We Got Lots Of History

Depressing Thoughts and Hunting Memories

Sleep clung to him. He didn't want to get out of the bed. It had been three months since Paris. I love you. I still love you. I'm sorry. The words played like a broken record in his head. The memories of that night plagued his every waking moment for the past months. He had stayed in his house these months. The Ministry of Magic had appointed him in prescribed rest. Claiming that he had suffered a great loss. He was supposed to return at the office at Monday 8th of August. It was currently Friday 12th and he hadn't made an appearance at his job. Thomas visited him all the time. Spending his evenings there.

He looked around the room. Her creme curtains barely touched the floor and the tall bookcase that was overflowed with books adorned the walls. At his side her dog, Dahlia, was lightly snoring. She was an adorable husky, as Newt had informed him. She was also very cuddly.

He took a deep breath and tried to find the courage to get out of the bed. Her bed. It had lost her scent and he was tempted to spray her perfume on the pillows, the perfume he had gifted her on her birthday two years ago. She was currently missing. Thomas said that there wasn't a trace left of her, it was as if she vanished. Her case was left unattended  as everyday more and more crimes popped up. The room was still bathed in the dark the curtains offered and he was tempted to stay in the darkness. In one of her books he has read that such behaviour was described as depressive. Depression was a state were a person gave up in life, couldn't find any meaning in going on or findimg anything remotely interesting.

He didn't want to be this way. If she were here she would have scroffed at him and would physically drag him from her bed. He couldn't stay there any longer. He opened up the window letting the light wash into the lone room. It kind of smelled of dust and alcohol. He noticed the opened bottle of whiskey at the bedside table. Half empty. It had been that way for weeks, since when he stumbled into her house. Hoping that she would appear next to him. When he had already drank a whole bottle by himself.

"What are you doing? Where are you? Please Cass, just give me a sign. Anything really. "

He waited for a few beats until Dahlia scratched his leg. His was his companion now. Too many a times he found himself talking to her. It helped him put his emotions in order. She was a good listener, unlike her owner. He overlooked the street from the window as he scratched her behind her ears as she liked.

A blonde woman was standing in the alley. He couldn't recognise her, but something about her seemed familiar. Could it be.... no. He was imagining things once again.

He put Dahlia on a leash to take her on a walk to the park a few blocks down. They used to sit there for hours talking while eating from paper plates. The woman was still there. He unhooked Dahlia from her leash and she run happily around him before she sprinted towards the strange woman ready to tackle her and attach her with kisses. He called her name but she was still too young, she wouldn't listen. He briskly walked towards them as he noticed the woman talking to her in a quiet voice. It was strange. Dahlia never went to other people. She was too shy, too scared.

He smiled politely to the blonde woman before apologizing. Their eyes met for a second before she nodded at him and turned her back at him before walking away. It had to be her. It had to be.

"Cass" He called out her name. There was desperation in his voice, long and drawn out in its misery as he searched the rubble and endless alleys for her. But both him and Dahlia had lost her. Not before he noticed the tension in her shoulders. She had to force herself not to turn around. He knew her body language better than the palm of his hand. She had glamored herself. Why was she here? Had she seen his state? Was she coming back?

She wouldn't. She had a plan. And she was alive. That was enough for him. For now. He would find her, he vouched on his life that he would help her in any way he could. He felt lighter as he run back to her house. Changing out of his stained clothes and putting on a suit. His polished shoes and his long coat. And he apparted in the Ministry., before glancing over his shoulder. Noticing the woman hiding behind a chimney not so districtly on purpose and paying close attention in her proud smile before the scene vanished from his eyes and the familiar old gray marble hallways greeted him.

It was good to be back.