Servitium
Latin (noun.) The essence of service and devotion, weaving a tapestry of humble dedication and unwavering loyalty.
"Oh my Ivory, you may not be interested in war, but war is interested in you. You let me violate your justice, destroy what...
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A week.
A week was all it had been and yet it still felt like it was a second ago.
The wound was still so very fresh and so very raw.
She lay in her bed clutching a picture to her chest. It hadn't fully sunk in even as she stared at the picture of her mother and herself together. Ivory didn't look happy in the picture at all, she was scowling whilst her mother was laughing. Ivory focused in on her eyes that had been caught in a moment of perfection, they were glistening with the twinkle of laughter. Now they laughed at her reminding of her of what she had lost. Mocking her even. Ivory breathed in deeply and clutched the frame tightly.
There was a part of Ivory that was angry. It was anger at her loneliness because her mother wasn't here. But she couldn't wave her wand so she wouldn't leave, so that Anastasia would come back. Now all she had was memories because her mother was gone. Those memories were no longer beautiful they were painful to remember. Ivory's thoughts of her mother were like ripples in a pond after having thrown a pebble into it. The thoughts and everything else slowly faded and dissolved.
"Ivory." Theodore said in a soft voice that even he didn't know he was capable of. Ivory couldn't even kick him out of her room even if she wanted to. She didn't have the heart to, she had been fine at Hogwarts, or at least, she pretended that she was, but arriving home to the Galliano Manor for the holidays had changed her façade. Every corner of the house smelt like her mother, and she found herself holding back a scream as the aroma of her mother infused her. Jasmine, a scent that she used to love once upon a time but now she hated it with all her being.
"Love?" He called again and she felt the bed dip beside her, and the satin sheets being tugged away from her body.
"I'm not crying Theo." Ivory said speaking for the first time in about five days. Today was the funeral and Ivory was not at all ready to see the faces. She hated everyone, she was angry at the world, angry at life, angry at Voldemort.
Ivory hadn't cried, not even once, not even a little bit, she was grieving differently to her father who had subjected himself to fits of tears in the four walls of his bedroom that he shared with her late mother. She was doing it differently to her brother who had taken to nursing bottles of alcohol or having Eva Rowle round and using her body as a distraction. But none of them were talking, some people preferred to talk about it some preferred to talk about anything else other than that, so they wouldn't constantly be reminded. Some stayed quiet and reflected on shared moments with the person because you never know the true value of a moment until it becomes a memory, that was where Ivory found herself, reflecting.
"Ivory, you may cry as hard as you want to. But just make sure that once you stop crying, you never cry for the same reason again," Theodore said slowly, repeating what Ivory's own mother had told him the day of his mother's funeral, years ago. Theodore had been with Ivory the whole time, ever since they had come home for the holidays and she sent a letter to him to say that she wasn't okay, and he came, and stayed.
