With a jingle in my head, I floated around the perimeter of the Ravenclaw Common Room. Curiosity intrigued me to head out into the Great Hall; the faces had changed, but the feeling remained. The excitement in each pair of eyes and the surprise of a cold chill running through each cord in your spine. Though I haven’t felt the latter in a while, I acknowledge my dislike towards the unknown and the unseen. Maybe that’s why I did not fade as my mother did; Maybe that’s the reason I am visible and yet, so transparent.
I left the hall after the Sorting ceremony to find some quiet before the children were to come up. As I progressed towards the opposite direction of the Slytherin common room, some gravitational force pulled me back. I felt a familiar shaft of wind graze the wisps of my gown. I turned to see the face belonging to those loud, melodious shackles. He was still charming, with the chains around his neck, the burden of my death on his conscience. I’d forgiven him centuries ago, but he was unaware.
He whispered hello; how each movement from his lips expressed so much concealed thought. I replied with a smile.
I remembered the date in my mental calendar; it was not hard to compare this conversation to our first. Then too, it was September the 1st, the year being far before comprehension. We entered Hogwarts as two wizards; one was the daughter of Ravenclaw and the other was a son of a wealthy baron. He was a half blood and he was friendly. The heart within my eleven years old self began to flutter. Maybe that meant something to us. The fluttering, the nervous tension entranced these youth who had just begun to learn. We were never that philosophical then. How so much changes with time.
Uncle Salazar had chosen to take him under his wing, while my mother insisted I remain under hers. The young baron and I, we never really spoke again for our first years at Hogwarts, as it was strictly competition between the four houses. Our adolescent years were filled with emotions too unclear, too inappropriate to mention to one another anyway. A wintery morning at Hogsmeade put life into a different perspective for me. It was our fifth year, and he broke our silence. His hands were soft, and his persona was so much more welcoming than the impression of himself he gave the rest of the world. The impression he still gives off. Gossip was a mere hurdle for me; I was happy when I touched him and held him close. He made me smile, but my mother was not pleased. That added to my sense of individuality and convinced me to continue amusing her heart.
He was in love by our seventh year, but I was not ready. The shadow of my mother and her achievements were overbearing, too dominant for my liking. I ran away with her diadem, but he found me in Albania. We lay down in the forest; our bodies entangled sharing new found warmth. He broke our unity and knelt in front of my vulnerable figure. It broke my heart to say no to the man. I did not want to return and I did not want to marry him. Not yet. But to reason with his anger is impossible. His impulsive nature was attractive to me once. Unfortunately, a knife was all it took to end my life and tear his soul. A lovesick romantic couldn’t have ended our lives in a better plot.
Was he speaking? Ah, reminiscing was becoming a hobby of mine.
“I just want to clear up some thoughts that we might have about one another” he said. He wanted to meet in the forbidden forest. My eighteen year old lover was becoming visible through his faint glow. I asked him for ten minutes, though I’d spent years in preparation for this one conversation.
~*x*~
As a wolf howled in the distance, I found myself beside a tree staring into the eyes of my murderer. My beautiful murderer. Would we be able to touch as we used to? I wanted to feel his heartbeat; the fact that it did not exist hurt me. He came closer; our halos began to embrace each other. We could touch, but we could not lean or rely on one’s shoulder. We’d just fall through and therefore, we were compelled to separate. A soft moan left my throat as I covered my mouth. Is this what reunion does to you? I adjusted my posture.
He began to open his mouth to speak. I began to listen. His chains were slowly fading off his pale composure. I took initiative and breathed out my phrase.
“I forgave you years ago”
The chains around his left wrist disappeared. He took my hand, reminding me that though we could not conjoin, we could still hold on to one another.
“But, do you still love me?”
If it’s possible, I stopped breathing.
Forests of Connection by Albus Bumblebee
Chapter Notes: Her perspective: