"All I wished for was to not be a Slytherin. Pure blood supremacy was woven into the material of those jade coloured ties and I would rather strangle myself with one than wear it."
After returning from her time spent on the run, Lyra, unruly, sarcas...
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-Draco Malfoy- It got better. Or what I thought better was. What better could be. Minutes felt less like hours, and hours less like days. And sometimes, if I didn't think too hard, I could no longer see his face, his laughing face falling through the veil, when I closed my eyes.
Our late night conversations in the astronomy tower and long chats in the empty quidditch stands helped. They really did. We even snuck into the Emerald estate at weekends, spent spring afternoons, that turned into sweet, sunny evenings, at Emeralds hideout in the trees. It was peaceful there, and we were away from it all. It was here were we could be children again. Not assassins or criminals of our dynasties. It was now I began to understand why she had spent the majority of her childhood here, alone yet not lonely at all. It was here were we could really say anything, and it wouldn't be harsh or loud. It was as though anything said in her woods sounded gentle, calm, mirroring the melody of the birdsong and hum of the breeze as it sailed through the long grass.
But what helped me the most was not as innocent as the rushing stream or lazy afternoons, it was the silently slipped substances I incoherently gave into.
Emerald didn't know, but Crabbe and Goyle and there little drug deals were becoming more and more frequent. But I wasn't the only one.
Pills I would only take for parties became a daily dose of relaxation, a medicine for capsulated numbness. That, and Emerald was just enough to get me through the day. I also carried my monogrammed hip flask around more often than I would like to admit.
But it wasn't hurting anyone. Maybe just myself. But the short term effects were far from hurting and I needed that right now. I didn't want to hurt anymore.
And although Emerald had been by my side I was still drowning in the depth of my aloneness. Although she saw through the facade months ago, I'm still waiting for her to run.
It's only a matter of time.
It was nearly June, and we were sat in what I had renamed 'the grove'. Emerald was leaning back on the roots of an ancient oak, her freckled face in the shade and green eyes shut as she dozed in the remains of the setting summer sun. I was sat, on the river bank, the ends of my trousers rolled up and my feet in the cool running water.
2 months ago I would have laughed at my current position. But now it was different, it was all about making the most of the time we had left; before the metier stuck the earth, destroying everything in its path.
I turned around to face Emerald. In this light she was more beautiful than ever, like a natural goddess born by the river. The sun broke through the foliage above, speckling rays of broken light onto her fair, freckled complexion, and dancing on her auburn curls; curls that were growing lighter by the day. Like a tree, she would say.
But it was too easy being here in the harmony of it all. And it couldn't last.
Emerald was like a huge umbrella in a rainstorm that was never going to end, a parallel in an otherwise isolated world. However it wasn't the reflection of myself I saw in her that drew us together; it was something else entirely.
