Chapter 4
July 1977
Argus Fawley spent the entire day in bed. Any movement felt like a challenge. A deep sorrow and searing pain coursed through him, spreading across his body like venom. Even something as trivial as breathing was a struggle. He wished desperately to feel nothing at all.
Why her?
Why did they choose Lucinda Winstone?
He couldn’t believe it. She was gone—so suddenly, so unexpectedly. Just a few days ago, he’d begged her for forgiveness. Only yesterday, he’d planned to visit her in the coming days to make amends. He’d even come up with a better apology, something less feeble to say to her.
But that would never happen now—she was gone.
Forever.
The thought that he’d never again see her brown eyes or her unique smile… that was the worst of it. There would be no next time, no second chances. It was simply over.
He had to reconcile himself with memories—memories that would inevitably fade over time, leaving only fragments. Details would blur, and… he didn’t want to lose her.
Argus had always believed Lucinda would achieve so much in her life. She’d dreamt of exploring the world, embarking on grand adventures. She even had a list of things she wanted to accomplish before she died.
The world was cruel.
Blood purity… one of the primary reasons she lost her life. Because of her lineage. Argus was certain it was no coincidence that Death Eaters had targeted her. Rumors were rife that even some older students had joined the dreaded Voldemort.
“Blimey, that lad looks absolutely dreadful.”
“Cut it out! How would you feel if someone close to you died?”
“Maybe she was his girlfriend.”
“Well, she had pretty poor taste, then, didn’t she?”
“For Merlin’s sake! Could you two show a bit of kindness? Just because you’ve been dead for decades doesn’t mean you have to act like it!”
“Oh, stop being so sensitive, Tommy.”
Argus swore under his breath. He wished he could vanish. Normally, he’d have banished these ghosts the moment they showed up, but he didn’t have the energy today. He was grateful he’d already pulled the blanket over his head earlier—it blocked out the harsh sunlight streaming through the window.
These three ghosts had been an unexpected discovery when his family moved into this house years ago. Argus’s father, Viktor Fawley, had inherited the property from a distant uncle who hadn’t taken great care of it.
The ghosts had their quirks, but one thing was clear: they didn’t particularly like Viktor Fawley and occasionally played pranks on him. (Unfortunately, Viktor had figured out how to scare them off after a year.) Strangely enough, Viktor’s Muggle partner, Vivien, enjoyed their antics. As Argus discovered, she was a huge fan of anything supernatural.
“I’m truly sorry about your friend, Argus,” said Thomas, the most sensitive of the ghosts, his voice uncomfortably close. Unfortunately, Thomas was prone to melancholia, so having a normal conversation with him was nearly impossible.
“Well, at least she didn’t become a ghost,” muttered Oswald.
“I certainly hope not. It’d be tragic if she ended up like Tommy here, fussing over his ridiculous painting all the time,” Oswald added, his attempt at kindness falling flat. “Imagine if she decided to haunt Diagon Alley instead—some of those shops might go out of business. But worse, she might have to wander aimlessly… forever—”
“Oswald, shut it! Seriously!”
The thought of Lucinda becoming a ghost hadn’t crossed Argus’s mind. As much as he longed to speak to her, to tell her everything he never got the chance to say, he wouldn’t wish that fate on her—an eternity of this half-life.
“The lad’s awfully quiet, isn’t he? You don’t reckon went nuts? You know… If he were asleep, he’d be snoring, wouldn’t he?” Bernard chimed in. That was just how he was.
Though Argus didn’t want to, he knew he had to respond. Otherwise, who knew what these three might do to check if he was still breathing? Whatever it was, it wouldn’t be pleasant.
“Can’t you go bother someone else?” he muttered.
“We’d love to, but your father forbade us from talking to Gregor—said it might give him another heart attack. He even threatened to smash my china tea set!” Oswald explained, sounding deeply offended.
“And he asked us to check on you,” Thomas added.
“Seeing as you won’t leave this room… How do you even go to the loo?”
“Bernard!”
“What? I’m just curious.”
“Anyway, lad, you’ve got half an hour to pull yourself together. You’re having dinner with them—nothing too terrible.”
“Fine. Now get out,” Argus rasped.
It took him a moment to process what he’d heard. His father was really forcing him to have dinner with them, even though he knew Argus was struggling to cope with Lucinda’s death? Didn’t he have the right to lie in bed and wallow in grief for a while? It might be bleak, but it suited him just fine.
He pulled back the blanket—it was easier to breathe now—and saw that the sun was already setting. He didn’t see the point in changing out of his pajamas, knowing he’d be back in bed in an hour.
But perhaps he could manage a to take a shower.
✷✷✷
He had felt this way many times before—simply unable to perform even the most trivial task, like turning on the shower. He hated these moments. It was as if something inside him was resisting. All it would take was to reach out his hand, but even that felt unbearably hard. For a while, he just stood there, motionless, his head filled with thoughts.
He considered giving up and crawling back into bed. But that would probably cause more unnecessary drama. His father could be stubborn when he set his mind to something. Argus knew he had no choice. He had to go downstairs.
