The chaos of the pub settled as the night grew older, only a scattering of patrons remaining, speaking to each other quietly from booths and barstools. Most were family members- Murphy's brother and sister sitting together near the bar, their children and their partners surrounding them. They shared stories of the late man, swapping tales of his grandiose persona and adventurous tendencies. Stories were told with the bright light of remembrance, warm with love for the departed friend, brother, and uncle. Yet, a solemn weight hung over the pub as Annabelle laughed, dabbing at her cheeks with her kerchief. Several shots of whisky had eased Severus's nerves, yet he still sat back, perched at the bar a comfortable distance from the grieving family, staring intently at the depths of the cup of coffee Kate had delivered to him earlier. He listened to the stories, his image of Murphy solidifying of each narrative, yet he still found discomfort in the company of stories about a man he would never know.
Kate stood on the other side of the bar, slightly before Severus, smiling forlornly as she listened to her uncle recount her father's antics herding sheep one summer. Severus watched as she rubbed a glass with a rag furiously, sure that the glass was as clean as it possibly could be by now. Her eyes were down, unwilling to engage with anyone around her. Severus was taken back to his own mother's funeral, remembering how preoccupied he had become with a stray thread in the cuff of his jacket.
She had kept her distance from the family since they had begun to swap stories, hovering behind the bar, keeping herself busy in a desperate attempt to block out the sound of her father's name being passed around the table. She ached; her body tired of carrying the weight of her grief. Her mind exhausted from pantomiming excitement and normalcy in the company of her loved ones. She had spent so long pleading silently for the presence of her father for a few more moments, and to be in an environment that he so regularly frequented and to not here his laugh roar out from the back booth was the last devastating blow she could handle. She had watched her aunt handle her grief by fussing over her children, her uncle smiling somberly as he told stories of the brother who should have outlived him. Severus had been wrong. She didn't gain any healing from this. Instead she felt as if she had lost even more during this visit, as the small village she had called her home for so many years felt like the farthest thing from it. Instead she felt overwhelming loneliness in the presence of those she had known since childhood, many since she had been born. For the countless time that night, she wanted nothing more than to cling to Severus the same way she would every night as they slept and feel his chest rise under her cheek with every one of his snores.
Connor cleared his throat, the creaking of his chair bringing everyone in the room to a halt as he pushed himself away from the table, standing. The room fell to an overwhelming silence, Kate setting the glass upon the counter. Connor picked up his drink, "Tonight, we remember a good man," he spoke, his voice resounding through the pub. Kate felt Severus's presence behind her, her companion awkwardly approaching her from behind, closing the small distance between them. Severus paused, reaching forward to place his hand on her arm. Kate placed her hand over his own, patting his fingers. "A man taken from us before his time. May we remember him, may we honor him, may we cherish the memories he left for all of us. And until we meet again, may God hold him in the palm of his hand."
The family nodded in recognition of the homage the uncle made to the blessing he had toasted with at Murphy's funeral. Kate clutched at Severus's fingers, stepping back until she felt her back make impact with his chest. Severus looked down at her, noticing the tears that had begun to run down her cheeks, Kate crying quietly as her uncle raised his glass, the rest of the family doing the same, "To Murphy." He toasted.
"To Murphy," the family repeated, lifting their glasses and toasting Murphy. Kate had raised her own glass, unable to force the words trapped in her throat to escape. She took a long drink, the whisky burning her throat as she swallowed it down, creating a dull moment of warmth before it was replaced by the numbness she had felt all night.
It often amazed her as to how quickly a storm could blow in. How suddenly the skies could go from calm, glassy and gray, and creep into an inky darkness; awakening with irritable grumbles, anger brewing among the clouds. How the winds could change, blowing in the changing weather over the tall grasses of the field, bending them over as if they were bowing. Katherine watched from the porch, wand gripped in her hand, the home quiet as her family slept, unaware of the change on the horizon. She had slipped out of the guest room, avoiding the creaky floorboards she had committed to memory as a child. She made her way down the hallway, careful not to disturb those sleeping off the alcohol they had consumed hours before. She had been forced to sleep in her cousin's old bedroom, Severus in the guest room down the hall per her uncle's request. Severus had been annoyed by her uncle's restriction, but had respectfully settled into the room, kissing her goodnight before they parted ways for the night. She wondered if he had struggled to find the solace of sleep in the same way she had, if he was aching for her touch and comfort in the way that she longed for his. She had grown so accustomed to sharing a bed that being alone in one felt so unnatural. However, as his gentle snores filled the hallway, she was assured that Severus had found no difficulty finding rest. But now she stood on the porch, the hem of her nightgown dancing around her knees, and stared across the grasses at the window that would once guide her home, the absence of light chilling her more than the wind.
