Hey there,
Here's a new chapter for you, that I really like.
I once again want to remind you to review if you're reading this story, even if it's just a thank you. It really helps me keeping my motivation up!
In the previous chapter, Vivian won Gryffindor the match against Ravenclaw by catching the Snitch and barely avoinding a Bludger. Now, it's time for the red and gold to celebrate!
In the previous chapter, Vivian won Gryffindor the match against Ravenclaw by catching the Snitch and barely avoinding a Bludger. Now, it's time for the red and gold to celebrate!With the adrenaline wearing off comes the pain. I hide it as best I can, though, because I have absolutely no desire to go to the infirmary. After a quick shower and change in the locker rooms, I head back up to our common room with the rest of the team. On the way, all the insults and doubts my teammates might have had are forgotten. To hear them talk, I'm a true heroine. Alphonse is also being celebrated for his flawless saves, and the team is in high spirits. Everyone is laughing, talking loudly, clapping each other on the back as they noisily relive the game's best moments… I don't feel any bitterness at their hypocrisy towards me. That's just how it is, and I might as well enjoy the peace they're giving me for now.
To be honest, right now I'm just savouring the last of the adrenaline as I replay the scene with the Bludger in my head. I didn't know if I was going to dodge it. It could have killed me, couldn't it? A Bludger to the head, at that speed, from that height..? It's a strange feeling. Realising how detached I was in that moment—genuinely and spontaneously detached—feels like a kind of validation. I truly want to die. It's not an act, not something I'm doing for show. It's deep. I'm definitely unwell, I suppose. I get a little shiver of pleasure thinking back on it all.
oOo
The arrival in the common room is triumphant. It feels like three quarters of Gryffindor are here, moving from group to group, going up and down from the dormitories, bursting into loud laughter… I even spot a few Hufflepuff and Slytherin uniforms in the crowd. Everyone cheers as we make our entrance, and a small firework from Weasley & Weasley goes off. Then the party properly kicks off. A few trunks serve as tables, covered in food, which means someone must've raided the kitchens. The only prefect present has taken off their badge, and I gather they want to enjoy the impromptu celebration without bothering anyone. A seventh-year girl sets up some magical speakers and puts on music. Not exactly my style, but it's bearable.
Someone's managed to smuggle alcohol into the castle, and each team member gets a glass of Firewhisky before the bottle starts making its way through the older students. I find myself staring at my glass, accepted on reflex in the confusion of the moment.
"Er, are you sure about Vivian? She's a first-year!"
Apparently, there are still some reasonable people around.
"It's fine, we didn't give her a full glass, and anyway, she won't last more than a sip! It'll be funny!"
"I'll have her glass if she doesn't want it!"
I don't bother figuring out who's talking, caught in a sudden train of thought. Not drinking alcohol is one of my principles. It was, at least, in my first life. I never saw the point, and more than that, I never wanted to risk doing something I'd regret under the influence of anything. I despised people who needed alcohol to have fun. I felt uneasy around drunk people… To me, alcohol was "bad." It meant doing harm to yourself. But that's precisely what's making me hesitate tonight. You can pass out if you drink enough, right? The idea of a coma is tempting. A violence I'd inflict on myself that, as a bonus, would let me sleep. Plus, I'm a bit stung by that bloke who thinks I couldn't even finish my glass.
oOo
Shouts and whistles accompany the alcohol down my throat. I knock it back in one go before anyone can snatch the glass from my hand. As soon as it's empty, I start coughing. It burns! The people watching burst into laughter, but some are clapping or making impressed comments. Alphonse, who's come over at some point, is laughing too. My head spins a bit. The gap between my intent to hurt myself and the laughter—even from the only friend I have in the room—hits me pretty hard.
After that, people dig into whatever food they can grab while the older students pass around more booze. I manage to get myself a full glass of manzana, which I've never tried before. I love the taste—it's really sweet. I get into a silly challenge with a few of the other lads on the team. I suggested doing broom-jumping, but weirdly no one was up for it. They thought I was joking... So instead, we get on our brooms and hang from them by our hands. First to fall has to drink a shot, second one two, and so on. Only the last one hanging is spared. We go a couple of rounds—I lose quickly every time. I am only eleven, after all, though my experience with climbing gives me a slight edge. Not a bad thing, I suppose, because even if I'm aiming for a coma, I'd rather not pass out in front of the entire common room full of people I don't trust.
oOo
After an hour, my head is really spinning, and the common room has mostly emptied out. It's dinner time, and most students are heading down if they haven't already. While no one's watching, I grab a half-full bottle of gut-rot vodka and slip it into the bag with my Quidditch uniform. I then try to get up, planning to leave the common room and finish getting wasted in the privacy of my secret hideout. I'm struggling to coordinate my movements, which makes me giggle stupidly. It's Alphonse who comes to help, steadying me on my feet and slipping an arm around my waist to support me. I'm too drunk to tense up at the physical contact. I feel nauseous too. He frowns slightly, then bursts out laughing.
"Well, you really don't do things by halves, Viv'! Where were you trying to go?"
"My tower," I reply, with difficulty.
"Let's get you something to eat and some water instead. That'll help soak up the booze."
"Not the Great Hall…" I mumble.
My companion laughs again.
