Author's note: Hello everyone, it's been a month, so here is a new update. Not much is going on in my life except work, which is no fun, but I went to watch Barbie and it was great. That chapter's title is totally stolen from Hanya Yanagihara's book "A Little Life" (read her work, she's an outstanding author). I'm so extremely thankful for each and everyone of you who take the time to read this story and give it some love. Thank you thank you 3 Hope you're doing well. Warning: a tiny tiny bit of dubious consent down below.
August 199 - The Happy Years (1945-1947)
"You've got the means to caress
But weak you leave me a mess
One touch is enough, your hands a little too rough
(Your hands a little too rough, your hands a little too rough)
Will I ever be enough?"
- St South
The afternoon sun was pouring into the room, its rays reflecting against the crockery. She loved the cups' refined design, white if not for a simple golden line on the rim. Yet, she only took them out for special occasions, for she was sad each time she did.
She should discard then, she thought as she placed her teacup back in the saucer, but she already knew she would not.
Just like all the other things she had been gifted on her wedding, the single thought of throwing them away broke her heart.
"Some more tea?" she asked the three people before her.
They were mute, tight as a clam, each pair of eyes turned towards her, their mouths slightly opened and their brows furrowed.
She had expected such reaction. It was always the same.
Always.
Yes.
She had left.
"I know…" she croaked before she refilled their cups anyway. "How can anyone leave the Dark Lord?!"
She grabbed a cookie with her thumb and index finger, shoved it in her mouth as she pondered on how to proceed. Dumbledore had warned her of such eventuality, that the "Boy who lived" might come confront her, but she had hoped such contingency would remain in the realm of the possibles…
After all, Dumbledore had been a fanciful man and she knew little about Horcruxes, something she had told him already when he had turned up at her apartment on a cold Saturday morning in February.
"I have a favour to ask" he had mentioned with a contrite air, before he had informed her that he wished to share with the kid some fragments of her past.
Why?
He has cleared his throat, shot her an apologetic smile.
"We are trying to gather evidences, find the missing pieces of the puzzle to try to figure out who he was before-"
"Before he became Voldemort"
The Headmaster had acquiesced and stroked his long beard with his bejeweled fingers.
She had been upset all at once, soon overwhelmed with complicated memories.
Hadn't she played her part already, told everything there was to know about her familiarity with the Dark Lord?
Hadn't the Ministry, the Aurors and all that bunch of people who had been tasked with her case gone over her life with a fine-tooth comb, dissecting each aspect of her marriage, even the most mundane and intimate details?
How Voldemort ate, slept, and shit, how he made love to her, was he gentle or rough, hadn't she gone through all of that?
"I already cooperated with the Ministry Albus. You can have him read the official reports. Everything is recorded in there"
She had been clear, or so she had thought, and she had hoped that such argument would be enough to dismiss him, but Dumbledore was as stubborn as an old goat.
"I know, but this serves a different purpose" he had replied softly, before he had divulged the real reason behind his visit. He and the "Boy who lived" were on the hunt for Horcruxes.
She had bursted in laughter back then, before she had understood that this was not a joke.
"This will have both you of you killed" she had gasped.
"Not if we succeed to kill him first"
The words had stung, and she had tried to contain her conflicted emotions, which must have transpired anyway from the cautious air that had showed on Dumbledore's face.
"Annabel" he had tried to reason her.
"I know this is hard but it is a matter of life and death"
She had stood up then and paced up and down the room like a caged lion.
"If Voldemort catches him first, another innocent life will be lost. You know he is searching for him"
"This is ridiculous, we don't even know if he's back"
"Oh, he hasn't come to you yet?"
He had raised a dubious eyebrow and turned his head towards the yellow flowers that had stood on the table.
"This isn't my fight" she had sighed. "As a healer-"
"As a healer, your responsibility is to protect. It's only a matter of time before the ministry falls. How much more blood do you need to have on your hands before you decide to do what's right?"
She had winced, turned around to hide her face.
"Fine. Do as you please. Just don't send him to me" she had replied with a lump in her throat while the man had taken his leave.
"I promise I will not reveal where you are but whether or not he comes to find you will be beyond my control"
"So… will you help us? Will you tell us your story?"
