Careful Fear and Dead Devotion

Daisy,

Happy 20th birthday! I’d say that you’re catching up to me, but that’s not quite how age works, is it? I didn’t get you much - a few trinkets, really. I hope you like feathers? I can’t believe I didn’t check - bloody hell, Dirk, what in the world were you thinking??

Anyhow, all the best. I’m sure this year is going to be wonderful. Not sure what your plans for Christmas are looking like, I know that there’s a party at Hogwarts and Sirius is having a dinner. Hopefully I’ll see you then, yeah? Feels like it’s been a while. I miss you!

Yours,

Dirk

Another crap day at St. Mungo’s. Another absolutely crap shift which had ended with her dropping a sharp utensil which she couldn’t even name on the foot of her doctor and being told to go home once again due to lack of concentration. She was sick of this – this wasn’t the Andromeda she was supposed to be, this wasn’t the Andromeda she wanted to be, and yet with every passing day she grew worse and worse, and there was nothing she could do about it but drink away the pain ( Andromeda Black did not drink… ). Another day, another shift, another drink… This wasn’t the Andromeda she used to be.

It was obvious from meters away that The Leaky Cauldron wasn’t bustling and busy as it usually was – the snow was pelting down harder than it had all December, and her thin coat was hardly enough to keep the cold from shivering up and down her spine. Obviously others had thought leaving their home in such weather was a silly thing to do, but Andromeda wasn’t thinking straight at the moment, and so she continued to power through the weather towards the near empty pub. She didn’t care that it was nearing midnight, she didn’t care if the pub was close to closing, she didn’t care… Opening the creaking door, she walked into the quiet pub and shook the snow off her shoulders, pulling her scarf off her neck. There were a few drunks scattered around, and one particular dark haired man was yelling at the bartender for another drink. With a small roll of her eyes, she approached the bar. “Surprise me,” she smiled at the bartender. He nodded sympathetically, and while he went off to get her drink, she turned to the lad next to her. “Maybe had a few too many?”

The weather would have been enough to keep any sane person tucked away safely in their homes, and Dirk knew that he ought to have made the trek to his flat after having purchased his last gift. The call of the quick drink (and a warm hearth) was too tempting to resists however, and the lad had ducked in under the premise of grabbing a single pint to congratulate himself on his success. One had of course turned into three or four, and the hours in the day had whittled away, until he was left wondering why he’d found himself with empty glasses guarding the table like soldiers drained of their will still alert and waiting for their next order. The Leaky Cauldron had never been the cheeriest of locales, but the way the snow blew against the glass made the night outside seem positively hostile. Still, he wasn’t long for the establishment, and he knew it - It was only a matter of time until old Tom decided that the doors were to be barred and the windows shuttered until the morning. It was likely best to set off now, while the warmth of the whiskey still breathed fire into him, like a hot water bottle set deep in his stomach.

Crash. Balefully, Glenda glared at the door for making such a loud noise, before deciding that it was an appropriate entrance sound. She strode in after it, kicking it closed with the heel of her foot, pulling on her gloves and slapping them down onto the wood of the bar.

“Tom! I know you’re in there!” The bartender walked back out of the back store room, grumbling as he stopped her. Still, he had a glint of amusement in his eyes, and she knew that he was still in a decent mood, despite the unholy hour. “Can your favourite author get a drink?”

Tom muttered, reaching across the bar to ruffle her hair, before grabbing a small bottle of whisky and a tumbler, pushing them across to her. “I want you in a room or out the bar in half an hour, understand?” Glenda nodded, a grin across her face, happily taking both.

She turned on her seat and surveyed the empty bar, feeling much like a queen in her castle, before spotting the shine of wrapping paper in the corner. Several shines, and a mop of black hair. Curious, she got up from her seat and wandered over.

There wasn’t much room, but Glenda managed to shove her drink in a corner of the table, before grabbing a chair and spinning it around to straddle it, facing the stranger. It was probable that she had seen him before, but it had been long enough for her to forget most of the Wizarding community.

“Well hi there. Come to drown your loneliness at the bottom of a bottle?”

Dirk eyed his empty glasses moodily, a sullen reminder of the time of night. Usually the noise of the other patrons, loud stories and boisterous exploits being shared loudly among themselves, was enough to put off the mild sense of malaise that accompanied the end of an evening. It had become a habit that with each day survived, every day where the wolves at the door hadn’t made their way inside and clawed out another one of the Order members, that Dirk found himself dreading the next day. Waking up with the uncertainty of knowing what was in store. Of the news that would accompany the sun rising.