"Don't worry, I don't hate you enough to throw you to the wolves. And it'd get the rest of us into trouble too. We'll go to the kitchens."
While we chat, we've passed the portrait and started heading down through the castle. We barely run into anyone, since it's mealtime—thankfully. I get stuck on something the blond said:
"Y-You hate me?" I don't know why, but the very idea fills me with sadness, and I feel tears prickling in my eyes. My friend stares at me wide-eyed before laughing:
"Whoa, Viv', don't be silly! I was joking! You know I care about you!"
As I process his answer, I hear him mutter:
"No more booze for you—what a bloody stupid idea."
He said he cares about me. And it's true he's done loads for me, and he's always up for doing stuff with me too. Honestly, thinking about it makes me really happy, and since I want to show him I'm grateful, I say:
"Thanks, Al'! I care about you too! Isn't that brilliant? I've got an idea! We should do broom-jumping to celebrate our friendship!"
"Eerrr, I don't think that's a great idea in your state!"
"I'm fine!"
The impact of that claim is probably weakened a bit by the fact I can't stand up on my own, but I'm sure I could fly!
"Let's just head to the kitchens, yeah? I'm starving, aren't you?"
And to be fair, I might be a little hungry. Well, it's hard to tell, since I feel queasy, but if my friend Alphonse is hungry, then we've got to eat! I giggle. It's actually easy, really! The other Gryffindor shakes his head at me, but he's smiling. He seems to be handling the alcohol way better than I am. He could come across as completely sober.
"And you, didn't you drink?" I ask, clumsily. I have to focus to get the words out properly.
"Yeah, a bit, but I'm used to it. And I didn't go overboard," he replies, getting a bit more serious.
oOo
I'm not really sure how, but there's a blackout and suddenly we're on the first floor. I trip over a paving stone, confused by the sudden change of scenery, and Al' catches me. I don't get the chance to ask how we got here so quickly. As he steadies me, his eyes land on me and his expression changes—morphing into something that scares me.
"Your glamour…"
I look down at my arms. At some point I'd pushed up my sleeves, and all my scars are showing.
"Oops!" I say, with a touch of irony. Alphonse stops, staring at me with a worried look. "Can't have people seeing that, can we? They might think I'm not doing well! When I'm doing just fine, very very fine!"
I giggle. I'm far too funny. I try to get my wand out but my fingers aren't cooperating. Alphonse drags me into a classroom with a curse while I keep trying to cast the spell. I complain a little—he's not exactly making this easy. But even once we stop moving, I can't manage to get my glamour back on.
"Alphonse…" I whine. "Why isn't it working?"
I almost want to cry again. It's really not fair. He sighs before replying, in a soothing voice:
"You've had too much to drink, Viv'. I'll do the spell, alright?"
I nod—probably a bit too enthusiastically, because I suddenly topple backwards. I end up on the floor, not quite sure how I got there, and Alphonse curses again. He seems angry now.
"Sorry," I whisper.
I feel awful all of a sudden. Like I'm floating but also horribly nauseous. Al' doesn't say anything, just points his wand at me to cast the glamour again. His face is still serious. Like it's happened before, I get a strange feeling seeing him point his wand at me. I want him to kill me. I mess everything up anyway, and I think he's fed up with me.
From Alphonse's shocked curse, I can tell something's wrong. Good to know alcohol hasn't completely dulled my deductive abilities.
"I'm not going to kill you! Are you mad?!"
"Y-You can read my mind? I didn't know you were a legili—legi—legilimens-thingy!"
The Gryffindor looks utterly drained and rubs his forehead, muttering:
"I've drunk too much to deal with this…"
Then he says louder:
"I'm not reading your mind, you said that out loud… And I'm not fed up with you, Vivian, got it? I'm just hungry and tired. I think I had a bit too much too."
I feel even more sorry then, because it's my fault he's not already eating.
"You should leave me here. I'm not even hungry anyway."
"I'm not leaving you alone in this state, it's dangerous! And bloody hell, Vivian, you can't just drop things like that and move on like it's normal!"
"Things like what?" I ask, a bit lost. It's hard to focus.
Al' curses again. His stomach growls.
"Never mind. We'll talk when you're sober," he sighs.
I want to know, but I haven't got the energy to argue. Instead, I say:
"You really should go eat, you know? I'm not going anywhere anyway."
He seems to think for a few seconds, then sighs:
"I suppose you're right, but I can't leave you on your own like this, it could be dangerous. I'll send Arthur or Ewald, alright?"
I shrug. I like Arthur and Ewald. And at least Alphonse will be able to eat.
He sighs again before placing me in the recovery position on the floor. He tells me not to move, and that he'll be quick to send one of the boys. The door closes behind him before I even realise he's gone. I feel lonely all of a sudden. But at least the floor's comfy. I don't know how much time passes, but I start getting bored, so I try to sit up. I don't try to stand—I haven't got the energy—but I sit, leaning against the wall. I feel awful. I haven't drunk enough yet, since I'm still conscious. Luckily, I remember the vodka I took, and after fumbling around a bit, I manage to get it out and open it. I feel disconnected from my body, but not in the same way I do when I dissociate. It's a really weird feeling, kind of like I'm a puppet. I can't control my movements properly, and there's this lag between my brain and my body.