Annabel blinked, interrupted in her memories as her living room suddenly reappeared in front of her eyes. She felt dizzy, like always whenever her brain tricked her and tried to bring her back to bygone days.
She glanced at the person who just spoke.
The Boy Who Lived, they used to call him, those who had rejoiced over the death of the man she once loved... She remembered that she used to hate that boy. It was her way to cope.
And yet, when he had stood in front of her in the middle of the lecture hall, showing her that locket that used to belong to her husband - a copy, though, it had been easy to notice - when she had finally understood who that kid was, she had understood that she did not hate him anymore.
"All right" she sighed. "But I'll only share my story. Nothing more. As I already told you, I don't know much about those Horcruxes, nor anything he had become after I left"
She stood up, made her way towards the nearest cabinet from which she took out a bottle of wine. Certainly, she would need something stronger than tea if she was to tell her story.
"Where do we start?" she asked.
"The beginning"
—
"We met at school. Same year but different houses. I don't really recall how we became acquainted but a good friend of mine was to share his dorm"
She poured herself a glass, filled it to the brim.
"Wine?" she asked, but the kids refused.
"I was desperate to escape an arranged marriage at the time and Tom appeared at just the right moment. He was himself trying to figure out who his ancestors were and somehow discovered that him and I were related"
The trio gasped and she could not help but snort at their dumbstruck faces.
"It's quite common, you know, among pure-blood families"
She sat down, seized the glass between two fingers. She took a sip, felt her body warm up thanks to the alcohol.
"How did you two get close?"
She took another sip, tried to sort out her thoughts, what she could say and what she could not.
"He approached me because I knew certain... things he wanted to know"
"Things you learned from your grandfather?"
She looked at the young witch.
A clever girl.
"My mother came from a place where the dark arts were just another form of magic and it was such knowledge that Voldemort was desperate to gain. I was naive, yet brazen, and I saw in our friendship the opportunity to escape the dullness of my existence" she paused. "So I said yes, and just like that, he became a constant in my life, ever-present and yet volatile"
She bit the inside of her cheek, suddenly devastated at all the memories that came back to her, at the thought of what they could have become, together, yet never had. She considered turning back, dismiss the kids and finish that bottle of wine, and another until she would pass out on the couch and forget all about it.
"Did you love him?"
She frowned, startled by the young witch's impudence.
"You said you tried to escape an arranged marriage, but did you love him?"
She widened her eyes, stunned, realised then that her hands were shaking.
"Yes" she whispered with a solemn air.
"I owe him a lot"
She played with the glass on the table, shook her head.
"He stood by me like no one had. All the things I longed for, he handed them to me on a plate. Freedom, independence but also love and affection"
She had a caustic laugh suddenly, for it was fairly droll to sit here and talk about Voldemort and freedom and love.
"Little did I know, at the time, that I was only trading one gilded cage for another…"
She fell quiet, and so did the others who looked down. She took the time to sort out her thoughts.
"But it hadn't always been that bad... We were happy once" she added with a nod before she soon felt the urge to measure her words.
"Now, with hindsight, I know though that there were things I hadn't noticed, signs I had not understood"
— August 1945 —
"For the use of spells regarding fungal infection, see chapter 17" she whispered, her eyes fixated on the book opened on her lap before she surreptitiously turned the pages to find said chapter.
Yet, before she could even read the title, a voice made her jump.
"I thought Tom said no studying during the holidays"
She looked up to find two of her friends standing across the table.
"Oh and what are you, his private detectives?"
"Rude" replied Margaret before she let herself fall on the bench in front of her. She motioned for the girl to hand her the jar of lemon curd.
Annabel and Tom had traded their London apartment for a tranquil week at the Lestrange's, a well deserved treat after the hectic previous month. Shortly after their wedding, the two of them had moved in a fancy suite in Knightsbridge district, occasionally retreating by the seaside in a property her family had bequeathed the couple. Yet, if the house was lovely, it needed much refurbishment and the couple missed the Scottish Highlands so much that when Tom had offered to gather their friends to enjoy a few days in the British countryside, the girl had jumped for joy.
