thirty four: expectatio

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expectatio: expectation, wait, prospect

expectatio: expectation, wait, prospect

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ELARA liked Valentine's Day.

She'd always liked seeing people happy and together, had always liked buying her friends' presents and baking heart-shaped cakes for them when she was younger. She didn't know how she knew that—but she did.

Usually, she would've sat wedged between Val and Mariko on the couch, laughing at something Neville was saying. Usually, she would've kissed Luca and nestled herself into the crook of his arm.

Usually, she would've enjoyed herself.

But this year, all she felt was numb. Icy tentacles inched through her, radiating outward from the left side of her chest and half her mind was somewhere else—in some blank, unknown space where nothing existed.

The other half had been focused on Draco Malfoy standing across the small expanse of grass. Had been well-aware of his gaze on her as Luca had led her into the safehouse, had hated that when she'd glanced over her shoulder through the window, she'd seen him taking Maya's hand.

But Elara was tired of feeling. Every day since she'd last spoken to Draco on the porch had been one wrought with emotion. She never cried—somehow, her body seemed to have shut down that process—but sometimes, she thought that made it worse.

To feel all those feelings—and never be able to get them out.

"Hey." Luca's hand was warm on her knee. "You disappeared again."

"Sorry," she mumbled, settling further back onto the armrest of the chair he was sitting in.

Val met her eyes from the sofa opposite them, green and bright and worried.

Elara still hadn't found the courage to talk to her. She didn't know why she hesitated—if it was shame or grief or fear that held her back—but she avoided Valerie like her life depended on it.

She looked beautiful tonight, her pink hair braided across her head like a crown, dressed in a loose white dress that brushed her knees, silver glitter dotted across her cheekbones.

Hermione had insisted Elara dress up too—not that Elara had had the energy to argue—and they'd settled for a black slip dress that fell to her mid-thigh, layered on top of a white button up.

Mariko said something that made everyone giggle and the grin that split across Luca's face was an all too painful reminder that all Elara was doing was weighing him down. He deserved to enjoy his night with his friends—not hover around her to make sure she was alright.

She stood abruptly, suddenly feeling like someone had wrapped a noose around her throat and Luca's hand grasped hers.

"Where are you going?" he inquired, eyebrows furrowing in concern.

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