The bottle nearly slips from my hands as I tilt it back, head falling a little too far in the process. I grimace instinctively, forcing myself to swallow it all in one go. I don't feel the alcohol burn—I guess I'm too far gone for that. But the taste is still awful. A violent burp escapes me, and as my hand falls back to my side, I suddenly remember—too late—that I'm still holding the bottle. It shatters on the stone floor.
I stare dumbly at the shards of glass for several long seconds. My arms are still bare, but Alphonse's glamour is still working. Seeing all that apparently unmarked skin gives me an idea, and I reach down to pick up the base of the bottle. The top is ringed with jagged glass. I wonder if it feels different to cut yourself when you're drunk. Alcohol's supposed to numb things, right? My movements are still jerky, like I'm a puppet, and I still feel detached from my body. I press the broken glass against my skin and drag it—but it doesn't work very well. I only get a few shallow scratches. Alcohol or not, it stings a little. I let the bottle base clatter to the floor and grab a sharper-looking shard. That's when the door opens, making me jump.
oOo
Ewald strides in, and before I can do anything, he casts Expelliarmus. The shard flies from my hand, and I flinch instinctively. His expression is cold, that stony mask he wears for the rest of the world firmly in place. He stands over me, and his voice carries a kind of anger I'm not used to hearing from him.
"I was hoping Alphonse was exaggerating when he said you'd been drinking."
I shrug awkwardly, feeling uncomfortable. This isn't how Ewald usually is.
"Can you stand?"
There's no gentleness in his voice, but I can't name the emotion behind it either. I feel sick. Still, I try to pull myself together enough to stand. I manage it—barely—and only Ewald's quick reflexes stop me from falling straight into the broken glass. Everything is spinning. He holds me steady with both hands, turning me to face him in the process. His lips are pressed into a thin line.
"You're eleven, Vivian. What made you think you could drink like you were still Aurore? That was reckless."
I finally place the emotion in his voice. Contempt. He despises me in this moment. His contempt feeds into my own self-loathing. I know he's right. I know exactly what I've done to myself. But I'm angry too—that he thinks I'm genuinely stupid enough to do this by accident. That's just insulting. I laugh, and the sound is cold.
"I didn't drink when I was Aurore. Maybe I had a sip of wine once, because, you know, French. But really? You think I'm that dumb? I knew what I was doing."
"Doesn't look like it," he replies, icy and unreadable.
"You know you can fall into a coma from alcohol poisoning, right? Especially when your body hasn't fully matured." I try to gesture at myself, but Ewald still has a firm grip on my arms, and I end up just wobbling again. He frowns.
"You mean you did this on purpose?"
"You don't know what it's like," I say quietly. "To never be able to sleep."
His contempt stings more than I'd expected. He looks away, jaw tight. He seems like he wants to say something—then doesn't. Instead, still calm, he says:
"Let's get you to your tower."
oOo
I follow Ewald like a zombie, silent, leaning heavily on his arm to keep myself upright. He walks slowly, without comment, adjusting to my pace. The nausea builds quickly, rising like a wave. Thankfully, luck is on my side for once—there's a bathroom just ahead. I manage to wriggle out of his grip and stumble into a stall just in time to empty the contents of my stomach. I don't know how I stayed upright all the way there. Probably some kind of miracle.
My throat is burning, and I'm trembling all over. I feel hot and cold at once, and there's still that sensation of being a puppet, disconnected from my own body. The tiles are cold against my cheek, and I can barely smell the loo. I'm a wreck, I know that. None of this makes any sense. What doesn't make sense? Everything. Life, existence, my actions. I'm pathetic, aren't I? I despise myself too. I want to just die. But I've already given Ewald enough to deal with without making him come scrape me off the bathroom floor. So I try to get up, but I fall, knocking into the side of the stall as I do. I barely even feel the impact. And honestly… I'm right where I belong, so I might as well stay.
A few knocks on the door barely register.
"Vivian? What's going on?"
"My body's giving me a hands-on lesson that shite belongs on the floor," I reply, with a faint snigger.
My friend cautiously opens the door. His brow is furrowed, and he looks none too pleased.
"You're not shite, Vivian."
I shake my head, bitter.
"Spare me the nonsense, I know exactly what you think. But don't worry, I agree with you. I know I'm pathetic. I know I completely deserve your contempt. Honestly, I don't even know why you're here. I'm not going to die anyway, we're at Hogwarts, they've got spells for that sort of thing. Seriously, just piss off."
The Slytherin sighs and crouches down to look me in the eye. His face no longer carries the same cold neutrality as before. There's something like pain in his eyes.
"I… misjudged the situation, Vivian. I'm sorry."
His words don't really make sense to me. I hate myself. I'm angry, too. Why doesn't he just go?
"I told you to fuck off!"
He flinches, and I instantly feel guilty. He reaches a hand out towards me, hesitantly, like he's afraid I'll push him away. But that's not something I'm even capable of doing—physically or emotionally.
"I misunderstood. I… I hate alcohol, and yes, it's true, I do feel contempt for people who drink so much they lose control. The ones who think it's funny to just act like idiots. And I don't approve of what you've done, not at all, but… I realised this is something else. It's not a game to you. This is another way for you to destroy yourself. You've turned self-destruction into a kind of art form, Vivian. I'm not going to leave you alone when you're in this state. And… I think we need to talk, don't we?"
