Chapter 5
Rory hated her birthday. She supposed it had to do with the fact that it was also the day her mother died, but that isn’t accurate. Rory never knew her mother, so she couldn’t miss her.
The truth was that she hated her birthday because it was just another day. She hated the expectations put on the day to be special. Because it never was. No one ever made her feel special; she had never even celebrated her birthday with anyone. She preferred it that way.
Her father never acknowledged her birthday, he would let the day pass without a word of it. No one else knew her birthday, until Pandora. But she doesn’t celebrate.
It was better that way.
Rory hated her birthday. Why would she celebrate it? No party, no problems. No expectations, no disappointment.
It was just another day.
But she still watched the days pass with mounting dread as the date approached.
So Aurora woke up on her birthday just like any other day. She was in a bad mood.
Rolling out of bed, she dresses haphazardly, not bothering with a shower on this blackest of days.
A glance in the mirror reveals a half tucked in shirt, frizzy behead, and a very grumpy looking Rory.
“Hello gorgeous” Pandora says sleepily, stretching as she makes eye contact through the mirror.
Aurora grumbles “morning”.
Pandoras brows quirk upward “not good morning then?”
Aurora grunts. Pandora sighs “yes it is that day today isn’t it. Shall I say happy birthday now and get it over with then?”
“Go on then if you have to” Rory grudges, turning to face her sister, but slowly walking backwards toward the door that would lead to escape.
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY RORY I LOVE YOU!”
“Right. Cheers. Breakfast?” Rory says dryly, and without waiting for an answer, heads out the door to the dining room.
When Pandora joins her at the table, she finds Aurora eating a bowl of fruit, and a bowl of plain porridge.
“No cake?” Pandora asks, helping herself to a berry.
Rory shakes her head.
“You are very strange” Dora remarks fondly.
In potions she starts to feel woozy.
By lunch she is shaking so bad her teeth chatter. She doesn’t have an appetite and the clatter of dish ware and cacaphony of conversations in the echoey room are torture for her aching head. Deciding to quit while she’s ahead, she turns for the infirmary.
She rounds the corner and is surprised to see James, in full quidditch garb.
He cracks a grin when he sees her, waving and opening his mouth, presumably to greet her.
The last thing she remembers is raising her hand to wave back before everything goes dark.
She fainted. Before she’s even fully conscious, that fact registers. She can feel it in how heavy her limbs are, how fuzzy her brain is, how bone-tired she feels.
She opens her eyes and James is the first thing she sees. He startles, and immediately calls for Madame Pomfrey.
The woman rushes over and begins a brusque exam, shining her wand her in each eye, making her follow her finger as it trails left to right.
“I didn’t hit my head” Rory provides flatly.
Pomfrey just hums and hands her a vial, which she takes without question. As soon as she has finished her ministrations and left, James is upon her.
“Rory you passed out!! I didn’t even have time to catch you before you were on the floor. You scared the socks off me I thought you were a goner!” James all but shrieks, grabbing at her hands and pressing them to his brow In anguish.
“You’re very dramatic. And loud” she says with a wince, gently pulling out of his grasp.
James immediately backs up “sorry I just… you scared me” he repeats softly.
Something in his tone, in the way his eyes are genuinely filled with terror for her at something so minor, it breaks her.
Everything comes bubbling up and over the brim like a bad potion in a cauldron. Body wracking sobs break and crash upon her like the surf. All her anguish at her health, at the fact that she has to feel this way on her birthday, which is supposed to be a special day no matter what lie she tells herself, it all comes spewing out of her In fat teardrops. All the unmade wishes, and unsung songs of years past cry out as she does. She flings her arm out, hand reaching out for James, because she needs help weathering this turbulent sea. He takes her hand in an instant, grip firm and gentle at once “I’m here” he says, ripping a fresh sob out of her.
“I’m sorry I just “ she struggles to take in a breath “I hate my birthday.”
“Is it your birthday? Today?”
She nods.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” He asks, sounding genuinely mournful.
“Because I hate my birthday”
“Right” he says, clearly not understanding.