Mentally, he prepared himself once more for the onslaught of snow that he knew would accompany the trek home. His flat, a few tubes stops down the line outside of Diagon Alley, was drafty on the best of days. In the winter, only a fire in the hearth was enough to keep the shivers fully at bay. The young man cast a sidelong glance at the collection of packages he’d amassed, only now aware that, should he take the tube as he usually did, there would be no magical assistance to assist in carrying the bulk of the weight of the boxes and bags. He sighed at the realization, cursing himself for the paranoid moments that had caused him to cast anti-apparition spells over the entire building he lived in and it’s grounds. He was in the process of doing the mental math, calculating the weights and balance points needed in his foggy mind when the scrape of a chair against the floor and a cheery voice caused his head to snap to attention.

Good Man Down

i. Don’t Panic - Coldplay ii. Cruel - The Head and the Heart iii. God’s Gonna Cut You Down - Johnny Cash iv. Love Vigilantes - Iron and Wine v. Afraid of Everyone - The National vi. In Search Of - Miike Snow vii. Believe - Mumford and Sons viii. This Place is a Prison - The Postal Service ix. The Yawning Grave - Lord Huron x. Lucky Now - Ryan Adams

          He was taking a lot longer than it had taken her to get up, she noticed. It couldn’t possibly have been due to a more restrictive clothing choice. A dress was quite restrictive as it was, her legs could only move so far before the fabric held them from stretching further, her arms could only reach as far as the sleeves would extend. A suit, while still difficult to move in, was far more accommodating to this sort of venture (Holly couldn’t help but feel cheated. Next time there was a formal occasion, surely, she’d wear pants and a light blouse); so how Dirk still hadn’t reached her this much later, she couldn’t quite grasp. 

          Drawing her knee to her chest, she dropped her chin upon it while her other leg hung loosely over the edge of the wide branch. Half of her warned against having the leg there for fear of Dirk playfully tugging at it, but the atmosphere was too tranquil for that, even despite the taunts being thrown back and forth. There was something so comforting, relieving, natural about being in this tree, so removed from the rest of the public. The only noises were rustles of leaves and Dirk’s voice, as well as her own, entering the night with playful attributes laced in each word. Nothing else bothered them, nothing was a cause to stir from this soothing environment. It was much like mornings in the shoppe, entering from the brisk chill of London, only a few other souls to stroll through her path prior to her arrival. The first hour or two would be spent watering and tending to the plants, planting seeds, maintaining the newly sprouted seedlings. All acts that happened everyday were ones that filled her with joy, regardless of how repetitive they were; there was something new to discover in that blank silence, every single time. Maybe she liked it so much because it offered time to think, to be pensive. Create plans for the day or the week; make goals for something in her future; or just as she’d been absolved in earlier, a daydream or two. No matter how gray the morning and no matter how bleak the weather, it was always that same sense of serenity that swallowed her whole. It was just what she was experiencing now, aloft and above friends and strangers in the ballroom below. Every now and then, a stray note from the band would push past the crack in the door to the courtyard and Holly would recall where precisely they were and everything else that was not happening in her (and now, Dirk’s) tree.

          He was closer when he spoke this time; there was no muffle from the foliage, and when she looked down, she could actually see his face instead a dark shadow. “I’d build a platform first, of course. Then a small house.” She added with a crinkle of her nose, “It would probably be bigger than my apartment, though. I think anything would be bigger than that.” Tracing lines over the bark, she noticed minute, millimeter-size drillings into the wood, “I’d have to figure out how to get rid of the carpenter ants. They’re not much of a problem right now, but if they multiply, those tools my neighbour,” clear emphasis on neighbour, “Allowed me to borrow will have been put to use for no reason at all. I’d have to relocate the ants, I think. No pesticides - this home will refuse to allow any sort of killing to happen anywhere near it, whether it be purposeful or accidental.”

          As soon as he’d neared her resting spot, her head had lifted and knee straightened; she inched up the branch to give him enough room to sit, a beam erupting over her lips. “Look at you, Dirk Cresswell. You’ve finally made it. Took you some time, there - are you that out of practice of tree climbing?” Even in the dark, her eyes lit with impish pleasure. 

          Tossing her legs over his lap, her body leaned against his chest, her cheek upon his shoulder. A bare foot lifted into the air, stubby toes wiggling at him in reminder of the shoe that she was missing. “Could you give me my shoe back, now? It’s not polite to have a prisoner of war when the other side has none to trade with themselves.” Her eyebrow arched, expectant look settling upon her face.