His words hit me hard. He saw it… The way he said it—an art form. He actually understands. Because it's true, I do see a sort of refinement in my self-destruction. I always have. I put thought and effort into making it feel… complete. I've done so many different things over time, all while keeping these strange moral lines I won't cross—though, yeah, I'm toeing the line right now. Alcohol used to be one of my off-limits things. Same with drugs… And here I am, on the bathroom floor where I just threw up. And it would be a lie to say there isn't a twisted flicker of satisfaction in seeing what I've done to myself.
I shake my head wordlessly. I'm ashamed. Ashamed of myself, ashamed that he's seeing me like this. I don't deserve his friendship or his attention, and I'm wasting his time with my mess. He casts a Scourgify before helping me sit up. I want him to go, to leave me alone, but I also don't want to make things even harder for him, so I let him do what he needs to. I feel even more detached from my body now that I've surrendered control—like a doll, like a toy. He leads me to the sinks and makes me drink a good amount of water. He explains that Alphonse told him it helps with the hangover. I don't react. The world keeps spinning, and my head is nothing but a tangle of dizziness.
oOo
I don't remember the walk back, but the next conscious moment I have is when Ewald settles me in the tower. He Transfigures one of my crumpled-up school robes into a cushion, then gets me to sit on it, my back against the wall and his shoulder to stop me from slumping sideways. That simple touch makes tears spring to my eyes. I've got no control tonight. My emotions are as wobbly as my balance.
I don't know what sets them off, but suddenly the tears start falling freely down my cheeks, and they won't stop. My sobs come in violent, unstoppable waves, like floodgates bursting all at once. I hug my knees to my chest as tightly as I can. I feel so alone, all of a sudden. Isolated. I can't stop. The more I try to calm myself, the more I feel like I'm suffocating. Just like when I cry alone, and it turns into a panic attack. I feel Ewald shift beside me, hesitating. I want to curl up against him, to bury myself in his arms, but I'm not allowed. I don't deserve it. And anyway, he ought to hate me. He should have left already.
"Vivian, try to breathe with me, all right?"
I can feel the waves of calm he's sending me through our mental link, since I'm far too out of it to manage Occlumency on my own. But they bounce off the chaos of my emotions and don't reach me. Loneliness. Despair. Self-loathing. Pain. A longing for comfort. Contempt for myself, for that longing and for what I've become. For these weaknesses I'm showing.
"It… won't… stop!" I gasp in reply. "You… shouldn't… be… here."
All I want is a hug. I'm doing everything I can to avoid contact, curling up even tighter into myself. The loneliness is choking me as much as the sobbing.
"I'm here, Vivian. It will be fine. I'm not leaving you."
Ewald's voice is gentle.
It will be fine—it echoes inside me, the same thing I usually whisper to myself to calm down. I take a ragged breath.
"It will be fine. It will be fine It will be fine. It will be fine It will be fine. It will be fine. It will be fine. It will be fine It will be fine. It will be fine It will be fine. It will be fine It will be fine. It will be fine. It will be fine…"
I whisper it over and over, like a chant. My voice cracks and climbs into the higher registers as the tears keep pouring. I can feel the edge of madness again, the one I've stood on so many times before. I have no control left. I hate myself. I'm so sorry I'm putting Ewald through this.
"It will be fine. It will be fine… It will be fine. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It will be fine… I'm sorry."
I can't calm down. Ewald shifts closer, slowly. If he keeps coming closer, I don't know how I'll hold it together. He mustn't touch me. I'll only hurt him again. He just feels responsible for me. He should've gone. I'm so sorry. His arm comes around my shoulders with the softness of a bird ready to take flight at the slightest breeze. I fall silent at last. In despair, I press myself into him. He's going to push me away. He should push me away. But instead, he pulls me closer, his other arm wrapping around my waist, and I give in to the embrace. I press myself as close as I can, my head against his chest. I hold on to him so tightly it actually hurts. He's my only anchor in the storm of emotions raging through me. My sobs start to lose their violence. Little by little, my breathing begins to ease, while I soak his shirt with my tears.
Slowly, like calm returning after a storm, my breathing finally evens out, and at last the tears stop. But Ewald doesn't loosen his hold, and I make no move to pull away. His hand moves in calming circles on my back. We stay like that, silent, letting the tempest inside me pass. We stay like that until my body finally starts to realise that this position is uncomfortable. Only then do I begin to stir a little. He lets me move back slowly, until I'm sitting cross-legged in front of him. I leave my hand near his. I want him to take it. As if in response to the thought, his hand comes to rest on mine naturally, briefly squeezing my fingers as if to ask how I'm doing. I can't meet his gaze.
"I'm sorry," I finally manage to say.
"You don't have to be," he replies, patiently.
I shrug in a jerky motion.
"I'm wasting your time, you always have to look after me. You're not responsible for me, you're not obliged to do this, you should just leave. There's no point in you forcing yourself."
"What makes you think I'm forcing myself?"
He hasn't denied feeling responsible for me. I make a frustrated gesture. Isn't it obvious? Why does he want me to spell it out?