The wind tangled her hair as she stepped in the field among the grasses, the blades tickling at her bare legs. She wiggled her toes, the damp earth bringing with it an unwelcome wave of nostalgia. She remembered the summers of her childhood, much like this, where she would play in these very fields. Where she would create mud pies with her cousins and play bakery, where her father taught her how to fly a broom, where she would chase the sheep and race the neighbor boys, and later on the years come to kiss one of those same neighbor boys under the tree that grew on the edge of her father's yard after sneaking out past curfew. Each blade of grass held a memory, held a piece of her, and yet she feared to step out into it. Instead, she longed to retreat into the home as she had the summer prior and refuse to face that sea of memories. It was too painful, exceptionally so given the timing. She had imagined this all differently. This had never been a part of her plan. They should have been celebrating her graduation in that pub- not her father's passing. It should have been Murphy sizing up the man she had brought home- not her uncle. She had laid awake in her cousin's bed, staring up at the ceiling, wondering if her father would have approved of her choice of partner.
Thunder rolled over the horizon, Kate flinching at the roaring sound. She looked once more across the field, her eyes locked on the darkened window, and began to trudge through the grass towards the house. Earth squelched between her toes, the grasses bending around her as she pushed through, catching on her robe. Her childhood home grew closer and closer with each step, the large white farmhouse strange and familiar as she approached the edge of the yard, standing underneath the tree. Her eyes lingered on the broom shed, where she was sure her father's broom still sat, dusty and unused. The old shed stood beside the house, long and narrow. Her father had one kept his tools there, along with their brooms. She had always thought it would make a fair workshop. The old porch swing creaked in the wind, the weathered boards of the porch steps rough on her feet. She stood in front of the large oak door, which stood before her like a hulking barrier to the girl she once was. She took a steadying breath and raised her wand, "Alohomora."
The door creaked open to reveal the darkened entry way, Kate stepping into the house carefully. "Lumos," she whispered, holding her wand out before her. She had crossed this threshold so many times, yet this time, it felt otherworldly. The sofa sat to her right, the same old quilt draped over it, the kitchen barely visible behind it. Her father's armchair tucked into the corner be the fireplace, an old copy of the Prophet placed on his side table. She paused for a moment, taking in the sights that she hadn't seen for a year. Her green wellies sat beside the door next to her father's work boots, his old denim jacket hanging on the hall tree. She reached out, the broken denim soft under her fingers, memories of her father's tight hugs flooding her mind. She stepped back, crossing the entry way to the staircase, glancing back at the lone armchair forlornly. She padded up the steps, the light glowing from her wand gently illuminating the photographs that hung in their aging frames on the walls. One caught her eye, bringing her to a dead halt; she stood on the porch, her Hogwarts trunk beside her, dressed in her summer clothes after returning home from her Sixth Year at Hogwarts. Her father stood beside her; an arm wrapped around her shoulders as her beamed proudly at the camera. She had returned home from school that day, her father swelling with pride as she shared her final marks with him. Little did she know then that the summer would bring so much sadness and that the following school year would bring so much change. She continued up the stairs, taking a sharp left when she reached the landing, standing in front of the familiar white door. She stepped into the room, flipping on the light switch, and stood in the doorway.
Her old bedroom looked so alien. It was exactly how she had left it; her pink and ivory quilt folded neatly on the foot of her bed, her old ballet slippers hanging over her dresser. Her shelves were decorated with the trinkets she had collected over the years and with photographs of friends; a framed photograph of her and Meredith in their robes placed on the nightstand. It was the bedroom of a girl- a girl that she now barely recognized. Her wardrobe doors were still flung open from when she had packed in a hurry to return to Hogwarts the previous summer. She ran her hand over the small collection of sundresses she had left at the home, some of which she had wished she had in her new residence. Next to it her Irish Nation Quidditch Team jersey, a few forgotten sweaters and skirts, sneakers and sandals neatly arranged in a row. She removed a long dress from her closet, reminiscing on how Morgan had pressured her into purchasing it from a shop in Dublin during a weekend trip, smiling softly and tossing it on to the bed. Katherine stepped closer to the dress to examine it, all creamy white and lacey, but stopped when she noticed what sat beside it. Her father's name stared up a her from the glossy card, the elegant cursive on the glossy card glinting in the bedroom light. Kate picked up the prayer card, reading over the text printed upon it, rain pattering against the windowpane.
Cillian Murphy Blakewood
November 23rd, 1940 -August 5th, 1982
Father, brother, friend.