“My mom died on my birthday” Rory reminds him flatly, to which he replies with a pained “ah”.
“Please don’t… tell the others. My birthday I mean I just… I don’t like celebrating.” Rory says, feeling very stupid indeed.
“Course Rory, whatever you need”
“I actually think I-“ I hate myself “- I think I need to be alone. Collect myself.”
James jumps to his feet in an instant “yeah of course, yes I’ll just- I’ll be going then… feel… better.”
Once he leaves, Aurora sits there, limp, empty, and silent for hours.
It’s well into the evening by the time she gets back to the common room. She begs off for a shower, giving Dora some half-hearted excuse for her absence. By the time she is settled in for the night, she is ravenous. Which makes sense because she has done a very poor job of eating today; it’s a miracle she’s kept down what little she ate.
As she scurries down the stairs, heading for the kitchens, she sees him. He’s sitting in his usual seat, reading a book. Long, dark lashes cast shadows upon his cheeks from the light of the fire. Rory notes his grey knit sweater and black pants.
He’s still in real clothes at this hour? Lunatic.
“Who relaxes for an evening read in slacks?” She says, drawing his attention up to her.
The full force of his gaze always moves something in her, like a lock clicking into place with the right key. They share an intense moment of eye contact before his face lights up, as if he had no choice but to gaze at her and only now understands who he is looking at. Like he is happy to see her.
“Sorry we can’t all have the boldest of loungewear at our fingertips”
She laughs at that, flourishing her house robe and wiggling her eyebrows “nope, it’s one of a kind, my mother made it while she was pregnant with me”
Regulus looks like he’s just been stabbed.
“Your mum made your robe?” He asks, frighteningly soft.
“Yes.” Rory replies, not understanding.
“The robe that I’ve been making fun of since we were 11”
“Reg it’s not like that, you’re not bullying me or anything. It’s not like I wear it because I think it’s stylish”
“I’m such a twat I’ve been pretending to hate your dead mums robe”
Regulus looks really distraught now, face pale, eyes haunted.
“Reggie please I- wait. Pretend? You’ve been pretending to hate it? Regulus I know you would never approve of these tattered rags, you’re wearing a knit sweater to read alone In a dark room. You don’t have to pretend to like it just because my mom is dead”
And Regulus looks truly horrified now, running his hands through his curls as he trips over his words “No I- I really do like it I think it’s lovely, it’s just like you. I like it because it’s yours.”
Something settles between them in the ensuing beat of silence.
“Do you want to come with me to the kitchens?”
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Ohmygodsohmygodsohmysweetandgoodandmercifulgods
What did he just say? What did he just admit to?
Lost in the flurry of his thoughts, he walks to the kitchens beside the girl he loves. He’s probably loved her since they were small, she’s probably his best friend. He’s probably going to ruin this.
As if he can feel it, like a physical presence, he senses what lies in the bag at his hip.
She had given him a small look of confusion when he had slung the bag over his shoulder to take on their walk down the hall. She had no idea that it held the birthday gift he got for her. The gift he had been carrying around all day, waiting to finally bump into her; but he had quidditch practice in the morning, and then he hadn’t seen her at lunch or dinner. No wonder she was hungry.
With an internal wince, Regulus remembers his earlier blunders. He had insulted that robe every day for years. And she had let him. Why? Why hadn’t she said anything? Certainly it bothered her, certainly she couldn’t be so good natured.
Even as he thought it, he knew she was.
She is so good. He thinks to himself, agonizing. I have to give her this. I’ll never forgive myself if I fail. If I fail her.”
Resolve hardened to stone, the pair enter the kitchens.
The kitchen elves dote on Rory. Angel that she is, she thanks each and every one of them profusely.
Regulus thinks of his own home, where the elves are treated much less kindly. He cannot imagine Rory ever being like his family. Like his mother.
He pushes the thought away with force. He had something far more important on his mind.
“Listen, Rory, I know you don’t like your birthday”
Her dark head rears up at that, eyes flashing wildly.