"I can tell you've been uncomfortable around me since that conversation with Alphonse. And anyway, I got completely smashed tonight, and you said yourself you hated that. Do I need to go on?" I clench my free hand into a fist, digging my short nails into my skin as hard as I can.
The Slytherin takes a deep breath.
"Taking care of you isn't a chore. You didn't drink to have fun, you said so yourself, and I should have guessed... I do know you. As for the conversation with Alphonse… I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd noticed. I… I wasn't ready to talk about it just then."
I lift my head a little, though I still can't bring myself to look at him directly. The fact that he's admitting I didn't imagine it lifts a weight I hadn't realised I was carrying. I don't really know what to say. I want to understand, but I'm afraid of scaring him off. The silence stretches for a few seconds before I finally ask:
"Did you really think I was going to kill myself?"
Ewald shifts slightly, clearly uncomfortable.
"No… But a part of me doubted, I think. And the whole situation reminded me too much of… that night, not to think about it. Vivian… I almost panicked. I trusted you, but… I was scared too. I didn't know how to say it, and afterwards I felt guilty for having doubted you. It was when Alphonse said how he felt that I realised I felt the same, and it just seemed… unfair that he managed to express it so easily. It's stupid, I know."
Those words hang in the air for a few moments, leaving me speechless. His vulnerability hits me right in the heart. I squeeze his hand in mine, unable to find any words. And then, I end up admitting—almost against my will:
"The distance hurt. Knowing something was wrong and pretending everything was fine… That's what happened with Jérémy." I feel Ewald flinch. "I—I don't mean it was the same..." I sigh. I don't feel like lying tonight. "I mean, in some ways it was similar, but not on the same level... It's just… I struggle so much with silence, pretending things are normal when they're not. Doubting myself all the time, wondering if I imagined it… But that's just how I am, and I'm an idiot for panicking over nothing. I'm too fragile," I spit bitterly.
"I should've been honest with you. I find it hard to express how I feel, but I could've made the effort to just say I wasn't ready to talk about it. You didn't do anything wrong."
Now it's my turn to squirm. I don't want him to force himself to act differently just for me, because I can't be patient, can't have enough empathy. Because I'm broken. I want to hug him. I'm scared he'll push me away. But in the end, I manage to ask, and he accepts without the slightest hesitation. Once I'm curled up against him again, I finally begin to calm down, taking deep breaths.
oOo
"You really scared me earlier."
It's barely a whisper, but it catches all of my attention. Awkwardly, I ask:
"When you saw me with the shard of glass?"
I feel the Slytherin tense slightly.
"No, but I still need to heal you—I completely forgot."
He breaks our embrace and I let him, reluctantly. He still keeps me close as he heals me, which helps more than he knows. As he moves his wand gently over my arm, he continues, without needing any prompting:
"The Bludger."
I don't understand at first, but then it hits me.
"When I caught the Snitch?"
I sense more than see him nod, and I feel a chill when I realise it happened right in front of the Slytherin stands. I don't exactly regret what I did, just...
"Sorry I scared you."
He doesn't miss the nuance.
"You almost took it straight to the head. That's one of the few things even Wizard medicine can't fix—though maybe the spells at Hogwarts might've saved you."
"But it didn't happen."
"I know… But you weren't completely in control of what you were doing."
I don't deny it. I don't want to lie to him tonight. Instead, perhaps still under the influence of the alcohol—like a truth serum—I confess, with some of the same fever that had seized me in the moment:
"I didn't know if I'd be able to dodge it. It was… The adrenaline in that moment, it was incredible. I don't know why I'm like this, but I was… fascinated. I know I'm messed up. I know. Maybe it's because I'm broken, but that moment was like a coin toss with death. It was thrilling… I can't explain it. And I know it's not what you wanted to hear, I'm sorry. But I don't want to lie to you."
Ewald's arms pull me back into him and he hugs me tight, saying nothing. I feel a bit guilty. At the same time, it feels good to say all this. To be honest. Eventually, he lets me go, though I stay leaning against him, my head on his shoulder.
"Thank you for your honesty," he says. "Tomorrow, will you let Arthur have a look at you? I think that Bludger came a bit too close."
I nod without protest. It doesn't hurt at the moment, but I know it hit my ribs and… I'd rather have Arthur check me over. He's going to get very good at healing magic at this rate, just from spending time with me!
We stay like that for a while longer, pressed up against each other without speaking, then he asks me:
"Why did you drink tonight?"
I sit up a little, sighing, before answering. I probably wouldn't have been so frank, so direct, under normal circumstances but this time I just spill everything.
"I didn't plan it. It's just that… Some seventh years had brought alcohol, and they gave a glass to each team member to celebrate the win. I… I never usually drink. It's sort of a rule I have. But I don't know, it was… the opportunity. I struggle to sleep, especially lately, and it's exhausting. I've tried loads of things. I tried strangling myself to pass out, didn't work… But recently I've been using the stunning spell, at least that's effective. The problem is I wake up once it wears off and it's rarely comfortable… And then I found myself with a glass of alcohol in my hand, and I remembered you can fall into an alcohol-induced coma if you drink too much. And the others seemed to think I wouldn't dare drink it. I know those aren't good reasons but… I'm broken. And I'm tired."
Ewald stiffens gradually as I speak.
"You stun yourself to sleep?"