She read the words over and over, thunder rumbling and lightening flashing through the sky, illuminating the room for a split moment. How strange it was to see his name like that; displayed so finitely above the date that served as a harsh punctuation to a man's life. She remembered how tightly she had clutched the piece of cardstock, her teeth gnashing at the inside of her cheek as she had forced back the tears that so steadily fell as she sat in the church pew alongside her aunt. That gnashing pain now stabbed in her stomach, pain rolling through her with every passing memory of the life before that damning day.
She left the forgotten bedroom, the pile of floral fabrics left draped over the bed as she peered down the hallway. Lighting flashed outside of the window, casting a shockingly bright flash of light down the darkened hall. Kate stared at the door at the end of the hallway. Her father's bedroom had remained closed since his death, the Healers pulling in shut behind them once her father had been removed from the room. She wondered if they had bothered to make his bed or remove the dozens of bottles of potions from his bedside table. She lingered in her doorway, thunder crashing over the house, the tip of her wand glowing in the night. She sighed heavily, stepping down the hallway until she stood in front of the door, the floorboards creaking under her.
The brass knob was cool under her fingers as she twisted the door open, the old hinges screeching in protest as she cracked in open, light flooding into the room when she held her wand into the darkened room. Her father's bed was neatly made, his bedside table empty lest for a worn bible and his wire framed spectacles. The worn tartan sheets were pulled tight across the mattress; much unlike their constantly crumpled and twisted state when she would catch a glimpse of her father's room over the shoulder of an entering Healer. She let her eyes wander over the lonely room; the old oak armoire in the corner full of his shirts, his Healer robes pressed and hung proudly on the door. The cluttered desk that stood before his window, an uninhabited owl cage placed amongst the parchment and dried quills.
Her eyes stopped on the foot of her father's bed, the threadbare crocheted blanket folded neatly. She crossed the room to the old throw, the gold and crimson yarn faded from years of use. Her nan had made it for her father shortly after he had been sorted into Gryffindor so many years before, and had made her an identical one to celebrate her sorting before she passed. She had used hers often during her time at Hogwarts; draping it over her shoulders during first-year quidditch matches, thrown over her lap during chilly nights in the dormitories as she laughed and talked with her friends. It now sat at the bottom of her trunk at Spinner's End beside the crochet hook her nan had gifted her. A long-forgotten hobby taught to her by her father's mother. She ran her hand over the fold, smoothing the throw. Yet, when her hand ran over the yarn, she quickly drew in back. Parchment crinkled under her touch, pulling her from her thoughts with a sharp jump. She lifted her wand to the foreign parchment, finding her father's handwriting staring back at her.
For my daughter.
She had to remind herself to breathe, frozen in shock as she stared down at the envelope that seemed to have been so patiently waiting for her arrival. Why hadn't Conner delivered it to her at the funeral? Or Annabelle? Why did it sit here, now, as if it had been placed there for only her to find? Her hands shook as she lifted the envelope. Fear swelled in her as she agonized over what the contents would read as she walked it to her father's desk, searching the tabletop for his letter opener. She couldn't handle much more pain, let alone the solemn words of her dying parent. However, a tinge of hope blossomed in her stomach as she wished silently for kind, calming words. Her fingers groped frantically around the desk, Katherine cursing under her breath, "Accio!" she muttered, the letter open skittering across the desk. She Sliced the envelope open, gently tugging out the folded parchment. "Lumos maxima," she whispered, her wand throwing more light into the dark room. She brought the tip of her wand to the parchment, heart pounding in anticipation. She looked over the county letterhead on the top of the paper, recognizing it as muggle paper, confusion wrinkling her face. Her heart dropped when she read over the bolded title;
Land Registry
Her name was printed neatly on the paperwork, the title and deed proving her ownership of the home she stood in. She read over the paperwork over and over, disbelief tense in her shoulders. The farm, the house, the field, the tree at the end of the yard, the long, narrow broom shed; they belonged to her. Her father had left them to her. Her hands shook as she folded the papers once more, her father's scrawl on the back of the papers, 'Fill this place with memories, just as you and I did. Do good things, Kathy. I love you most.'
Tears blurred the ink, Katherine rubbing her wet cheeks with the back of her hand. She opened the desk drawer, tucking the paperwork in and shutting it quickly, as if it would eliminate the news she had received. She peered around the room again; the armoire, the throw, the owl cage on the desk. She had spent that last year longing for closure, for comfort from her father from beyond. But, in the vast emptiness of the house, she found that the home no longer felt like her own, instead a memorial to a life lost. She looked over at the bed again, the tartan sheets pulled tight across the mattress. They looked like the flannel sheets she and Severus had put on the bed in the winter. Her winter sheets. The ones that covered their bed in their home. She had heard her cousins speak of outgrowing their childhood home. She hadn't imagined doing so in this way; now the owner of a relic of once beautiful memories that now played through her mind to the rhythm of a broken heart finding its healing in a small home on Spinner's End. In a home created by the two of them.
