with firsts, and he had been her first crush, first hand to hold, first kiss, first serious boyfriend. There were still a few firsts she was looking to have, but would they come back to Theo?

She felt strongly in her gut that the answer was no, that a door had somehow closed on that part of their relationship, but she wondered if even that was tied up in her feelings for Harry. After their kiss in Lacey's dining room, there hadn't been much time for conversation. There had only been goodbyes. She sighed, pulling her eyes from the fire. There was just one thing to do, she thought. She would have to write him. In writing, she could ask—ask him what he felt about that kiss and, more, confide in him about Harry. She wanted his male opinion, to know if he thought she could be so off base when it came to reading signals. Perhaps she was. Perhaps, she mused, she'd used up all her wiles and insights with Theo, and there was nothing left.

She leant down over the side of the chair, fishing three sheets of parchment from her bag. Instead of writing Theo, she wrote Lacey first and then Hermione. She didn't want to give too much away by letter to Hermione; as Harry and Ginny's mutual friend, it was unclear where Hermione would stand on a situation like this. She would need to feel her out in person first. So, rather than leading with her feelings and frustrations, she took a more casual approach:

Dear Hermione,

I know it's only been a few hours since you've left, but after spending nearly every second together this last week it's felt like an eternity—so I hope you don't mind the letter. Most of the Order has been away from the house for the day, and Harry and Ginny have been off together. Not sure where Ron's gone to, but everyone seems to have something to do, and I've been left to nurse my jetlag (and hangover) alone.

How are you feeling? Exhausted, hungover, or both? If it's just the former, perhaps that means you had less to drink than I did, and you can fill in the parts of the evening that have gone a bit fuzzy for me. I'm assuming I was unbearably drunk, because of a few key moments that I can recall. And, yes, that does include my Macarena. Unfortunately.

Perhaps this piece of paper should have been used to issue an apology to the Weasley twins, who I am sure are spending most of the day tidying their flat and resenting their guests.

By the way—did George call me a bird last night? Is that British slang for something I should be upset about? I have a memory of him calling me that, while we were dancing, and Fred was behind him flapping his arms like wings and eying me viciously while you laughed, and I tried to keep up, but you know how those two are. I think this was later in the night—or early in the morning, I suppose… Though to be honest, I wouldn't put this past myself as a dream. Before the memories, I use to have the strangest dreams, and this would fit right in.

Did we spend the whole evening with those two? I mostly remember that we had fun. Or, I had fun. I hope it was both of us.

Come back soon, but write me sooner—

Evelyn

She read it through a couple times, and felt confident that it carried the casual tone she wanted it to. She folded it carefully, fixing it closed with a dab of wax and laying it by the way so that she could turn her attention to the third sheet of paper.

Dear Theo,

Is it odd for me to write? I know Lacey has been my primary point of contact since I came to England, but I never thought it was because I couldn't write anyone else—only that I was confident she was the one most likely to reply. Maybe this isn't the best way to start the letter… It's not meant to be a dig at you, just that I know you. When Devon and May took that study abroad intensive in Mexico City last fall, you never responded to any of Devon's letters—and you shared a womb with him.

But it's not all on you. The owl flies both ways. So, that's just to say, I'm not sure either of us wanted to write, or that either of us would have known how to reply until now anyway. Because seeing you helped. I really missed you, you know. So, I've got to write now, especially since I'm not sure when we'll be together again.

And… Well, I've got something I want to share with you—and it might be a little weird, but I couldn't think of anyone else whose opinion I'd want more. Remember your Bronte: "He's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same." That's what I always thought about us. That's what I think about us, still, and that's why I need your perspective. You know me. In a way Lacey or May or Hermione just couldn't. All that time we were together, you were my best friend. That doesn't just disappear, right? You're still my best friend?

If not… Well, you should stop reading. Because the part that comes next is the part where I say that I didn't want to hurt you. That kiss at Lacey's last week… It just didn't feel like us. Or it felt like us saying goodbye. All those other times, when I was still at the Academy, none of the breakups or makeups felt like that. It just felt heavy… Permanent. Did you feel it?

And part of the reason might be because I've realized I've got feelings for someone else. Someone here. And I think I really like him, and I thought he really liked me, but it turns out… Well, I think I've read things terribly wrong, and what I want more than ever is your opinion and perspective. Because you're still my best friend, right—and you know me.

Write back. Please don't put it off. Tell me how you feel, and if you can stomach the rest.

Yours,

Evelyn

She read this one through as well, wishing that she hadn't been so courteous and had just assumed she could dump her emotions into this letter without Theo's consent. Though that had originally been her intention, she had changed her mind as she wrote—wanting instead to be sure that Theo was where she was with all of this. As she wrote, it occurred to her that this too could have been a part of her misreading. She suddenly felt uncertain of herself. The rambling letter was the best she could do, so she folded and sealed it like she had the others.

