honeysuckle. (cedric diggory.)

epilogue. ( post-war. )

The thing is
to love life, to love it even
when you have no stomach for it
and everything you've held dear
crumbles like burnt paper in your
hands,
your throat filled with the silt of it.
When grief sits with you, its tropical
heat
thickening the air, heavy as water
more fit for gills than lungs;
when grief weights you like your own
flesh
only more of it, an obesity of grief,
you think, How can a body withstand
this?
Then you hold life like a face
between your palms, a plain face,
no charming smile, no violet eyes,
and you say, yes, I will take you
I will love you, again.
— Ellen Bass

❁ ❁ ❁

6 YEARS AFTER THE MAZE.
3 YEARS AFTER THE WAR.

❁ ❁ ❁

"JUMPING JELLYBEANS!" Elaine swore as she hiked herself up yet another flight of stairs. It was a good thing she wasn't afraid of heights ( only of depths ), or she likely would've passed out approximately 50 flights ago. As it was, she was quite out of breath — but that was likely due to the change in altitude more than the fact that the most exercising she does in a week is walking back and forth between her oven and her bed! ( Let it be known it wasn't actually much of an altitude change. ) "Holy fudge, this had better be worth it."

"Seriously, Elaine. Just fucking curse like the rest of us. Jesus Fucking Christ, and whatnot." Blake's fingers were soft upon her elbow as he steadied her step, sensing that she was about to wobble before she actually even lost her balance. The mark of a true, lengthy friendship — your friends develop a Clutz-O-Meter that may, once in a while, save you from an embarrassing tumble.

True to herself, Elaine's ankle began to turn, and she leaned heavily into Blake's smoky warmth to avoid certain death.

"Darling, can you watch your fucking language?" came Milo from Elaine's other side, almost as out of breath as she was. ( Curse Blake for developing a fondness for boxing and thus developing superhuman lung capacity. Making the mere mortals who had forsaken any form of physical activity look bad. )

"Oh, shit. I forgot about the bloody baby."

Elaine halted halfway up the staircase to pin them both with a steely glare that had taken her years to finally perfect. ( Nothing like bringing your lover back from the dead, surviving a war, and attending numerous funerals for some of your closest loved ones to steel a girl up! And becoming a mother, of course! )

She wrapped her arms protectively around the child strapped to her chest. "Benji's first word is probably going to be something completely vulgar at this rate. We never should have made you godfathers. We should've asked Lucien — or Harry!"

Blake raised his chin in a gesture of offense. "Benji's first word is going to be dada or, I don't know fuck all, biscuit? Some dumb shit anyway. Benji'd do better staying true to his uncle's sailor mouth!"