Oh, how much she enjoyed being able to laze around in the sun, play chess with her friends until the latest hours of the night, only to retreat in her room afterwards to meet Tom, who was waiting, so he could make sweet love to her, and whisper in her ear the most delicious things.
Annabel was astounded by how easily the two of them had stepped into their marital roles, Tom assuming his duty of head of household without any complain, being a shoulder on which she could lean while providing her with more freedom than she had ever had. A freedom she had yet to enjoy though, because of how occupied she was… In late June, she had learned that she had passed St Mungo's entrance exam, a wonderful news that had soon turned into a spate of work, and she had swiftly discovered that what she had thought was a full schedule before was in fact a walk in the park…
"Come on Anna, you're so busy with your apprenticeship that we don't see you at all anymore" lamented Elena.
Annabel's throat constricted at the nagging and she gripped at her book, her lips pressed tight as she searched for an answer. She loved her friends, but how could she explain that she was scared to fall behind, that she feared to be on the hot seat for being the first and only woman who ever made it to St Mungo's? How could she tell them about the first month, when she had come home in tears nearly everyday, for her colleagues had bonded against her in some kind of fraternal alliance she was inevitably excluded from?
Her only way to survive had been to sit through it and grit her teeth, study as much as she could to prove she was as good as them.
She opened and closed her mouth, hesitant of what to say before the kitchen door swung open.
A half-dozen young men entered the room, led by Tom whose voice boomed inside the room.
"I thought we said no studying during the holidays"
He sat down at the table, soon imitated by the others, thus forcing the girls to move to the side to accommodate them, and such a scene was for Annabel a throwback to their years at school, when the group of Slytherins used to parade inside the Great Hall and people deferentially made way for them to sit.
"Don't be so hard on her. She's only trying to become the best healer there is" intervened Rosier who wrapped an arm around her shoulder and kissed her cheek.
"At this rhythm, the only thing she will achieve is a burnout" asserted Tom, and he gestured for her to hand him over the book.
Annabel let out a dramatic sigh, but deep down, she was thankful. She needed Tom to be like that sometimes in order for her not to feel guilty when she took some time off, and it was with a feigned resistance that she capitulated and handed him the incriminated textbook.
"What's today's programme?" interrupted Cillian Lestrange before he issued the house elf to go fetch the mail.
The poor owl was standing on the windowsill for an hour already, quietly peeking inside with its bulging eyes with no one deigning to stand up and free it.
The elf walked towards the open window, untied the small bundle of envelopes that were tied to the bird's long and thin leg.
One letter levitated towards her, and Annabel seized it with a frown.
"It's from Sophia" she said perplexed.
"She said her business trip has been canceled…"
She skimmed the rest of the letter, and felt euphoric at the news. Finally she would stop being the black sheep of the group, for Sophia was also working.
"She's asking what we're doing tonight. We could offer her to join us, spend a few days with us here!" she suggested excitedly before she folded the letter which she placed on the table.
"If we answer soon enough, she could make it for dinner" she chirped before she turned to seek the small group's approval. She smiled at her friends, excited already at the thought of widening their group. Yet, in her eagerness, she failed to notice the lack of reaction, and it took her a few minutes to understand that her suggestion was being met with awkward silences.
"What's the matter?" she frowned at the sight of Elena and Margaret who were looking down, and Annabel searched for Tom's glance.
"Darling this is Cillian's house" he replied and he turned towards his friend. "Perhaps should we seek his approval first"
"Oh, I'm being rude" she apologised, and probed the young man.
The latter exchanged a long look with Tom before he cleared his throat:
"I'm sorry but I'm afraid the bedding situation doesn't allow for any more guests"
Annabel frowned, and pondered over the words the young man had just pronounced.
"What Cillian means is that all the bedrooms are occupied" explained Tom.
He spoke kindly, like he was speaking to a very young child.
Annabel stared alternately at him, and at Lestrange, in a back and forth of dumbstruck glances.
"But… the house is big. She could sleep on the couch, or… or we could switch beds"
"Switch beds?"
Nott snorted but she ignored his remark.
"What about the attic? I saw a mattress up there yesterday"
"There is no mattress in the attic" replied Lestrange categorically, and Annabel opened and closed her mouth, all the more confused by the young man's definite tone.
