House of The Rising Sun

Chapter Seven

Then

Macaria wasn't sure when her mother had figured it out.

When she had finally connected all the dots of the mysterious boy who'd gone and broken her heart time and time again, even though she wasn't sure she'd recovered from the beginning of it all. When she'd asked why someone like Narcissa would continue to owl her, to send her books, to send her heavy envelopes of official looking parchments.

Kora had had enough of it all and finally won over her husband enough to move them back to the States. It was more than halfway through Sixth year and Macaria was almost grateful to not have to look at Draco or anyone else who didn't care for her existence any longer. Though, his ghostly appearance throughout the year had her wondering if he would simply fade into nothing by the end of it. She didn't have to track his behavior any longer, but she found herself wondering about the strange and dark events at the school. If he had anything to do with them.

Ilvermorny felt like a strange dream - each day back like she wasn't in the right place and was just a strange, older version of when she had left. Transfers were unusual in any regard, but her coming back was again overshadowed by something greater. The unrest in Wizarding Britain was enough of an excuse. Her mother gave a knowing look each time the Death Eaters were mentioned - as if she knew how much Macaria wanted to ask him to leave it all behind.

Her parents began to grow as restless as she felt, questioning her future so often in frequent letters to the school that she began to avoid any of their questions. Responding curtly and to the point. Eventually, they stopped asking.

The death of Albus Dumbledore sent Wizarding Statesmen into a frenzy, those pushing for action from M.A.C.U.S.A. in stopping the rise of Voldemort.

They did nothing. Macaria didn't know whether or not to be relieved.

She had a thought trembling in the back of her mind, pestering her in its familiar dread that she found herself penning an incredibly informal owl to the one person still talking to her from across the pond.

Tell me it wasn't him.

The reply came days later, on the same sheet of parchment, an elegant scrawl just a few inches below her own.

Failure is consistent in this line. Owls are too easily intercepted. Use your talents.

It'll go both ways. Be safe.

She breathed a sigh of relief, worried for the immediate future all the same. She pondered the rest of the note, if she was clever enough to communicate in the way she needed to, if she was any use from the confines of her parents home.

Then, she asked to spend the summer in New Orleans with her Wampus friend, Athalie.

Athalie was a year ahead of her in school and ready to take over the family shop down south. The flat above the store had two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a small kitchen.

She thought it couldn't be more perfect.

Macaria did her best to enjoy the warmth and pleasant nature of the city, yet still allowed the strain of all she needed to do pull her mood down with each passing day. It was even worse when she realized the ache in her heart wasn't just worry, but that she missed him. That fact alone sent her into a spiral of how she could possibly miss someone who had never treated her as anything more than a distraction, who had made snide comments and relentlessly antagonized her former friends. The one who had made her crave his attention enough to lose the boy she had genuinely loved.