I shrug, too uncomfortable to answer out loud. Ashamed, too, a bit.
"That can be really dangerous, Vivian. That kind of spell… You're not supposed to take it repeatedly."
I squirm where I sit. I'm not proud of myself.
"I don't do it every night… Well, lately it's been more often but I'll try to do it less, alright?"
"I'll brew you some dreamless sleep potion instead."
"I don't want to take drugs."
"And I don't want you risking damage to your intellectual abilities with such barbaric methods."
"It affects your intellectual abilities? Oh. I guess it's like boxers who take hits to the head all the time, right?"
"I suppose." sighs Ewald.
I feel stupid for not having thought of that earlier, and frustrated. Under those conditions, yes, I'll avoid stunning myself again.
"Why have you been doing it more lately?"
Ewald's question hits home, though at least it manages to make me forget my shame, but I don't really feel like answering. Still, I do anyway, because I know he won't let it go.
"I have more trouble… coping, when you… when you're distant."
"I see," he replies, in a neutral tone.
I hate myself. I don't want him thinking he's responsible.
"It's not your fault! It's just that…"
I don't know how to finish my sentence. That I need his help? That I miss his near-constant presence, like at Christmas? That he's become essential to my balance and that if he becomes cold towards me I don't know how to cope? He's waiting for me to finish, I know it. I sigh, then try to explain.
"There's just so much going on lately… I used to have balance, before, it was… It was easy to plan my death, to keep everyone at a distance, not to owe anything to anyone. I didn't have to ask myself questions. And now… Since you helped me unblock my memories, since I had to talk to you all about my past… After Christmas, after Quentin, and now this whole chest thing and Kayns still being on the loose… I can't cope any more. I've become fragile. I can't keep denying the attachment I have for you lot, and I don't know what to do. The slightest thing knocks me off balance."
A tear escapes me. As I wipe it away, with a furious swipe of my free hand, I realise that the glamour Alphonse cast has worn off. I know Ewald's noticed, but he doesn't say anything. Instead, he pulls me a little tighter into his arms again.
"You don't have to handle everything on your own any more, Vivian. I'm here. And you know the others are too. And I understand what it must be like, not having any points of reference any more. It's a lot to deal with. But I really do believe something good will come of all this. Upheaval always comes with change, and you're not alone."
I shake my head, amused despite myself.
"Are you sure you're not Arthur under Polyjuice?"
The offended noise from the green-and-silver boy makes me let out a small giggle, even if I quickly go back to being serious.
"I'm rubbish at saying that kind of stuff, I know. But I mean it. I know it's not pleasant right now, but I really do think it's worth it. I'm selfish, Vivian. I prefer a world where you stay in my life."
From his posture, I know he isn't looking at me as he says it. A surge of emotion rises in me, almost painful. I don't deserve him. I love him. I feel like crying again. Unexpectedly, a wave of guilt crashes over me. This is the friendship I nearly spat on at Christmas. I didn't even stop my hand for his sake, even though he's here, more real than any ghost from the past. In that moment, the faces of Arthur and Alphonse—who risked so much by breaking the Statute of Secrecy for me—are just as present in my mind.
I don't have time to wallow in my guilt, however, because Ewald's hand lands on my arm, his fingers tracing the lines of my most recent injuries, stark red against the mesh of white and pink on my forearms. He breathes in deeply before speaking.
"We need to talk about this, too."
I tense up. I'm still against him, my back to his chest, sitting between his legs. I'm grateful that from this position I can't see his face.
"I'm not sure what there is to say."
"I've thought about it a lot, you know?"
He leans forward, picking up a blade that was on the floor near one of my piles of clothes. The movement dislodges me, and I shift away a little to face him again, still holding his free hand in mine. He keeps the blade between his fingers, and I feel a mix of emotions. I'm scared of what he might say as much as of what he might do. Jumbled together are memories of his hand bleeding after gripping a blade like that in his fist, the fear that he might vanish all my blades with a flick of his wand, the fear he'll despise me, the fear he'll demand something I can't manage...
"I've thought a lot about what Alphonse said, too."
"Alphonse talks a lot of rubbish," I cut in, desperately hoping he's not referring to what I know he's referring to.
"He wasn't entirely wrong, factually. You hurt yourself less over Christmas, whereas in the two months I distanced myself from you... Alphonse and Arthur both told me a few things they saw, and I know full well they didn't see much."
His words chill me. There are too many things wrong with that. Well—two, really—and the thought that wins the race is:
"You're not responsible for what I do to myself!"
The Slytherin gives me a sad smile.
"I know. But I still might have some influence, right?"
I squirm slightly. Right on target for that second point:
"Oh, for sure—when you took all my blades and had me watched by an elf, it was harder for me. But putting limits on me just makes the urge stronger. And you don't have the right to do that. I… I don't know how to put it, but if you take away my freedom, I'll end up hating you."
The very idea of being under surveillance again fills me with disproportionate rage. Ewald doesn't seem surprised, though, and he nods.
"I'm well aware. And it's not my role, anyway. Christmas was a special case, and I mostly wanted to stop you from dying. As for the cutting… the only reason I'd ever take those kinds of steps again would be if you asked me to. You have to want to stop for yourself, or it won't mean anything."
I don't deny the truth of that, choosing instead to focus on something else.