"But I'm sure that-"
"Anna" interjected Tom. "The attic is empty"
He stood up then, her husband, accompanied with his clique, and before he left the room, he brushed her shoulder, kissed the crown of her head.
"Have some rest will you darling?"
—
Annabel put her glass on the table with a thud.
"Of course, when I searched later, the mattress was gone"
"Why would they lie? Didn't they like your friend?" asked the ginger boy with a frown. A Weasley, she deducted, less from his hair colour than from his lack of good sense.
"My friend was Muggle-born" she explained, and she saw how the kids' faces changed in light of what she said.
"It is that simple. Of course, at the time, I came up with different reasons, and eventually, it became easier to believe that there was indeed not enough space for my friend in my life. How could I have known that those people were trying to drive away some of my closest companions just because they reproved of this relationship?" she paused. "Voldemort never asked me to embrace his ideology, not openly at least. For the others, though, it was a different story... I had married their leader, and in the patriarchal world we lived in, it meant that I had to behave, be the beautiful and obedient wife they thought I should be"
She had an acerbic snort and shook her head.
"It took me a while to figure out that Voldemort needed his followers as much as they needed him, and that he'd go quite far as to protect them"
— May 1947 —
"Wait"
Tom grumbled and moved to the side, his fingers leaving her core where he had found her dry.
She was not in the mood, no matter how hard he tried.
"What is it?" he asked as he lay next to her and probed her face in the dim light. She pinched her lips with her thumb and index finger as she tried to put into words the oppressive feeling that had accompanied her all day.
She had had lunch with her colleagues, a fun and uneventful meeting at that new place that had opened on Diagon Alley. Yet, as she had stood in line in the bathroom, waiting for the next free cubicle, Annabel had ran into a friend, Elena, or rather, she had ran into Elena's back, for the blond girl whom she had recognised instantly was bending over the sink, unaware of Annabel's presence, moving over the porcelain bowl as to wash her hands, her sleeve sliding off her wrist to reveal the girl's fair skin that was covered in black and blue dots, like a dozen saddening stars.
"You think he's beating her?" whispered Tom with raised eyebrows.
"Don't give me that look"
"What look?"
"The 'aren't you imagining things look'"
He sighed.
"Look, Anna, you know I'll always believe you"
"But?"
"Leonus is an asshole, I grant you that, but accusing him of domestic violence is a bit far-fetched don't you think?"
"He was always a bully"
"He was never to her"
She pondered over his words, remembered her friend's words back in school, when they had sat on the window bench late at night, chatted about the boys.
"Then where did those bruises come from?"
"I don't know, maybe she hurt herself?" he shrugged.
"Maybe she's secretly a famous Quidditch player?"
She rolled her eyes, but a smile started to show on her lips, for the idea of Elena ever doing something as manly as to ride a broom was comical.
"Maybe..."
His hand grazed her naked hip, and he flipped her on her belly.
"... maybe they play like we do"
"Stop it" she grumbled. "I know Elena. She's not like that"
"Like what?" he whispered in her ear, his lips atrociously close.
"Like you?"
He grinned when she accidentally let out a moan as his hand neared her core.
"Are you trying to say that Elena is never being a bad girl, so that Leonus never has to bend her over his knee?"
His finger teased her entrance, and she gripped the bedsheets, furious at her body for betraying her so easily.
"But maybe she has been bad, maybe Leonus had to make her behave. Like I have to sometimes with you"
She felt herself getting slick, her lower belly pulsating already at the young man's words and when she felt his weight shift on the bed, when his hand raised in the air and stopped, waiting for her to say that one word that would make him stop, which she did not, when his hand landed on her sore bottom and made her pant, she knew she had lost the fight.
—
"My friend died one year later"
Annabel looked down and she realised that her hands were trembling. She placed them on her lap, stroked the fabric in a soothing gesture but soon enough, her chest was tightening and she almost gasped for air.
"Even though he had promised me he would have a word with him... All in all, a choice had been made: my friend's life was not as valuable as his people's"
"You think he could have stopped him?" frowned the dark haired boy and Annabel raised an eyebrow.
"What do you think? That someone who can lead an entire army cannot keep a single man in line?"