fearless || d.m. x a.g.

03 - you were throwing pebbles (then)

1990

—

For the fifth night in a row, Astoria wakes up in a pool of sweat.

It's not like the occasional nights on which she gets nightmares, because she can't remember why she's jolted awake. She certainly isn't overly well-rested; in fact, it's the opposite.

For the fifth night in a row, she has not been able to stay asleep until the sun comes streaming through her window.

She flips onto her right side, hoping the repositioning will help. Instead, she feels an intense pain in her muscles, forcing her onto her back this time. Astoria notices every single bit of discomfort — the mattress is too hard and the heater is too loud, her leg is too sore and her nose is too congested.

Perhaps it's time to tell her parents. She's usually told to toughen up when she has a cold, but Astoria can tell this is no regular cold. Something deep within her tiny body, flowing through her, urges her that she isn't supposed to feel like this. She resolves to wait until morning, so she doesn't have to wake anyone up. If she had a wand, she could at least fill a glass with water to cool her down. Instead, she flips her pillow and tries to move to a different spot on her bed, but nothing helps.

She lays in bed for three hours and twenty-one minutes before she hears stirring in the hallway and the voices of her parents.

As she stands up, she realizes how much her body aches. It could be from the uncomfortable bed, which used to be her safe haven. Still, the joints in her legs feel sticky as she barely manages to open her window, and she doesn't recall ever having to use this much energy to walk to her bureau that sits in the far corner of her room. Even as the frigid October air — soon to be November air — comes waltzing into her bedroom, she still feels the burning inside of her. Daphne is probably picking out a long sweater and pants in her own room, but Astoria can barely find comfort in the medium-length skirt and short-sleeved top patterned with horseshoes that she puts on.

Slowly, she makes her way down the stairs, feeling even more weary once she reaches the bottom. There's a steady pounding beat, and she can't figure out if it's the big grandfather clock in the sitting room or her own heart knocking to be let out of the small cage of her chest.

"Astoria! Go put on a jacket; it's freezing out!" Priscilla exclaims as she sees her younger daughter reach the table. She hands her a glass of hot tea, to which Astoria shakes her head.

"I'm not cold, Mother," Astoria says, slightly whining. "I was sweating all night and my bones feel like they've caught fire." She leans her head into her hand before her father taps at the elbow that rests on the mahogany table.

"Perhaps you wore too much to bed," Daphne pitches in as she reaches for the orange marmalade.

Astoria frowns. "That's what I thought, the first time this happened. I already changed into my summer nightgown three nights ago."

"I'm sure it will pass, Astoria. Now, eat your toast," her father says as he cuts into his egg. The world inside of the Greengrass kitchen is otherwise peaceful, with the sounds of the kettle boiling hot water and marmalade spreading on toast filling the air.

Astoria stares down at her plate, her toast never looking as unappealing as it does today. "I've never been sick this long before," she whispers.

Priscilla sighs before she speaks, her gaze switching between her husband and her younger daughter. "I'm going to run some errands by St. Mungo's today. I can bring her to see a Healer." She turns around to find the nearest house elf, who happens to be vigorously scrubbing a bowl that previously contained porridge. "Tooksy, make a bowl of chicken noodle soup for Daphne's lunch today. Astoria and I will not be home; have dinner for the four of us ready at six o'clock sharp."