She smoothed the throw. She stacked the papers on the desk and placed the quills in the drawer. She hung the robes in the armoire and closed the doors. She moved to leave the room, the hinges creaking as she began to pull the door closed, but she stopped. She stood in the doorway, thinking, before turning back to the desk, removing the envelope from the desk and carrying it from the room and shutting the door.
The skies cleared as she reached Uncle Conner's porch, the storm passing in the distance. The thunder soft, the lightning strikes dull, the earth damp and soft under her feet as she crossed the field away from the large white farmhouse that she had called home, running her hand through the tall grasses wet with rain. She stood in front of the porch door, careful to open it without waking those who slept inside. Before she stepped into her uncle's home, she turned. The house looked back at her, the moonlight casting a gentle glow on the windowpanes. The field bowed in the soft wind, the tree cast its shadow on the side of the house, the broom shed stood long and narrow, the porch swing creaked and swayed. A sense of comfort swirled with the melancholy that she had felt since their arrival.
Severus stretched, content in the familiarity of his study, relishing in the tug of sore muscles brought on by the discomfort of his night spent in an unfamiliar bed. He had spent the night staring up at the ceiling, watching the shadows of the trees swaying in the moonlight outside of the windows, bending under the wind of the summer storm that had brewed in the darkness. He had tossed and turned over on the stiff mattress, trying to find a comfortable position. Severus didn't understand muggles and their religious practices, still fuming over Connor's requirement that he and Katherine slept in different rooms. She had been sent upstairs in the family home to sleep in her cousin's old bedroom, Severus left to the front room. He felt absolutely ridiculous, an adult man deduced to sleeping on a cot like a schoolboy at camp. All over the preventive measures taken to assure that he and the woman who occupied his bed on a nightly basis wouldn't shag like they did every damned night. He had finally slipped into a restless sleep, counting down the hours until they would return home and he could settle into the comfort of the armchair in the study. He had deemed a proper nap in order upon their return to Spinner's End, determining that decent sleep would be difficult to come by in the following hours. However, his fitful sleep had been ended when the soft footsteps that had cautiously padded down the stairs, avoiding the creaky floorboards in the front room she knew from her youth, ended with her cloud of curls sprawling out onto his chest for a few quiet hours. She had returned to the guest room in the early hours of the morning, leaving behind a sheepish kiss and a salty tear stain on his nightshirt. Physicality was never something Severus had much cared for, but her touch had quickly become a familiar, and welcomed, presence.
Kate had quickly retired to their bedroom once they returned home, emptying a bag of dresses onto their bed and making quick work of hanging them in the wardrobe. She had paused when she came across one, Severus watching in the doorway as she hung the sleeved lace dress in the back of their wardrobe. He retired to his study, Kate to her garden to tend to her plants and flowers that had lacked her attention in the past days. He sighed, rising from behind his desk and crossing the small home to the kitchen, considering what of their previous week's groceries were still acceptable. He filled a glass from the tap, standing to take a drink and glancing out the kitchen window into the garden. Katherine sat among her rose bushes in her straw hat, trimming and pruning with garden shears and tossing the trimmings into a pail. He stood and watches for a moment, Katherine trimming away and carefully discarding her trimmings into the pail. He had longed for this sight since their departure. He considered her happiness among her family; her bright smile and barking laughter in the pub and the exuberant way she danced. Yet, he noticed a difference about her as she sat in her garden, her linen trousers stained with soil and her shoulders pink from the sun. She was content. At ease with her surroundings. Severus found the same emotion in himself since returning to Spinner's End. Comfort. Comfort in the home he shared with the woman he loved who had made the dreary little building a home for the both of them. He thought of the story her uncle had told him of his wife, the simple advice he had shared with him.
Katherine looked up, catching Severus's stare and returning it with a smile. Severus returned her smile, watching as she turned herself on her rear to the next rosebush, crossing her legs and returning to her pruning. Severus lingered in the window for a moment, watching her mechanical motion. Trim, discard, trim, discard. Merlin's beard, how he loved her.
He set the glass in the sink, the thought of an afternoon snack long forgotten as he returned to his study, the volume he had been studying open on his desk. He lowered himself into his chair, turning to his right to the small desk drawer that had remained closed for so many years. He gently wiggled the drawer open, staring down at the small wooden jewelry box that had once belonged to his mother.
Hello friends,
Again, it has been so long! I hope you are all healthy and safe during these strange times. I have been slowly working through the next few chapters of this story as I find these characters again and watching the Harry Potter movies over and over again. I am working hard to bring you more of this story, but want to do it justice as I know you all deserve the best! Please stay tuned for more.
xoxo,
DCAGP