*

Always, always, asking the question why,
Life is overrated, but I,
Never, never expected that I'd,
Underestimated my love for you.

Spent a lifetime of holding on,
Just to let go,
I guess I'll spend another lifetime,
Searching for a new hope.


“Titan, let go of me!”

She twisted her hand, trying to wrench it from his death-like grip. Titan stood there, frame taut but motionless - indifferent - holding her by the wrist, not even trying to use any force. She tried to break free again, one last time, but even before she had made the attempt, she knew the fruitlessness of the effort: he was too powerful.

He had always been – always been so strong, so unusually strong.

“Titan, let me go! Please!” Ariel’s voice was desperate, now.

Titan was not looking her way.

“Titan, let me –”

“Why?” he interrupted. His voice cut through her repetition of words, both distant and indifferent - he might have, having nothing better to do, been asking her about the day's weather. “Why should I let you go?”

She raised her chin and looked at him, at the fringe that usually fell into his eyes but did not right now, at the eyes that she had seen this cold, this detached before, but never this indifferent, never this devoid of emotions. Then she said, tones no longer desperate,

"I thought you loved me."

She looked pale, paler than death, and her braid had come loose, red hair spilling inelegantly out of it - and even then she could not look not beautiful. Titan looked down and, for a short, lingering, screaming, silent moment their eyes met.

“There is no love for a death eater." He sounded calm.

“I do not want to be fodder for the dark arts.” She did not sound anything like him.

“It is not a choice, Bonanza. You can not opt out of this, for we kill who we are commanded to. But, if it makes you feel any better -" His eyes flickered and, for a moment, she felt - or perhaps imagined - the indifference disappear or at least, lessen. "Let me tell you that, once, I loved you, too. Perhaps –” he let go of her hand. Their gazes broke, and he turned away.

This was her chance to run. You cannot run from the dark arts, he had once told her and even as she turned round, silent tears now leaking down her cheeks, and found him standing in front of him, his statement came back to her. His statement, and so, so many memories!

“Perhaps I still love you,” Titan finished, coldly. “Avada Kedavra.”



Reference:

[] "Always, always asking the question why -" Lyrics of A New Hope by Broken Iris.

Index of Posts:

02. Your string of lights is still bright to me.
03. You can make me free.
04. Love comes from the most unexpected places.
05. You've got a friend in me.
06. Love, like a river.
07. To whom one may pour out all the contents of one's heart.
08. The tenor of our lives.
09. There is no such thing as a failed experiment.
10. Little things make big things happen.
11. All men are equal before fish.
12. Old fate slowly builds her mute countenance.

It's alright, just wait and see,
Your string of lights is still bright to me,
Oh, who you are is not where you've been,
You're still an innocent.

Oh, who you are is not where you've been,
You're still an innocent.


“Ariel Souvena Bonanza! Come down here, this instant!”

“Coming, mum.” Ariel’s voice floated down the stairs as, dragging a trunk behind her, the seventeen year old traipsed down them. Mrs. Bonanza’s eyes inspected her from head-to-toe [as usual] and her lips and forehead gave way to a frown [again, as usual] as they reached her dress.

The conversation began exactly as it had, last year.

“For Heaven’s sake, Ariel!”

“What’s the matter, this time?” Ariel asked cheerfully and, letting go of her trunk, she skipped over to the giant mirror that hung over the mantelpiece, to her left. She peered into it, and her reflection stared back at her, dressed in a short, blue skirt that ended a little above her knees, its shoulders half-hidden underneath a jeans mini-jacket. She blinked, her reflection blinked and then, hands on hips, the redheaded daughter turned to face her equally un-redheaded mother.

“I look downright awesome, don’t I?”

“You look mortifying,” Carmen Bonanza sounded disapproving as only the mother [and a mother of a young witch at that] can. “That clothing is not appropriate for a witch.”

“I was a girl longgg before I became a witch, mother,” Ariel pointed out cheerfully. She spun on her high heels in the centre of the room, batting her eyelashes at her mother. “Maybe you need to understand that. Please? PRETTY PLEASE, MUMMEH?”

Carmen would have snorted, if she had not been so sure that the thing was a most unladylike one. “It is not appropriate clothing for a girl your age, either, Ariel.” She already knew she had lost the battle [like she did every time], lost it even before it had begun [like every time] but she was not willing to give up altogether [like every time].

“And who decides that? The marmalade you made this morning?” Ariel sounded extremely cheerful, and perhaps that was the one reason Carmen Bonanza was only rolling her eyes, and not shouting at her only daughter [she had never shouted at Ariel but then, if you knew Ariel, you would know why no one could shout at her]. “Come on, mum, it doesn’t matter if I’m a pureblood, or a half-blood, or a crunchy Bertie Bott's Every-Flavour bean - I’m only going to get life once.”

“That is not the poi –”

“OHMIIIGOSH! I’m getting late!”

