While the Gods Ache

𝑶𝒏𝒆: 𝑭𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒊𝒂

August 24, 1978

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

𝑪𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒂

      The tear stains dried hours ago, but the trembling refused to abandon me. A soft numbness had settled in my stomach now; I hadn't actually thought anything for the past hour, just watched the images flash over my gaze again. The voices pounded the drums of my ears, screeching the same two, bone chilling words: "Avada Kedavra!"

The screams had soaked into my very skin now, causing every inch to shudder, as if I was still trapped in the closet, casting spells on the door lock through half-shrieks, half-sobs.

I hadn't been in that closet for hours, I was safe now, and parts of me knew it.

My mind was not one of them.

At every sound, my muscles wound tighter together, bleeding a paranoia into my skin. The wind at the windows, for example, or the knocking at the door, all of them caused a tremor in--

A knock at the door.

"Come in," I muttered, running my fingers over my cheeks, as if to brush off the daze.

"Carina?" Arthur Weasley, my godfather and uncle, muttered, poking his head through the door, "are you alright?" He grimaced as he said it, likely because he already knew the answer.

Of course, I wasn't alright.

How could I be alright?

Arthur cleared his throat as I shot him a learned smile, "Alright as I can be."

Blue eyes narrowed as Arthur scanned my form. I sat on the bed wearing my father's sweater, with my knees curled to my chest. He frowned, "you're shaking." I swallowed, barely nodding as he began to search the guest bedroom for something, I assume blankets, "Molly made soup downstairs if you're cold, Love. I'm sure we could set up something warmer for you--you could take our bed or--"

"It's great in here," I say, pulling the stripped sleeves over my hands and dropping to the ground, "Arthur, it's brilliant, really...and I'd love some soup."

My eyes drew to Arthur's as I scanned his tired features. His usually neat red hair was messy, distressed as his eyes, which glowed with a heavyset worry and grief. His expression made him look years older than he really was. At only twenty-five, my uncle shouldn't have had nearly as much to worry about as he did.

The war has aged all of us. I know I was nine the year it officially began, but I can't recall feeling so little even for a moment.

I suppose it was my uncle's turn to force his features into a smile, which he did before saying, "would you feel up to dinner or would you like to take it in here?"

"I'd love to be with you...are Bill and Charlie still awake?"

Arthur laughed, his features softening. I was relieved at the sight. A scared Arthur Weasley seemed utterly unnatural to me, even now. I've always known Uncle Arthur to be cheerful, even on the dark days. Seeing him frown may not have been the darkest part of this day, August 24, 1978, but it had definitely made this day darker, "Molly and I couldn't get them to sleep. I had to wrestle Bill from your door twice in the past hour."

Despite it all, a laugh slipped from my lips at the image of my five-year-old cousin sitting cross-legged in the hallway, waiting for the guest-bedroom door to open. Arthur's blue eyes twinkled as I giggled, and a warmth filled my body as my muscles softened. A real smile brushed against my lips. As I followed Arthur down to the kitchen, the smile faded abruptly.