Just how much he hated this house! No matter how hard his father tried, Argus simply couldn’t accept the idyllic vision of a happy family. After his mother’s death, his father had left him alone. Instead of being there for him, he had sent him off to stay with sickly Uncle Tristan or the Blacks. His father was always at work, as if that was the only thing that mattered. Little Argus desperately needed someone to be there for him, but instead, he was repeatedly pushed aside.
When his father found a new wife a few years ago, Vivien—a Muggle, no less—Argus lost the last shred of respect he had for him. It was perhaps the worst decision his father could have made at the time. In a world where Voldemort’s followers were growing in power, this decision painted a huge target on his back. The last thing Argus wanted was to come home one day and see the Dark Mark hovering over their house. How could his father be so reckless? Did he not care about the risks he was bringing upon their family?
Now Viktor was trying to reconnect, but it was far too late. Where had he been when Argus lost his mother? Where had he been when Uncle Tristan died—the only person who could cheer him up back then? Tristan had been ill, but at least he had made time for Argus, making him feel loved. But even Tristan was gone, and from that moment, Argus had lost interest in everything.
Vivien was quite kind, which Argus couldn’t stand. The more she tried to be nice to him, the more it irritated him. He had locked his bedroom door to avoid her well-meaning attempts to bring him food. In the mornings, he’d wake up to find a glass of water and a slice of bread with spread on his desk, but he wouldn’t touch it. It felt like an attempt to play at being a family, which they would never be.
Argus had the unfortunate tendency to stop eating entirely when he was sad or depressed. Four years ago, he had been a somewhat chubby kid who tried to make others laugh. But after he started feeling the weight of the losses he had endured, he stopped eating. He lost weight quickly, and within a year, he was just a shadow of his former self. His father had noticed the change and had been alarmed. Since then, he had tried to ensure Argus didn’t begin starving himself again. That was perhaps the only thing his father genuinely cared about.
Argus knew that if he didn’t go downstairs and eat something, it would cause a scene. His father and Vivien would force him to eat, and that wouldn’t end well.
He felt anger bubbling up inside him. He had been feeling this way often in recent days. His emotions boiled, but he didn’t know how to let them out. He didn’t want to scream, punch walls, or tear up paper, but at the same time, he didn’t have the energy for any of that.
He remembered how Lucinda had once told him that writing in a journal could help clear his mind. “It’s like you’re sharing your secrets with someone,” she had said. He took a deep breath in and out. Eventually, he managed to overcome the feeling of paralysis and took a shower.
Success.
The hallway was eerily quiet, which made him a little nervous. Wouldn’t it be better to stay in his room? He didn’t want to run into anyone or talk to anyone… what if they spoke to him? Vivien could sometimes be quite chatty… He began to doubt everything.
“What are you waiting for?” a voice whispered near his ear.
He jumped in fright. Oswald especially loved scaring people this way. Sneaking up on them at the most unexpected moments and whispering something in their ear. It was enough to give someone a heart attack. The worst part was that you couldn’t even punch a ghost for it.
“Okay, okay… sorry, kid, I just couldn’t help myself,” Oswald laughed. “Now you’ve got a rare chance to overhear the grown-ups talking about you. Vivien’s giving the old man an earful, which is unusual, so I’d tread lightly if I were you. Gregory is thankfully in his room polishing his… football trophy. Thank goodness it’s nothing else.”
Gregory, Vivien’s son, was utterly obsessed with soccer. Argus hated the sport for that very reason—Gregory wouldn’t stop talking about it and annoying everyone with it. Soccer might have been interesting for Argus otherwise, but his stepbrother had completely ruined it for him.
Argus thanked Oswald and then carefully made his way down the stairs. Luckily, he had become quite good at it.
“You can’t approach him like that, Viktor. Think about it… how would you feel? Yes, it’s bad that he’s falling into these states… but you must give him time to pull himself together. You can’t just push him—it doesn’t work that way.”
“Don’t tell me how to raise my own son. I know best what works for him… and giving him time? Please. It’s been almost three years since Tristan’s death, and he still hasn’t moved on… he hasn’t changed in all this time, and he’s still acting like a wreck. And I certainly don’t want him to grow up to be like that, especially with the war going on!”
A cold sweat ran down his back. His father’s words etched themselves into his memory. No matter how hard he tried to deny it, those words hurt. A wreck.
“That’s exactly why you need to be kinder to him. What if he’s the next one to face such a fate… And you think you know what works for him? Well, I remember last year how you handled things. You threw him out of the house and then spent the whole afternoon looking for him. And he spent the night under a bridge. At sixteen years old. Yeah, that was stellar parenting.”
Vivien was truly furious; Argus had never seen her like this before. In fact, he had never witnessed the two of them arguing or yelling at each other.
He didn’t want to hear another word about himself. So, he cleared his throat and walked into the kitchen. Vivien gave him a sad smile, while his father averted his gaze and simply left the room. Argus felt a wave of relief—it wasn’t like he wanted to sit in silence with his father.