"So why mention your influence?" I ask, a little wary.
The expression that passes over his face is one I rarely see. He's embarrassed.
"I feel like you hurt yourself more when… Well… My behaviour towards you contributes to..."—he sighs in frustration before continuing more clearly—"If you harmed yourself more when I pulled away, if our relationship is part of your stability, then I have some influence on that."
I don't know what to say right away, but quickly I point out the obvious:
"There is no way our relationship becomes some kind of emotional blackmail."
"I agree, don't worry. That wouldn't be healthy. But what the whole thing with Alphonse showed—and before that, the time I distanced myself—is that with a bit better communication, we could already avoid a lot of issues."
"You don't have to change how you act for me."
"I'm not doing it for you. I'm doing it for me, first and foremost. I doubt my communication issues are limited to just this relationship."
I don't really know what to say to that.
"Coming back to the self-harm… I hate that you do that, Vivian. It hurts me to see your pain. I know it's selfish, but I really do want you to stop. And beyond that, it's just fundamentally bad—to hurt yourself on purpose. Even if it helps."
I give a frozen smile. I feel guilty again. My whole way of functioning is messed up—I know that—but right now I want to cut because I feel bad for hurting him. And at the same time… it does me good to hear him say it, stated clearly. That he doesn't want me to. It's one thing for it to be obvious. It's another to actually hear it.
"I'm sorry," I say anyway. "I… I know I do it less when I'm doing better, in phases, but I'm not ready to stop."
"I know," my friend sighs. "And you don't have to apologise, we both know that… And I probably shouldn't even say all this, because it's just making you feel guilty."
"It helps to hear it," I admit. "And it's important for you to communicate, right?" I add, teasingly.
Ewald shakes his head in amusement before his gaze returns to the blade still in his hand. He suddenly looks thoughtful, more tense. I don't like it.
"What is it?" I ask.
"I'm not sure I should tell you," Ewald sighs.
One look at my expression must be enough to convince him I won't let it go, though, because he sighs again before admitting, eyes averted:
"I thought about hurting myself every time you did."
He doesn't look at me as he says it. My heart sinks.
"You can't do that!" The panic is plain in my voice—I don't care. Just the thought of Ewald cutting himself, because of me—it drives me mad.
"I know. I won't. It just… crossed my mind," Ewald tries to reassure me. After a final glance at the blade in his hand, he hurls it across the room with force.
"Like I said, you have to stop, for yourself. Blackmail helps no one. I don't need to hurt myself. That would also be a way of taking something that doesn't belong to me, in a way. But… I just don't know how to help you, Vivian. I feel so helpless."
The punch I give his shoulder isn't planned. Before he can protest, I throw my arms around him again, tightly. For once, I don't feel guilty about not asking for permission. I just feel guilty that my behaviour could make him think such things.
"You help me so much," I whisper to him. "You understand me, you're here for me, even though I don't understand why you're still hanging around with me. You're always there, doing what you can, even if it means breaking the law. You… you're my best friend, Ewald."
I don't know what else to say, I can't really put into words the whirlwind of thoughts like tornadoes in my head. Silence lingers between us for a few moments, before the green-and-silver sighs, shifting slightly.
"Just try to… hold back when you can, alright? When you're with me, talk to me instead—don't hurt yourself… And let me, or Arthur, heal you when we can. That's all I can ask."
I don't particularly like what he's asking, but I understand. I answer, reluctantly:
"I can't promise you anything. But… I'll try."
"Thank you, Vivian," he sighs, squeezing my shoulder.
The touch comforts me, and I give him a timid smile. He smiles back, then casts a Tempus. It's past midnight.
"I think we ought to try and get some sleep—it's really late."
"I suppose so," I reply, trying to sound agreeable.
I don't want him to go. I'm scared to be alone. And his warmth felt good. Talking felt good. I know he's right, though—I'm exhausted, and the alcohol doesn't fully explain how I feel. He stands, taking a moment to dust himself off before offering me his hand to help me up. I feel like crying.
"Are you alright?"
I look away.
"Would you… mind staying here tonight?" I ask, shyly.
"Of course."
He gives my shoulder a brief squeeze before removing his wizard's cloak, which he transfigures into a hammock. He hangs it beside mine, just like the night I tried to kill myself. Reassured, I take off my shoes and lie down in my hammock, managing to keep my balance with his help. He takes off his own shoes, transfigures his uniform into something more comfortable, then lies down beside me. At last, he extinguishes the light with a flick of his wand.
I don't need to ask him to hold my hand, because our fingers find each other without a word.
"Will you be alright, Vivian?"
"Yes. Thank you for being here."
"There's nowhere else I'd rather be," my friend assures me, so softly I'm not sure I heard him right. "Good night, Vivian."
"Good night, Ewald."
oOo
I'm so grateful to have been able to talk like this, for his presence by my side. My heart feels swollen with too much affection, in this moment. I don't know why he stays like this, and I don't know if I'll ever be able to return the favour. In a few months, he'll have left Hogwarts. The thought gives me pause. It's not the first time I've thought of it, but tonight, it hurts even more. In a few months, Arthur and he will carry on with their lives, far from here. Next year, it'll be Alphonse's turn, and I'll be left behind. I know how it goes. I died, once, and Quentin is an adult now—he has a job, a girlfriend, a life. The others too. Maëva, Elias, Florian… Mélanie as well, no doubt. My life stopped, like it was frozen in time.
