thepeanutgallery

Coughing, Elphias watched as the petals floated down to the floor. Blue violets, how appropriate. Love and faithfulness, apt for the situation, in his opinion. It seemed like the flowers would join the anemone’s the scattered the flat that he and Albus shared. He should have expected that to happen. He had been in love with Albus for weeks now, it had only been a matter of time before the flowers started to grow. It would be easy enough to pass the flowers off as growing for someone else. (“Oh yes, I’m in love with the petty girl from down the street.”

“I’m sorry, I hope she can learn to return your affections.”)

He’d known Albus was in love with Grindelwald. The reason he had come to Elphias in the first place had been the purple flowers growing in his lungs because of a man who didn’t love him. Now, it seemed that the house would be buried in blood speckled flowers. He’d known, and yet here he was, in love with the redhead, who was in love with someone else. They were both dead men walking.

The first time Grindelwald had appeared in the papers the flat had been filled with more flowers than normal. Neither of them mentioned it; it became another topic with too many words left unsaid. In the following weeks as Grindelwald stayed in the papers, it was easy enough to dispose of some of the excess violets. (He had to wonder if Violets were any easier to stomach then Anemone's. Slower to kill most likely.)

Unrequited love was painful at any point, the flowers the unfortunate extra. They both considered getting the surgery to rid themselves of the flowers, neither of them did. (Albus couldn’t bear the thought of losing those memories; painful as they were. Elphias couldn’t imagine forgetting his entire time at Hogwarts, back when life was simpler.) In time they created some form of rhythm. Wake up, go to work, come home, throw out the flowers. It was easier to ignore the inevitable than to talk about it. (“I’m going to die.”

“So am I.”) It was hardly like their deaths would affect many people. Grindelwald was long gone, working towards his goal of the ‘Greater Good’. He was certain that when all was said and done he would never be able to look at any flowers again without remembering this time. He’d have months after Albus died most likely.

He could still remember the first time they had heard of Hanahaki disease. They had been third years, and an older student had woken up surrounded by flowers one day. Her parents had immediately told her she had to come home. After that, the two of them had spent hours in the library learning about it. ‘Hanahaki Disease: an illness born from one-sided love, in which flowers bloom in the infected lungs. If left untreated, it can prove fatal.’ had been the description they had found. He could still remember them both proclaiming it would never happen to them. So certain they would never fall victim to unrequited love. How wrong they were.

Elphias didn’t believe he could be saved. Albus was enamoured with a dark wizard, and he would never return Elphias’ feeling. The surgery wasn’t worth sacrificing everything he would lose. (Months later, after Albus had been laid to rest, Elphias would wonder why he had continued to stay with Albus. It could have saved him so much pain if only he had moved. Love makes fools of everyone he supposes.)

It had been a hot day in Summer when Elphias had woken up to Albus surrounded by purple flower petals and no pulse. It was almost cruel, such a pleasant day for such a sad occasion. Elphias had gone down to the river that day, watched as the currents carried away the seemingly endless amount of flowers. When Elphias had gotten home, he swept up the wilting flowers, and tossed them out. Part of him took comfort in the fact that there would no longer be any anemone's to sweep up every evening.

The funeral was a small affair. A couple of the Hogwarts teaching staff, Elphias; even Aberforth had made the trip.  Elphias supposes, resentment or not, it was still his brother, the only family he had left. Albus falling victim to the disease, his mother killed sometime in the last several years, his father when he was a young boy, and Ariana 15 months ago. They were both so young. Aberforth was barely 18, and Albus had been almost 20; too young for the tragedy that had befallen them.

In the initial months following Albus’ death, the amount of violets coughed up increased, more often covered in blood than not. It was almost like the flowers were trying to take the place the anemone’s had been. He moved into a smaller apartment, (there was no need for the extra space anymore). On the odd occasion Elphias would catch himself talking to thin air, where Albus should have been, but wasn’t. Gradually the violets lessened, back to what they had been before Albus’ passing.

It was almost cruel, watching the news. Grindelwald was terrorizing the world. Working for the plans that he and Albus had created together. Elphias got Albus’ last words, and a fleeting fantasy of might have happened if he hadn’t been coughing up flowers for the man in love with someone else.