❝𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗺𝗼𝗻 𝗺𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗸𝗲?❞
❝𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦.❞
𝗛𝗔𝗥𝗥𝗬 𝗣𝗢𝗧𝗧𝗘𝗥 had a few, perhaps a little or more than a palm of qualms in his life. First up was the whole "The Boy-Who-Lived" shenanigans, then there was an ungodly am...
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LXXXIV. DEAD END
━━━━━━
"We argue our bearings
Until we collapse"
THEIR STAY AT SHELL COTTAGE extended for over a week, each day blending into the next in a comforting routine that much contrasted to the life they had been living before. For the first fir time in what felt like forever, Marjorie found herself actually resting. The damp cold that had seeped into her bones during their harrowing journey gradually gave way to the warmth and security of Bill and Fleur's home, which awfully reminded of Anya and Percy's Crescent Cottage.
Mornings at Shell Cottage began with a gentle ritual: the aroma of freshly brewed tea mingled with the scent of warm bread, simple luxuries that Marjorie had nearly forgotten existed. Fleur's skills as a healer, combined with the hearty meals she prepared, worked wonders; her meals, though humble, were hearty and nourishing, and Marjorie felt her strength being slowly but steadily restored. Her cheeks, once pallid from exhaustion, were beginning to regain their healthy colour. Ron, too, was visibly improving; the dark circles under his eyes were gradually fading as he caught up on much-needed rest.
Yet, beneath the veneer of comfort, an undercurrent of tension persisted. It was most noticeable in the interactions between Bill and Ron. Marjorie frequently observed them huddled together in quiet conversation, their voices hushed and their expressions serious. Bill's disappointment was palpable, but he was never harsh. Instead, he offered Ron a steady stream of encouragement, his words carefully chosen to provide solace. "Things will get back to normal," Bill would assure him. "Harry and Hermione will understand, and they'll forgive you. You just need to hold on to that hope."
Marjorie could see how desperately Ron clung to those words, even if he struggled to fully believe them. It was clear that he needed them — needed to hear them from someone he deeply respected... someone that wouldn't find faults in him.
Bill had always been that someone to Ron.
"I don't know the full story and I doubt that you would tell me, but I know it's not something that you would be proud of to do, Ron. I think it's best for your sanity that you cut yourself some slack,"
Bill's words lingered in the air, his tone a mix of sternness and compassion. Ron sat across from him, his shoulders hunched, the lines of worry etched deeply into his face. The room around them was bathed in the soft, golden light of the afternoon sun, casting long shadows that seemed to mirror the weight of Ron's guilt.
Ron shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his fingers drumming restlessly on the table. "I just — I keep thinking, what if it's too late? What if we're already past the point of no return? I can't help but feel like everything's my fault because it is my fault — Fred, George, and Ginny would definitely have my head for this..."