A tear escapes me. I try not to panic, but it's hard. I'd only just begun to find a bit of balance, to enjoy… some things, even if I wasn't happy to be alive. And now, realising with clarity what I'm going to lose, I see that this evening has shown me something. That maybe I had a path, something. Maybe growing up alongside my friends might have led me to a life I could have liked. But my body is eleven years old. And my time with them is running out.
"Vivian? What is it?"
I must have tensed without realising. I didn't want to disturb him. But his question is enough to open the floodgates again, and my crying becomes more violent. Ewald sits up and casts a very soft Lumos. He squeezes my hand in his, but doesn't seem to know what else to do as I try to calm myself down. It hurts. Still, I manage to stop crying. I owe him an explanation. But before that, I ask if he'd give me a hug, and when he agrees, I hold him tightly in my arms, unable to stop myself from thinking that soon, this won't be possible any more. Then I sit back in my hammock, him in his. My hand finds his again, and I draw strength from the contact to tell him everything.
"I was thinking again about the fact that you and Arthur will be leaving Hogwarts in a few months. I… I'll be left behind again while you go on with your lives and… and I'm going to miss you."
Ewald's expression darkens slightly. His thumb gently strokes the back of my hand, as though to soothe me.
"You're part of our lives, Vivian. Even if we leave Hogwarts, it doesn't mean we won't see each other again."
It's comforting to hear, even if it doesn't really reassure me.
"Since I found Quentin again… we write to each other, but even though there's still affection between us… I don't belong in his world any more. I'm… I'm still a lost seventeen-year-old in my head, while he's an adult. He has a life. All the people I knew have built lives for themselves, and I… I'm still stuck in the same place." I sniff, then carry on. "Even if we stay in touch… and I don't want to lose touch! It won't be the same. You'll discover so many new things, and my world will seem tiny to you. You'll keep growing, and I'll be left behind. And I'll always be wondering: how long before you let go of the dead weight I am so you can fully live your adult life?"
I can feel Ewald weighing his response carefully before speaking. His finger continues to trace soft patterns across the back of my hand, and I try not to panic.
"It's undeniable that us leaving Hogwarts will be a big change, for our lives and for our relationship. Of course, we'll need to find a new balance. But you'll still be part of it, Vivian. You're… you're very important to me. And you are to Arthur as well. You know that. And you'll graduate, too, in a few years. Maybe even early—why not? You're capable of it."
"Is that possible?"
"You can ask to sit the exams for the year above yours at the same time as your own, I think. I believe your parents have to agree, but yes, I think it's doable."
I mull over the idea for a few moments. I'll look into it. As for the rest… I'm still afraid, but Ewald has managed to soothe me a little. Still, I ask him:
"Are you sure you'll want to stay in touch with me?"
"Is that so hard to believe?"
"It's just that… I don't understand why you care so much about me. Do you feel responsible? Obliged? I don't bring you anything, and yet you're always helping me."
The gentle stroking stops suddenly, and I'm afraid of how Ewald might react. His face shows a flicker of pain in the wand light, before it shifts into something more resolute. He seems to search briefly for his words before he begins:
"Vivian. Aurore." The use of my old name grabs my full attention. "There are three people who've shaped my life more than anyone else. My mother—and to a lesser extent, my grandmother. She was the most important person in my childhood and remains central in my life. Then there's Arthur, who taught me what friendship is. He was my first friend. He's my best friend. He introduced me to so many things." He searches my gaze to make sure I'm listening, even though I can sense this is hard for him. He has all of my attention. "And then… there's you. You taught me what it means to truly trust someone. You were the first person I ever told everything about my parents. The only person I have a mental bond with. We can understand each other in a way that's not possible with anyone else. We've both been through pain—maybe that's why. We haven't even known each other for a full year, but you've already changed my life. I also owe you my mother's smile, in a way. So no, I don't care about you because I feel responsible. I care about you because you're one of the people who matter most to me."
After his confession, I have no reply. My heart feels like it's going to burst, so full of gratitude and affection. I feel like I don't deserve anything he's said—but I can't bring myself to doubt it either. Instead, we embrace again, for a long while. I can feel my fears slowly calming. They'll come back tomorrow, no doubt, but for now I'm at peace. I'm happy to be beside him, and so incredibly grateful…
"I love you."
I have no other words to express everything swirling inside me, and those words are enough to say it all.
oOo
Pour toi j'obscurcirai le ciel de cendres
Je laverai le monde de sang
J'asservirai le fond de toute âme
Je t'offrirai à toi seul le mot liberté
Pour toi je changerai le monde
Je ferai disparaître les fortunes
J'abolirai les frontières
Aplanirai les sentes*
oOo
*For you I would darken the sky with ash
I would wash the world in blood
I would enslave the depths of every soul
I would offer you alone the word 'freedom'
For you I would change the world
I would make fortunes disappear
I would abolish borders
And smooth the paths ahead
-Poem written by Aurore Berger while thinking of Quentin Lemage-
I think that it was a very necessary conversation between Ewald and Vivian, and I really like how the chapter turned out. Let me know what you think!