Extinguished 🩵 Harry Potter [2]

iv ⟶ Grey, Through And Through

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iv. Grey, Through And
Through
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THE LINES THAT separate Thea Cindercroft from Lyra Vincent are fine and blurred at best, and that is OK. She is only just beginning to realise this now without hating herself for it, or beating herself up for it. It might be because Lyra is dead. Or that Thea is bored. She doesn't really know.

A summer coolness seems to linger in the room, coming in through the window above the sink that refuses to close. Thea is in a lull, so that she is halfway between a dream state and awake; it's strange, because she can't feel anything but drowsiness. So she allows herself to travel down the road in her mind she has long since banned herself from, weighing everything up.

Physically, they could be the same person. Long, dirty blonde curls and a pointed chin, carved out cheekbones and striking green-blue eyes, that are too green to be icy but too blue to be like new leaves. Impossible to figure out, but (she hopes this doesn't sound arrogant) rather intriguing.

She's only going off her own experiences here; Harry has basically said this, and he's her boyfriend now, so she can't be that far off the mark by saying that she's some kind of mystery. And considering the Order's reactions to finding out Lyra was with the Dark Lord, she got this tendency off her mother. Thea has seen photos of young Lyra and she thinks only the Ravenclaw uniform makes it obvious that it's not Thea.

Morally, Lyra is – was, she needs to get used to that – a trainwreck. But can Thea really judge? Is she not a little grey in that area? Once again, she doesn't know. She concludes that it probably depends on who you ask. She thinks Jude would describe her as an angel. Well, once upon a time, he would've. But everyone knows you can't survive a war as an angel, so she doesn't mind so much.

It's this that brings her around fully, so she lifts her head off the table and stretches, standing up to make herself a cup of tea and rub her stiff neck. She notices it's still a little dark outside, the sky a pale purple, but the moon nowhere to be seen. She checks her watch to see that it's just past four in the morning, and just as she realises with a little disappointment that there's no milk, so she'll have to take her tea black, she hears the door push open.

It was already ajar, so it's only the creaking that announces the person's arrival. She gets out another mug and looks over her shoulder, giving Harry a small smile.

"You alright? Did you sleep down here?"

"Yeah." She answers, lifting the boiled kettle and pouring the steaming water out, just as he reaches her to pull her into his arms.

"Are you alright?" she asks, voice muffled by his chest.

"No." is all he says.

She breathes out, bringing her arms around him so they lock around his neck.

"You're OK with black tea aren't you? We can go out for some milk today, there's none here, and even if there were, it probably wouldn't be wise to use it anyway."

She hears him let out a little chuckle. "That's perfect, love."

Pulling herself from his arms, she passes him his cup and sips some of the bitter liquid from her own, and although it scalds her mouth pleasantly, it doesn't do anything to shift the icy layer within her.

"I found Sirius' room...and a letter and a photo from my mum."

She can't stop a sad smile from breaking out on her face as he shows her a scroll of yellowed parchment, that's rather creased, but Lily Potter's swooping writing scrawled across it is neat and warming as she reads to the bottom, frowning a little at the abrupt end that suggests a part of the letter is missing. In Harry's other hand is a small, moving picture, with baby Harry zooming around the photo on a broom, full of laughter.