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chapter six..."STAY"
. . . . .
"How much longer?" Eden yawned, dark hair a bit dishevelled after she'd taken it out a few hours ago. The glow from the fireplace cast a warm hue on her tired face as she hugged a cushion to her chest, staring at the flames.
"Not long," he said quietly from beside her on the couch, glancing over to her every few seconds to make sure she was still there. They were the only ones left in the common room, well past 11:30pm on a school night, and as someone with an early sleep schedule, Eden was not coping well.
He looked over to her, and seeing her eyes closed, nudged her awake again. "Eden, no sleeping." He wasn't taking any chances.
She groaned and nudged him back, but still sat up straighter, forcing her eyes to stay open. Cross-legged, pillow on her lap, she fiddled with the bandage covering the blood-quill wounds on her hand.
"Is this going to scar?" she asked quietly, pulling the bandage down just enough to look at the scarlet letters that spelled I Must Not Talk Back.
"Probably," he muttered. "If it's any consolation, we'll have matching ones. Almost matching."
She chuckled softly. "Always the optimist, Potter. I might get a tattoo over it. How's matching tattoos sound?"
"Sounds like a plan."
"My mum and dad wouldn't appreciate it, but Libby will when she's old enough to get it," a smile grew on her lips just thinking about her baby sister; the only sibling she had.
"Isn't she, like, six months old?"
She shook her head. "Twelve months now. It's insane. I wish I could stay home for a couple years to see her grow. I swear she doubles in size with every picture mum sends me—I made her include at least one with every letter she posts. I've got about a hundred in my bedside drawer," she laughed, and he smiled. He could listen to her talk for hours and never get bored. Eden had that kind of social energy that he couldn't even dream of having, but it worked quite well for them both.
She'd mastered the art of small talk around other students and people she didn't even know. Her confident charm just seemed to draw everyone in like moths to a flame. The kind of person who floats between different friend groups and fits in them all; who can get along with virtually anyone, no matter who they are, or what house they're from. Sometimes he worried she'd find a better group than their tight-knit quartet, but it seemed that no matter how far away she ventured, she'd always come back to them.
He just had to make sure she'd come back one more time.
The old clock on the mantel above the fireplace had been staring him down all night, daring him to leave her alone for a second, a minute, one moment too long, enough for her to slip away again.
But she was here. Breathing. Alive. No Veil, no death.
He didn't know what time it had been in his dream when she'd died, but if her death tonight was inevitable, it'd have to be around the same time, right? Had they already passed it? Were they safe? They weren't at the Department of Mysteries for that long, surely. Not past midnight.
The clock chimed as it struck twelve, and nothing happened.
She was still there. Tired, annoyed, but still there.
Another five minutes, he insisted, just to be sure.
So, another five passed, and she was still there. Still okay.
"Well, I'm hoping that was for a good cause," she yawned again, and he finally allowed the relief to swallow him whole, sinking back into the couch as she stood and stretched. "We've got Umbridge first up, right? I'll just skip it. I need sleep. She can't torture me if I'm snug as a bug in my bed."
Harry laughed to himself as he stood, righted the cushions on the couch, and scooped up his book bag as she did the same.
"Thanks for staying, anyway," he breathed, walking with her to the dorm staircases. "I'm just glad it was a false alarm."
"Will you tell me what it was, now?" she stepped onto the girls' staircase, leaning on the railing as he walked backwards to the boy's one, still keeping her in his sight as they spoke.
"Maybe," he teased, and she groaned in dramatic annoyance, though a sleepy smile still rested on her lips.
He hopped up onto the first step of the boy's staircase "Fine. Tomorrow."
She beamed, satisfied, and mockingly blew him a kiss. "Tomorrow," she nodded, laughing quietly, sparing him one last glance before she said "Night, Harry," and climbed the staircase, a warmth creeping up his neck at the smile she gave him.
"Night," he replied, watching her until she was out of sight. Relief had never tasted so sweet. It was just a stupid, dumb dream, and Eden was brilliant and so, so alive like she always was.
