AFRAID OF ANGELS - HP Fanfiction

017 - Crowds & Sobs

"And this that you call solitude is in fact a big crowd."

― Dejan Stojanovic

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The only word that came to mind when Ivy saw the Quidditch World Cup's camping site was 'crowded'.

Miles upon miles of grassy plains were completely covered with tents, each and every one of them tightly linked together, as if leaving so much as a cranny between them was a sin.
It was an absolute nightmare.

Ivy was convinced she had never seen so many people reunited in the same place, let alone in her entire life. Her ears picked up languages and dialects she never knew existed, while her eyes couldn't settle on a familiar sight to calm her nerves.

Everything felt so foreign, and for the first time since what seemed like forever, Ivy felt anxious.
It was a feeling she had tightly locked inside her ribbed cage, down within the pits of her heart.

Nothing good ever came out of being anxious, it made you clumsy, flimsy and most of all, restless.

Anxiety was the emotion Ivy was the least comfortable with; she never felt so out of control, so out of focus.

Perhaps it was because fear wasn't something Ivy felt anymore.

Fearing something you know about, is nothing like not knowing what to fear. It seems as if you are walking inside dense fog, not sure where you are, nor where you're heading. One step could potentially lead you to your death and it's this apprehension that weighs you down.

For the first time since the train ride to Hogwarts' when a dementor tried to suck out her soul, Ivy felt her carefully built mental walls crumbling down.

When she should be tightening them, not sure when a threat could arise, they had fallen to the ground, leaving her completely defenseless.

Because in this magical world where injuries can be healed with a flick of the wrist, the most dangerous attacks are ones aiming for your psyche.

Ivy's inner turmoil might've gone unnoticed by her friends, but it surely did not go unseen by Arthur Weasley.

Having played a role in a devastating war and seeing his comrades fall one after the other to the hands of evil, but mostly themselves, Ivy's unsettled gaze and shaking pupils where all too familiar.

It was the eyes of someone who awaited a threat at every corner―usually always ready to fight back―suddenly thrown into an unfamiliar setting where death seemed to loom from above, as if omnipresent.
While the twins raided the fridge inside the magical tent,
Ivy had to forcibly remember how to breathe.

While Ginny and Hermione unpacked,
Ivy had to hold her own hand back from gripping at her throat.

While Harry marvelled at magic's seemingly endless potential,
Ivy feared she would pass out any moment, her lungs no longer filling up with air.

Arthur knew for a young wizard to have a panic attack was a serious safety hazard. Accidental magic wasn't uncommon, and when threatened, nothing could assure it wouldn't be deadly.

His eyes settled on Ivy's trembling hands, noticing small sparks leaving them.

She's going to hurt herself.

Although, Arthur had to admit he didn't particularly think this through, he still cupped her burning hands in his, trying to keep them away from her neck as gently as he could.

Ivy's unfocused eyes turned clear in an instant, as if something in her being snapped and her instincts finally found a threat they could identify.

"Don't touch me," she seethed with labored breath, her furious eyes settling on their hands.

He did as told. "Ivy, it's hard to breathe, isn't it? Follow my rhythm, okay?"

Arthur didn't get a response, but that didn't stop him. He wanted to help Ivy- no, he needed to help Ivy.
 
"Breathe In..."

In his mind, Ivy's figure was replaced by Ginny's, panicked and trembling. He couldn't imagine what she went through when Voldemort possessed her, how afraid she must've been.

"Breathe Out..."

And through it all, she hadn't told anyone- not her mother, not her brothers, not even himself- and soon he felt the familiar feeling of guilt bubbling inside him.

"Breathe In.."

Focusing on your own breathing always has the same effect, reducing the overwhelming emotions, even if that means making them overflow.

He felt tears prick his eyes and he wondered how long it had last been. Like anyone who was part of The Order back then, he had long lost the ability to cry, so why now? Why now of all times?

Arthur Weasley was too lost in thought to notice, with his blurry sight, or too tired to feel, with his own trembling body, Ivy's now cold hands holding his own.

She was still trembling slightly, but for some reason, she knew that would be the case for a little while.

"Mr. Weasley?"

"I'm sorry, I-"

"Why are you sorry?" Ivy whispered, her own voice feeble from her sore throat. "Did you do anything wrong?"

"What- No, I didn't."

"Then don't be sorry. There's nothing wrong with crying, actually, in numerous ways, it's better to cry than not to."

Arthur had noticed the tinge of self-deprecation, his mental alarms blaring.

"Ivy," he cautiously started, "can you not cry?"

The man's words seemed to physically slap her in the face, her previously half-lidded eyes now widened and alert, before she felt her body relax.

Her body's reaction surprised her more than Mr. Weasley's words, and quickly enough, she spoke, "I can't."

When her answer reached his ears, he was once again submerged with sobs. The tears now free-falling from his eyes.

Why was he being so emotional? What was wrong with him?

"It's not your fault Mr. Weasley, why are you crying?"

Yeah, why was he crying?

Had Arthur Weasley reached deeper into his subconscious, trying to understand his body's physical response, he would've realized there was only very few answers as to why Ivy didn't cry.

She either lived in a situation of ease, had a physiological inability to cry and/or feel sadness, or lastly, she had lost the ability to do so.

Deep down, Arthur's instincts knew the latter was much more accurate, and his heart ached for the poor girl who's lived through just as much, if not more, than himself and his war comrades.