Ariel said the statement so loudly, Mrs. Bonanza [despite being used to her daughter's random outbursts] dropped the teacup she had been holding in surprise. The thing shattered on the tiled floor, sending little shards of glass everywhere. Ariel took her chance at once, grabbing her trunk and running out of the room, kicking off her high heels by the door once she realized they hindered her escape.

“ARIEL!” Carmen called after her, slapping her head in frustration – at seventeen, her daughter could still act [and almost always did act] like a seven year old. “Ariel Souvena Bonanza! Come back THIS INSTANT!”

“See you at the station, mum,” Ariel called back, and the loud crack ringing through the air only seconds later assured Carmen that her daughter had disapparated, to King Cross Station. Shaking her head, the poor mother flicked her wand, and the crystal scattered across the floor joined itself back together, in the shape of her favourite teacup.

Now she just needed to get to King Cross.



Reference:

[] "It's alright, just wait and see -" Lyrics of Innocent by Taylor Swift.

You can make me free,
You can make me smile,
You can make me be,
Like a little child.

{ You can make me be
Like a little child }


“Ah, Ariel.”

She had met the barrier that led to the Hogwarts Express at a run, feeling that revitalizing rush of familiar scents and places and people as she emerged on the other side and caught sight of the scarlet steam engine, thick torrents of smoke bellowing out of its giant body. She had slackened her firm grip on her trolley, then, bright gaze in search of her friends, only to be addressed by a faintly familiar [and rather sleek, if I may so myself] voice.

She looked up, raising an eyebrow at the - and there is no other word to describe people like him - hunk that was John River. He looked even more handsome than usual [and that is saying something], his usual black robes faultless down to the pressed hem, hair swept off his forehead in that manner that ensures it'll fall back into one's eyes in a matter of seconds, his appearance quite the other name for unnecessary luxury.

The handsomeness, the robes, the hair, the eyes - the oblivious Ariel registered none of this. “There's a smudge of dirt on your shoeee," she said pleasantly [and quite happily.]

John chose to ignore the revelation. “Pleasure meeting you again,” He said, gracefully extending a hand.

“What do you want?”

“We have only met once before –” John began, not at all put off by her skeptical greeting or suspicious gaze - or the fact that she had noticed the smudge of dirt on his shoe.

“Of couuuurse,” Ariel cut through. “You only transferred to Hogwarts a fortnight before the last term ended, French boy." She sounded like she did not mind stating the obvious - and she didn't. "Silly decision, if you ask me – who leaves a place they have studied at, for six years?” The next part of her statement ["Only an idiot!"] hung in the air, unsaid but not un-conveyed. Her eyes said it all.

“My family moved –”

“You should have stayed, French boy. I'm telling you, you should have stayed, River. Smart thing to do, right? Now me, I would never leave my friends.”

She didn't sound full of advice, just full of bright chatter and even more bright rambling. John still took a step back [Girls didn't scare him. Girls like Ariel did] but, half a moment later, tried again [He could tackle her. Or so he told himself. He had to tackle her.]

“I was hoping we could get to know each other better.” See? Sweet and simple. Girls fell for that, right off the mark. It should be effective, especially since [in John's opinion] she did not seem to be the type that liked him beating about the bush.

“Guess what? I was hoping nothing of that sort, French boy.”

John sighed [but did not give up. Of course not] Back in France, things had been a lot easier and smoother for him: a store of wealth and good lucks combined had attracted pretty girls his way, better than a magnet can attract iron fillings. Since transferring to Hogwarts, though, he had had less luck [in other words, his luck had run out. But he couldn't be made to admit that, no]. The one girl that had really caught his eye was the blue-eyed redhead standing in front of him, right now and, as fate would have it, she [though John had yet to realize it] did not even notice that boys could exist for anything other than friendship.

– and to be poked in the eye when one felt all blue and sad, possibly.

“I have to say,” John tried [quite valiantly] again. “That you look quite pretty, today.”

“My mum thinks I look most inappropriate,” Ariel confided cheerfully. She stifled a yawn and rubbed her large, blue eyes. “Hey, French boy, do me a favour and carry my luggage into the train... Please?” The 'please' seemed to be added as a pleasant afterthought.

If John thought this meant progress, he did not say so. He only grabbed the handle of her trolley, back straight, eyes all smiles as he tried to look more graceful than usual [and failed spectacularly] and, after a moment [during which he considered if he should just levitate the thing and then decided that no, it might make her think of him as less manly] began to push it. The redheaded owner of the said trolley skipped after him, hands clasped, eyes wiiide as she looked around.

“I can’t see them,” she said, and she pouted.

“See what?” John asked, and so glad he was that she was acting normal, for once - she’s acting normal, thank God, thank God - that he decided he could have pushed a dozen trolleys for this.

“My friends,” came the cheerful reply. “I guess I’m early. Hey River – wait, River isn’t your first name, is it, French boy?" She sounded all bright and interested now, and that made John perk up. Perk up... until she spoke again. "Is it Sea? Or Freshwater?”

John sighed. “John,” he mumbled. “It's John River.”

He had never disliked his surname so much.



Reference:

[] "You can make me free -" Lyrics of You Can Make Me Free by Billy Joel.