The Malfoy Project

𝟏𝟎𝟏 - 𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐁𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐈𝐈 (*TW)

*TW: mention of suicide

༻⚜️༺

The balmy wind rustled the giant house flags hanging from the spectator stands, making them flap like blankets beaten by boisterous widows. The salty, feral scent of the Scottish wilderness carried my thoughts to my schoolmates back in the Great Hall, or scattered around the rest of the grounds, huddled in groups and inhaling illegal substances; one hundred little lights of hopes and dreams.

If I had my broom I'd go even higher, where it was actually cold and the mists of clouds could dissolve the barnacles of my sins. Up there the air was lighter, so much easier to breathe. It felt like I weighed nothing, meant nothing. There was nothing to mean.

I closed my eyes to the gentle breeze and wondered what Ainsley was doing right now. Was she still sidled up to Montague, nodding acquiescently to every word he said to his mates? Was she thinking about me, of the nights we'd spent leading up to today, of the laughter and kisses and the feeling of her cheek against my chest?

The Time Turner sat in my palm. It was so quiet. I kept holding on to it (hidden in my pocket away from Ainsley, of course), hoping it would give me a sign to let me know that it was time to use it: perhaps it would warm like a piece of coal in my hands or send a shock up my arm; Susan said I would know when the time is right. But nothing of the sort had happened yet.

I wished so desperately for it to speak. I wished I could ask if I was really meant to have it, to use it. Because if I wasn't, why had it appeared in the Room of Requirement, on top of a stack of wooden crates just at my eye level, so that I would see it when I turned around? Why had its rings glimmered like molten gold, the tiny hourglass call my name like an old familiar sound?

My head hurt. The alcoholic punch was burning me from the inside, numbing my skull in a way that was welcome, but sorely insufficient. I thirsted for a bottle of Firewhiskey. I would get drunk off it and stand up, and maybe gravity would choose to be kind to me.

But I am not that kind of person anymore.

I opened my eyes. Straight across the field from me was the Hufflepuff section. I imagined Ainsley sitting there. No one else, just her, with her little notepad and magic quill, shining eyes and liquid smile all for me. And then I pictured that smile pulled tight with fear as she boards the train and takes her seat by the window, eclipsed-moon face looking out at me while I stand there uselessly watching the train chug away.

I thought about the pain that would come after: great tsunamis crashing against my limp body, fighting my centre of gravity, intent on ripping me from the earth. It would be so unbearable that I might walk straight to the school kitchens, grab the largest paring knife I could find, and open up my arms. That would be an all right thing to do then because Ainsley wouldn't know — the news would never reach her, Montague will make sure of that.

I imagined what that would feel like, the silver, magically-sharpened tip shimmering down the vague pink shape of the skull, cutting right through the snake that still writhed beneath my skin. My shadows may finally breathe a sigh of relief, that I had finished their job for them.

But, fuck, I am not that kind of person anymore.

I turned the Time Turner over a few times in my palms. It was of no use to me, I decided at last. There was nothing I could do to stop the inevitable. For the past week, it had been a useful anchor, a symbol of hope to tide me through, and now it was time to go back to reality.