           “You suppose this is a decent view,” she scoffed, quite offended by his wording. “Anything would be better, more ‘romantic’, as you say, than being in a room with old men who’ve nothing better to do with their lives than waste away judging others. I’d prefer that either of us didn’t have to return eventually, but that’s unfortunately how it is.” Glancing up at him, she allowed herself a moment to memorize his friendly features, the kind eyes, the raised, smiling cheeks, the laugh lines whose depth she hoped she’d added to in the far past. “What– Dirk, no,” she protested as he abruptly offered her his jacket, attempting to wave him off. “I don’t want it, I don’t need it–”

The weight of Holly’s body settled gently against his own, her legs draped over him and hanging precariously in the air, one foot bare. The way she leaned into him made his heart ache, as though a small piece that he wasn’t quite sure was missing had been found, only to have a little bit off the end chipped off to mar the bond. Surely he wasn’t the only one who noticed it? The nearly seamless way that she nestled into him, as though his shoulder had once upon a time been a place she’d called home. His stomach wailed plaintively in his gut, twisted up in a way that he could only assume would look like the pretzels that sat in bakery windows. He felt himself pulling towards her, especially as he glanced down to find her wide crystalline eyes staring back at him, the light of the bright moon reflected in them. Dirk felt his fight clench beside him, taking every ounce of willpower to resist the magnetism he’d denied for months. He smiled back almost bashfully at her, his eyes pulled away to gaze upon the rooftop once more by the way his mind screamed out at him to pull back. One day he would have to tell her, face the ramifications of the truths he’d left half-answered, the realities of her life of which he knew but couldn’t bring himself to share. But that day did not have to be this one.

“Your shoe!” He exclaimed in surprise, the unsettled feeling in his chest causing his voice to tremble more than he would have liked. “I’d almost forgotten about it. Lucky, it almost fell right on my head.” Dirk’s hands patted his jacket pockets before extracting the footwear in question, holding it up in the moonlight for Holly to see. “Now, are you sure it’s yours? Could be anyone’s really. Suppose we need to see if the slipper fits.” With a dramatic flourish and a grin he slowly slipped the flat over her pointed toes, lifting the heel just enough to allow her foot to slide comfortably into the shoe. Dirk held Holly’s leg softly at the ankle, as if to silhouette the shoe against the night sky. “Seems like you’re the one, m’lady,” he said once more, the subtext painful in his throat. He stared wistfully at her once more as his mouth opened, threatening to spill the words he’d kept carefully guarded since the girl’s lapse in memory. Just stop it, his mind boomed as his mouth snapped shut, and his hands set the girl’s leg down delicately onto his own lap.

“I’m not taking no for an answer,” he answered as his friend tried to push his jacket from her shoulders, protesting the gesture. “At least I’ve got a vest and shirt on under this - your dress, while lovely, doesn’t look like it’s much protection from the elements. The breeze isn’t exactly friendly up here.” Careful not to knock either him or his friend backwards off their perch on the branch, Dirk wrapped the shoulder of his jacket around Holly’s bare skin, tucking the fabric around her to shield her from the wind. He lifted the other shoulder and moved back from her briefly, allowing himself to drape the fabric fully around her before he sat back up once more. Even in the moonlight it appeared comically oversized on the girl’s slender frame, a costume a young girl might wear when playing dress-up. Still, the image of Holly wearing his sweaters at Hogwarts, or stealing his scarf at quidditch came flooding back to him, her impish smile the most consistent part of the memories. Dirk smiled kindly, accompanied by a quiet sigh he hoped that the girl wouldn’t hear or notice. 

The Leaky Cauldron

“Oh come on mate, one more drink! It’s not even that late!” Dirk shouted at the bartender’s back as he retreated, the rough man clearly having had enough of the younger lad's presence at the bar. He’d stacked the assortment of packages and gifts he’d found in various shops on Diagon Alley around his seat, occupying far more space than he ought to. Still, a cursory glance around the establishment would be enough to tell any visitors that the usually raucous pub was rather poorly attended, the driving snow that belted against the windows probably enough to dissuade even the heartiest souls. Having asked for the day off to complete some much needed shopping, Dirk had buttoned his coat up tightly and donned a roguish cap, setting off in the streets and wading through the drifts, even as his arms became ever more burdened with bags and boxes.