Phases (editing)

twenty nine

AN- Chapter songs: Leni by Goodbooks, One More Hour by Tame Impala

9th February 1996

Waning Crescent

Death used to hold meaning

Until it stuck by my side like a shadow during the hours of the sun.

The tasks that were once bearable turned excruciating as my sheets grew cold. I hated the cold, it reminded me of the hole I carved in the lives of many. Last week marked one month of the search and the heads that once bowed from simple mourning turned up with the rise of the days following. My head was heavy and grew doubtful of the 90th degree that has become a stranger. I hated the people that found companionship in the 90th degree, it told me that they never truly cared for what was lost; or maybe, my guilt overpowered the acceptance that stood idle.

Parkinson and Zabini were refusing to interact with me, due to foreseen circumstances; which I don't find justified, for the blame of Theo's circumstances were not held upon me solely. I'd rather be hit with a million Cruciatus Curses than endure the fate I found upon myself.

Yet, I spent more time attempting to determine if I was the bomb self-destructing or if I was the carrier.

"Make it bloody good, Potter." I drawled. Potter forced me down many flights of stairs to meet in the boat house. I'd be forced to shake my head aggressively in order to fathom a single rational ideology as to why this scenario is occurring.

Potter's face morphed to the most idiotic attempt at sincerity. Every organ in my torso would've fallen to my feet if he didn't look at me with puppy eyes behind the thickest glasses I have ever seen. "Malfoy," he says, "there's no easy way to convey this."

"Just-" I say, "just say it. I don't want sugar and pixies."

He releases a deep sigh and digs a hand into his school robes, revealing a letter with the envelope already torn. My heart began to race as he set it on the counter and slid it towards me slowly. Then my eyes went wide as they jumped between the parchment and his glass-covered eyes that gave me no hints about the content.

I took a shaky hand to the letter and lifted it from the counter.

"Hedwig brought it to me this morning," he explained, "Remus sent the message from Padfoot."

"I got it, Potter," I snapped with mild patience, "I'm about to read the bloody letter."

I watched his lips press into a line and his stupid hands fly into the air with his defences. I felt my lungs take a sharp intake as my hands ripped the letter out from its paper cage. Truly hoping to whatever god is listening that there are step-by-step directions to Aspen attached to a treasure map.

To the glass half-full side of my brain, I figured disappointment; if it weren't for the self-programmed realigned expectations, I'd probably find myself like Nott more often. Then again, when you expect disappointment, the blow to your fragile heart decreases tremendously.

Harry,

I sent word to the Order, and as the Lewis line is protected under the promise of the Phoenix, they sent out to fulfil such. Unfortunately, our efforts turned inconclusive. What I can offer you is the information that turned up.

Following Christmas, Aspen Lewis was alone in muggle Swindon and disappeared into thin air. The charts however showed a spark in magic for the precise area she was last seen and seeing as the underage wand registry shows her wand as dormant from that particular day, there is a missing piece to the puzzle. On the downside, the records intercepted by our people found no correlation between the Lewis case and spells flagged by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.