Chapter Three
Chapter Three
The impending equinox was in four days, falling on the eve of her birthday. And yet, it seemed the inescapable boughs of duty had fallen far sooner. A spidery sensation had already sunken into her skin, the itch impossible to scratch as she heard the steady tick of time crawl through her bones. She tried multiple times to pretend it was rain dropping against her body, to liken the sickness into something calm and natural. But as each second past, as her eyes found themselves committing every passing scene to memory, she couldn’t ignore how alien it was. How unnatural.
It was no peaceful embrace, rather the steel grip of an evaded foe, caught up at last. A reminder of how helpless she was to its power.
It was horrifying that such a seemingly, un-momentous day could imprison her mind and body. One mere switch, and everything was hyper-focused and lurid. And as little choice as she thought she wielded, it was her choices which would unhinge the current world from its resting place, swirling it into something entirely different. And no one would ever realise. She'd have saved the world, and everyone would remain none-the-wiser.
But it was the thought of deserting her current family which truly grated on her. If she returned, they'd all be different. Perhaps Sirius would have been a Slytherin, had his parents not been so staunchly devoted to the Dark Lord. Maybe Harry would become Violet or Greg. And she might not ever exist to tell the difference.
She grimaced.
"Who drank all the bloody orange juice?! You're all vultures!" Draco raged from his position by the fridge, snapping her out of her trance.
She glanced over to find his expression was clouded with anger; his perfectly sharp jaw was clenched. It was knife-like, as were his eyes which shot daggers at mid-air, challenging anyone who dare oppose.
It was odd, that the only person she’d ever found beautiful when angry was Draco. His eyes became piercing and cold, much adrift from their usual warmth, and yet she found the ice soothing. It reminded her of her Christmas’ as a child, when the snow blanketed the earth in silence. She had often wondered whether it was truly just his eyes that made her feel calmer in comparison to everyone else, but often she had noted that others tended to project their anger outwardly, where Draco simmered internally.
So, maybe it was the lack of threat which caused her appraisal.
The twins snickered beside her. Astraea took a brief glance at the two, before focusing her gaze back on the fuming blonde before her.
She also found it particularly amusing when he was angry, despite how intimidating he could appear. He became like the ruffled ferret he was in fourth year. Fur shaggy and face focused into a pointed snarl. As if proving her point, Draco ran a hand through his hair again, tousling the waves, before sighing in exasperation and flopping down on a worn armchair beside the red sofa.
"We used it to stick Snape's hair together," George admitted, bemused, and Astraea grinned.
She watched the casual roll of a grey pair of eyes but knew the annoyance he exuded wasn't genuine. There was just a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. It was the same disguised amusement that bloomed fully in her own company, far too genuine to be seen in public. Images had to be upheld in the Malfoy family, and even if he was no longer a part of it strictly, it was a developed habit to plaster the mask back on.
"Isn't his hair already greasy though?" She chimed in, trying to distract herself from that saddening thought, "Will he actually notice a difference?"
Snickers erupted from the two redheads, and she took a sly sip of tea, following briskly with a small, amused bite of toast. The buttery flavour washed around her mouth, and she savoured the familiarity of it. It reminded her of a simpler time. One where she was younger and freer, with no aggravating, nose-less nut-job lurking around every corner.
Frowning slightly, she wrapped the dark grey shawl further around herself for comfort, her calloused hands clutching the fabric for a semblance of stability. It was old, but not tattered. Astraea loved the item of clothing more than anything else she owned, and she'd made sure to preserve the silky fabric and fur detailing on the cuffs and trim as much as she could.
Perhaps it helped that a young Draco had bought it for her, having scavenged away small increments of pocket-money each week for years so as to stop alerting his parents of their relationship. Because whilst she felt his mother might not mind, she knew Lucius Malfoy would murder him if he found that his son had 'defected' for a blood-traitor.
Blood-traitor... would that be a term anymore if she managed to stop Voldemort? If the equinox allowed her to travel back, would blood prejudice be just as prevalent? Or would it be gone, reduced to smithereens as a result of her efforts to halt Tom Riddle's elaborate plans? A small, foolishly hopeful part of her shouted 'yes', but the other, the realist, shook its head in condescension.
Nothing would ever stop prejudice. No matter what occurred, the embittered and elitist few that remained would ensure that equality was not reached. And they would force their children to do the same, brainwashing them and indoctrinating their young minds with insane ideals and unjustified opinions.
Tom Riddle himself had only driven elitism, not created it. He had seen a weapon to strengthen and utilise, one which would offer him the power he craved in return.
It seemed she had drifted away for far too long, as she was brought back to the present by the soothing notes of her closest confidant.
"Are you okay, Elle?"
Her eyes manoeuvred to him, and she smiled gently. He had adopted the endearing habit of calling her Elle; a shortening of her middle name.