“He didn’t mean it—”
“I think he did,” Argus interrupted her immediately. He didn’t need her to try and justify his father’s words.
“He’s just been under a lot of stress lately… with everything going on in the world…” She shook her head. “Would you like me to make you something to eat?” she asked with a kind smile.
“No,” Argus replied flatly. He knew it would take him a long time to find something he could eat, but he wasn’t interested in letting this woman do him any favors.
“Ah… alright then.” She nodded and left the room. Argus remained in the silence. He tried to find something he could eat… but couldn’t. Moments later, he was back in bed, wrapped in his blankets.
✷✷✷
Lucinda’s entire family attended her funeral, along with some friends, most of whom were from Ravenclaw House. Emily White, her best friend, held a handkerchief to her eyes and cried softly, while Desdemona Fox tried to comfort her.
The most heartbreaking sight was Lucinda’s family. Olivia Winstone, her mother, looked utterly exhausted, her eyes red and her black dress hanging loosely on her. Argus couldn’t imagine how hard this must have been for her. Her brother held her shoulders and whispered something softly to her. Not far from them stood Victoria, Lucinda’s cousin, quietly chatting with Regulus.
Before the ceremony began, Argus approached Mrs. Winstone to express his condolences. She immediately hugged him, visibly trying to hold back her tears.
“My family has been such a great support to me. I don’t know what I’d do without them,” she said with a weary smile.
“I’m glad to hear that… if you ever need anything, Mrs. Winstone, I’m here for you.” He meant it. He liked her; when he’d stayed with them during the last holiday, she had been very kind to him. Lucinda was almost a perfect copy of her.
“That’s very kind of you… I think Lucinda would want you to have some of her things… I haven’t had the strength to go through them yet, but I believe she’d want someone to read her books or something like that…”
Argus swallowed hard. He wasn’t ready to go into her room, either.
“I’ll definitely stop by.”
Lucinda’s family decided to hold the ceremony in a church, even though Lucinda herself wasn’t particularly religious. As a child, however, she had enjoyed visiting the church and wore a small crucifix around her neck, which had personal significance to her.
“Are you holding up?” Alfred Belby appeared beside Argus, his concerned expression showing he was worried. Argus hadn’t replied to his letter because he didn’t have the energy, but he valued his friendship immensely.
“Honestly, I don’t know,” Argus replied after a moment of silence. “This… I just didn’t expect it.” He glanced at a photograph of Lucinda, taken when she was about ten. She wore a fluffy light-blue dress and a crown on her head, her eyes shining with joy.
“Nobody did…” Alfred sighed, looking over his shoulder.
“Ah, the rest are here.”
Argus turned to see Nathan and Terry approaching. Before he could say a word, Terry hugged him tightly. It startled everyone because Terry Freeman wasn’t one for hugs.
“I’m so sorry, Argus,” Terry whispered.
Argus just nodded, stunned. When Terry pulled away, his eyes were red—evidently from crying.
“Why are you all looking at me like that?” Terry wiped his nose with a handkerchief.
“I have feelings too, you know… don’t look at me like I’m an unicorn.”
The eulogy was delivered by the local priest, and there wasn’t a dry eye in the room. Argus didn’t fully understand the speech, as it included many references unfamiliar to him. Nathan held an arm around Terry, who was still emotional, while Amoret Montford leaned against Raymond.
Suddenly, a black dog appeared next to Argus. The dog looked at him briefly but didn’t let itself be petted. Instead, it walked over to Regulus, who barely noticed it.
“Do you know that dog?” Argus asked quietly as Regulus approached him. The wind tousled Regulus’s dark hair.
“A local stray,” Regulus shrugged. The dog nudged his hand with its nose as if trying to get his attention, but one stern look from Regulus was enough for the dog to lie down and stop bothering him. Argus remembered that Regulus had always wanted a dog, so he was surprised at how distant he was from this animal. He decided not to dwell on it; the day was already strange enough.
The funeral didn’t last long. Everyone was given a flower to place on Lucinda’s grave. The stray dog stole Regulus’s flower and ran ahead to the grave—it seemed almost rehearsed, Argus thought.
“You poor thing,” Emily White sobbed as the dog approached her.
“If I had some food, I’d give it to you.” She knelt by the dog, which licked her face. Emily began crying again, seemingly moved by the animals actions.
“I’m so sorry you don’t have a home.”
“Emily, don’t touch it too much; it might have fleas or who knows what… I saw one like that eating a rat,” Amoret Montford warned her.
The dog gave her an offended look, as if it understood exactly what she had said.
No one spoke after that. Everyone realized that Argus and Regulus wanted to stay by the grave alone. Emily wanted to stay with them, but she couldn’t hold back her tears, so the others led her away to calm down—it might have helped Terry, too.
The dog whined and then let out a long howl.
In that moment, Regulus petted its head for the first and most likely, the last time. Argus still felt like there was something missing in all of this… he shook his head to get rid of that feeling.
There were many things he wanted to say to Lucinda as some kind of farewell, but at that moment, nothing came to mind. He just hoped she was in a better place.