𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓡𝓪𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓟𝓸𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷𝓼: ǟ ʀɛǟʟɨȶʏ ֆɦɨʄȶɨռɢ ȶǟʟɛ ✤ ֆɛʋɛʀʊʂ ҳ օƈ

𝑊𝑒 𝐺𝑜 𝑇𝑜𝑔𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟

Christmas lurked by. Day by day, her mind rewired itself into a self-isolation. Frog'appella's songs carried a merriness that seemed fleeting by the last measures. Wrapped in her cloak, she watched them rehearse, watch them perform. Invisible.

Distant.

While peace lasts, you cannot enjoy it. Knowing the ultimate trial awaits.

Niamh would miss it. The comfort of the hammock, the simple nook the Room generously manifested. Oak. Dumbledore's Army. Neville. Ginny.

Severus.

Niamh, dipped the last spectacle in her cauldron.

That wasn't to say Luna hadn't suffered. Her own art set, her feathered and furry friends, her dorm. They both had to surrender it all.

Luna simply believed in living in the present. Cherishing all the lasted. At least, she convinced that to Niamh outwardly.

Tapping the lenses gently over the rim, Niamh gently wiped a soft cloth along the spectacles. Green drips stained the white fabric of the cloth. Peering through the glass, the lenses viewed crystal clear.

Hasty, energized voices whispered outside the Room. Celebrating the escape from tyranny, from the demoralizing atmosphere that Hogwarts had become.

Niamh regretted telling Luna. Every day. Oblivion was the most blissful state. Surrendering to the unknown: you might survive, you might not.

. . . who do not tax their lives in forethought of grief . . .

The old song, sang in the future and past, for once felt present.

Present.

Yet knowledge was trust. And trust, well, something of hope.

For a time I rest in the grace of the world.

Bells clanged. Students emerged, their laughs bright for the first time this season.

"Evanesco."

Niamh rubbed a thumb along the quartz. The weight of the antidote still filled to the brim, transparent and pure as it always had been.

Neville, followed by Ginny and the others, grabbed their beanbags. Encircling Niamh's lab table, filled with the seemingly ordinary, trendy spectacles.

"Hey."

"Hey."

She took a good look at everyone. Neville's clear, healthy gaze. Ginny's softened expression.

She prayed they remained so. Preventing the hardened jaws; the blackened eye.

She prayed upon miracles. Miracles that she left them with enough.

The last lesson.

The silent farewell.

Cho eased a blue spectacle on her palm. She arched her hand backward, examining the lenses. "Occlumency spectacles. So long as we wear them, our memories remain hidden."

"That's right," said Niamh softly. Her brown eyes gazed softly at them. "Or to see what they desire to see. A truth nonexistent."

"Is it so simple?" Ginny smiled.

"Use them sparingly. Actively practice the art of Occlumency with and without them. For one day, do not expect to depend on lenses in the face of great adversity."

"You'll wear one too?" Lavender asked.

Niamh dove her hands into her pocket. She withdrew the blue-rimmed spectacle.