"Yeah," she responded, "yeah, I am."
A stab of guilt hit her core as she felt the smooth lie leave her lips, becoming harsher and crueller with the wide and beautiful grin that caressed Draco's face. It was a smile she saw so infrequently that the effect left her speechless, shaken to her very centre by the carefree, genuine expression of affection that suddenly existed where a pinched frown usually did.
Astraea found herself wanting to throw up. She'd lied when she promised so fluidly never to do so about something that mattered. A little white lie about their sleep didn't harm either of them, as they both knew they'd never be able to sleep properly ever again. Rather than deceive, it served to soothe the other.
But this was not one of those inconsequential lies. A bout of nausea washed over her again, and she had to gulp down another sip of Earl Grey to distract herself.
"Where do you reckon our little Ronnikins is right now, Forge?" Fred's bemused voice floated out, and Astraea's eyes fluttered over to the source.
"I don't know, Gred. Perhaps he stormed off after Hermione rejected him to be with her one true love. Harold Mc'Trotter."
The blonde witch let a small laugh spill from her mouth, watching as a sly, hidden grin splayed over her boyfriend's porcelain face.
"No wonder," Draco joined in, "I've always been sure Weaselbee's great Gryffindor bravado has been him overcompensating..."
A gasp followed by a short, stuttered laugh left her mouth as she almost choked in disbelief.
"Draco!"
And yet, she couldn't help herself, and she allowed herself to let out a spiel of giggles, Draco staring at her with a softness to his eyes.
But as soon as the light-hearted moment was there, it ended, and a loud, ugly roar echoed ominously throughout the household. There was no doubt who the sound originated from, and Astraea felt a lump build inside her throat.
She looked, panicked, towards the other three, each displaying a look of pure terror. And as the first thundering footsteps fell against the stairwell, the group made a dash for the outside world.
Laughter tainted by fear followed them.
-:-
Thursday arrived quicker than she could have ever expected, and the dawning of the Equinox left a colossal weight on Astraea's shoulders, pulling her heart further into the depths of her stomach with every second that passed.
A dread had begun to settle over her, and not even the golden, sun-lit fields of barley could stop it from bothering her anymore.
"You're leaving."
Her head whipped round to the platinum blonde Ravenclaw sat beside her. Maybe the disturbance was not due to the words at all, but the tone they carried. There wasn't a hint of unsurety within them, and Astraea found herself uneasy. Luna hadn’t uttered a question, but a fact; one she had been working her hardest to ignore.
"How did you know?" she retorted shakily, her hands clenching her wrinkled sleeves.
"I can see the Wrackspurts floating around you," came the easy reply, "You're worried."
Despite the slight incredulity Astraea still held for Luna's theories on undiscovered creatures, she nodded faintly. Her eyes scanned the swaying fields ahead. The unhindered movement was relaxing, and she wished she could be alone in the solitude of those fields for a brief second. Maybe there, she could escape the stress of her coming venture to the past.
"We're never going to see you again, are we?"
It was dazed as usual, but the usual floatation was tainted with sorrow.
"It won't be the same, no. This life... it'll be different. And even I'll never know why," Astraea responded simply, though her voice was thick and shaky.
The girl beside her nodded.
It was better this way. Astraea didn't know if she could cope with the emotion that might erupt from her if Luna had begged her to stay. But the Luna she knew wouldn’t do so. She knew as well as Astraea did, that life was never wholly your own. It was dictated by a multitude of factors, ones that couldn’t always be simply ignored. The Equinox was something Astraea could not brush aside.
The sense of duty that came with it was inescapable.
"You know, you could always harvest some memories in tears and store them someplace only you'll be able to find them," her soft voice rang out again, "Just in case you wanted to remember one day."
Her pulse quickened. She could.
"Remember a life that could've been."
Astraea smiled at the thought, and a single tear slid down her face, whole and broken simultaneously. She tasted the salt within as it trailed down to the corner of her mouth and halted its solemn track.
"Thank you, Luna."
The platinum-blonde smiled, her shoulders loose in relaxation, a contrast to Astraea's taut posture that made her muscles ache for relief.
"It really ought to be us that thanks you," she smiled and floated off, her hands reaching out to lightly trace some flower petals in her retreat to the house.
A fragile moment of calm existed for a few moments before Astraea felt herself begin to sob into the empty air, filling the silent air with raw grief. The sound seemed shackled to that small grove between barley and the deteriorating cottage that was now her home. Like her, it was restricted to a bordered life there. Life would dilute it, remove its wings before it flew too far with the promise of the wind. It was broken, cut in half by forces undeterred by remorse. A futile cry for salvation.
All she could do now was mourn. Mourn for her life, which would soon cease to be as she left it.