They were off with an owl a few moments later. She watched it disappear over the row of houses across the street, and she thought it was time to leave Harry's house. As soon as her aunt returned, she would ask to go. They could go to Demeter's or back to school; she didn't care where they went. She only wanted to go.

She went to her room and began to pack.

Elizabeth was sitting alone in the library, a teacup hovering beside her while she ran her finger down a dusty page. For the past week or so, she had been refining her nonverbal spellwork. She had been able to cast nonverbally for a few years and, while it didn't seem necessary to be able to levitate a teacup while she considered a list of tasteless and odorless poisons, she wanted to be able to perform spells while concentrating on other tasks—and this was a good place to start. She paused to read the ingredients of one particular poison, and the teacup remained, without so much as a teeter. She was pleased to note that she was getting relatively good at multitasking.

The door to the library opened, and she allowed her eyes to leave the page. The teacup stayed where it was, and she thought briefly of plucking it from the air as Draco entered the library. She had tried to be mindful of his feelings since she had thrown him out of her bedroom on the night of the hunt. She had given him the space he seemed to require, had practiced her sensational magic in her room, and had taken a few meetings outside of the manor. She didn't want to hurt him anymore than she already had—just the fact that she could levitate the cup while reading felt injurious to him, as if she was boasting her position, her mentors, her power.

All of these worries seemed to dissolve though when he didn't even make eye contact with her. He had gotten quite good at acting as if she didn't exist, though she noticed that a sour expression always came to his face whenever they were in the same room alone together. He had sported the same expression each time their paths crossed over the last week, which had only been a few times because he had generally avoided her as much as possible. On multiple occasions, he had taken his meals in his room, claiming he was in the middle of important work necessary to his task, and had gone out on errands alone. She wasn't sure if he was going out to work on the vanishing cabinet or if he was just avoiding her. They seemed equally likely, but she was hoping it was more often the former. It was where his attention should be, she knew.

She watched him blatantly, keeping her face expressionless. She wished she could say something that would make him better understand the position she was in, and the decision she had made. It seemed so clear to her: she might have been developing feelings for Draco, but she couldn't indulge them any longer. Her position had shifted. There were new expectations set for her, and she wouldn't allow herself to disappoint Him. He was more important than either of them.

She had tried in the days following to smooth over the tension with Draco, but he had repeatedly dismissed her. She could empathize with his position, but she felt that he must know that her decision was the right one to make and that she made it with both of them in mind. In fact, she felt as though that must have been what angered him the most—knowing she was right. He knew that she couldn't promise him anything other than support in the task, and that he would be forced to accept her support.

She thought all of this while she watched him use his wand to remove a few books from the shelves, and direct them into the arms of a house elf that stood quietly by the door. He too used nonverbal spells, which she assumed was meant to be a statement to her that he was equally powerful (and not at all impressed by her display). Doing so also ensured that the room was absolutely silent.

She wondered how much longer she would get this silent treatment from him, but, realistically, she knew it wasn't sustainable. They would have to discuss the task soon. She had been focusing her attention on the back-up plans that they had discussed at the beginning of break, and she felt that she was close to deciding which poison to use to taint the mead that they planned to give to Madame Rosmerta. She didn't feel as though she needed his approval to move forward with this small piece on her own, but she did want to tell him about.

If she were being honest, there was so much that she wanted to tell him about. He was almost a friend—a good enough replacement for Hera when they were apart—and his icy treatment in the last week had been difficult to navigate, especially when she was the only guest left at the manor. She wanted to get back to school to assuage the tension that had erupted between the two of them. She'd have more control there, she knew, and he'd have fewer places to escape to.

She knew she had only to mention this behavior to Bella, and he would receive a scathing letter demanding he adjust his attitude and welcome Elizabeth back into his confidence. She hadn't been moved to write yet, and had been hoping that it wouldn't come to that. It would be easier if he got over himself and started to act more like an adult. But, with each passing moment in the library, her hope for a mature resolution flickered.

Resentment was emanating from him. His palpable bitterness was starting to chip away at her cool exterior, and she watched him keenly. She didn't care if he knew she was watching. She knew he could feel her eyes on him. She knew it was taking everything in him to ignore her. And, every second bet persevered, anger swelled in her.

The tipping point came when, without word or ceremony, he left, gesturing wordlessly at the elf and clicking the door shut behind him—the way someone might exit an empty room.

The only noise that followed was the teacup, crashing against the door. It left a dark wet stain on the closed door where his head had been only moments before. She hadn't realized she'd decided to throw it until it was in a million pieces.