Regulus moves his hands, palms forward, in front of him, as if she were a spooked horse. He catches himself and lowers his hands to the table. Where she can see them. “Pandora told me. Please don’t be cross with her I practically forced her to tell me it’s all my fault really”
Aurora narrows her eyes, suspicious.
Beautiful he thinks to himself, indulging.
With purposeful eye contact and slow movements, Regulus reaches into his bag and pulls out a slim, black box.
“I’ve got you a gift” he says, placing the box on the table before her.
She regards it blankly. He can see that he’s losing her. That she’s going to that place in her mind she gets lost in sometimes. So he says the one thing he knows will keep her there, with him. Pushing the box toward her, Regulus practically whispers “please, Rory”.
He doesn’t need to look at her to know it’s worked. Her soft release of breath is enough. Using her nickname was overkill really, but he wanted to make sure she wouldn’t bolt. He knew many things about Aurora, like how she is a stickler for her pleases and thank yous. She took words seriously. A nickname meant something to her. They had been in second year when she had finally told him to stop calling her Aurora. “You’re my best friend, Reggie. You can call me Rory”
“I thought Pandora was your best friend” Regulus replied, stunned by this new information.
“She’s my sister. Cousin. It’s different. You’re my best friend.”
“Hey Rory?” The look on her face, eyes bright, nose red from the snow. Her smile was blinding. Until he threw a snowball directly into it.
He knew she put a disgusting amount of sugar in her tea, never went anywhere without a book, and loved animals more than people.
He knew she fed the thestrals in the forbidden forest every week, even when it rained. He knew she could see them because she had watched her mother die. He knew she wrote poetry in that stupid notebook that she wouldn’t let anyone read.
He knew a lot about Aurora Ophelia Lovegood; so when he decided to get her a birthday gift he knew immediately what she needed.
Box lying open, and empty before them, Rory is holding the bulky headphones like they are a precious ancient artifact.
She seems lost for words.
“For your headaches. And when it’s… loud” Panic begins to rear its head.
“No one’s ever given me a birthday gift before” her quiet words are like the slash of a sword.
Now Regulus is the lost for words. How could this have been allowed to go on?
He wants to scream at the sky How did you let her go so long unloved? He managed only a wet “what?”
Even his cursed family exchanged presents on holidays. Usually unnecessarily expensive ones.
Aurora is shaking her head, still holding the headphones in both hands, looking dazed “we never celebrated…”
in a blink, she has gotten to her feet, headphones back in their nest of green tissue paper. He may have gone a touch overboard with the metallic silver script along the lid “for my Rory, - R.A.B.”
Aurora glides to his side, eyes wet, arms reaching out. Wordlessly, he gathers her into him. She clutches him, sobs shaking them both.
“Shh don’t cry” he croons into her hair, her neck. She is all around him and he is lost and he is found. She clings to him and it’s a miracle, it’s a miracle two people who go so out of their way to not touch others by hand or heart have become a whole. That’s what it feels like when he’s with her. Like the moon and the ocean, or the earth and the sun. He thinks he could find her in the dark. He thinks they’ve been in each others orbit since the dawn of time.
He barely thinks, barely breathes, as something clicks into place inside him.
He brings his hands to cup her cheek, she leans into the touch. He brushes her hair away from her face, tears from her cheeks.
She leans her face up to look at him and for a wild moment he thinks she intends to kiss him, but then her hands are on his chest and they are pulling away and the absence of her is like a vacuum sucking the very life out of the space around him.
It feels like a lifetime passes in the time it takes for her to speak.
“Thank you.” She says, feather-soft.
The walk back to the common room is silent, all that is unsaid loud around them.
They do not touch.
At the stairs to her room, they exchange hushed good nights. He wants to ask if she is ok, if he went too far, did too much. But he doesn’t know how. He never understood how she could be so honest.
That night he dreams of water, and planets and salt.
—————————————————————-
Aurora falls asleep with her headphones on, and has a blissfully, dreamless, soundless sleep.
She wakes up the next morning reconsidering birthdays.