verity || d.m.

08 - the fire between

11 OCTOBER, 2001

—

when morning light starts to stir
truth will always come rushing forth

excerpt from poem #20, "verity," in my poetry book aftertaste

—

A brilliant medley of aromas lights off fireworks in Anastasiya's senses as she enters into the Parkinsons' residence.

The estate used to belong to Pansy's great aunt but was passed on to her right before she married Shreya. While expansive, it still exudes a comforting atmosphere; over the years, Anastasiya has taken many naps on the velvet loveseat by the fireplace. Pansy insisted on hosting a casual evening together, and while it took the Zabinis some convincing considering their own home was just as serene, the conversation pit and its firepit was what fulfilled the final push.

She isn't expecting much from a potluck of young adults who grew up having house elves cook for them, but Anastasiya is pleasantly surprised by the array on the dining table. Over the past few years of living on her own, she's had to learn to cook a fair few dishes. She places her cheese fondue at the center, casting a quick charm to heat it up over a flame.

As expected, several bottles of wine and whiskey are lined up on the countertop, behind which Goyle and Peadar have begun pouring glasses.

"What can I get for you, Anastasiya?" Peadar greets her with a bright, flashy smile as he gestures to the open bottles.

"I'll have wine," she replies, chirping up at Goyle's husband's own exhilaration. "Pinot Noir if you have any."

Peadar hands her a glass just as Shreya runs up and tosses an arm across Anastasiya's shoulder. "Isn't it so relieving to see each other outside of the Ministry?" Shreya reaches over and takes a sip from Anastasiya's glass.

"It is quite strange to see you out of a blazer," Anastasiya responds. "However I do like this outfit on you," she gestures to the silky top and black jeans that the other woman is in.

Anastasiya herself has dressed for what she refers to as chic comfort, with a pair of long, loose pants and a ribbed top whose semi-sweetheart neckline emphasized her collarbones. While she, unlike others who grew up in strict pureblood traditions, never cared much for lavish clothing, she does care much to look tidy and mindful of her appearance.

Over the past month, the brisk evenings started arriving earlier with the blink of an eye. If it weren't for the city lights that surrounded the spacious house, the stars and their galactic home would have been visible, even though just three weeks ago when Draco and Anastasiya had left the National Gallery at the same time it had still been light out. However, after coming of age in the bitter winters further up north, Anastasiya finds the biting October air of England to still be refreshing.

"Anastasiya, you have to try a lobster puff; they're absolutely divine!" Melike sneaks up from the couch she was previously lounging on with her husband. She holds up a pastry to the other woman with a small plate tentatively below in case any crumbs need to be caught. She offers a second to Shreya, who sets down her glass before popping it into her mouth.

"To which chef may I offer my compliments to?" Anastasiya responds between bites of the tender appetizer. She's immediately brought back to days by the sea, indulging in savory treats with her parents.

Much to both coworkers' surprise, a voice behind Melike replies, "I made them." Anastasiya looks up to see a head of blond. Draco leans down to take a bite out of his own pastry, the front pieces of his hair falling forward to brush against his forehead.