Maeve Macmillan liked to write.
It didn't matter if it was writing her thoughts in her diary, short stories in a journal, articles for newspapers, essays for homework, letters to her parents, simple reminders on her hand, quotes on parchment to st...
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-----------------------> REGULUS RETURNED TO HIS OWN HOUSE the next day after politely thanking her parents for their hospitality (again) and emptying the stash of chocolate pudding candy when Maeve had burst into tears upon spotting them. Maeve contacted Xenophilius Lovegood that evening and began constructing the blueprint of their future newspaper company. Bruce's funeral took place on the eve of New Year. Halley, Kate and Max had been granted special permission to attend it from Headmaster Dumbledore.
When she had arrived, Maeve had repeated, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," until Bruce's mother, still ill and coughing occasionally, had levelled a stern, tearful gaze at Maeve and said: "Unless you tossed the killing curse at my son, it's not your fault. It's that bastard You-Know-Who's and his minions. Only they should be held accountable."
The fire burning in her eyes made Maeve believe that Mrs Clarkson was personally going to escort He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to a guillotine and chop his head off.
Once the processions had been completed, Bruce's parents lowered the coffin containing their only child's body into the ground by levitating it using their wands. Grief, Maeve then learnt, was really just love. It was all the love you wanted to give but cannot. All of those unspent love gathering up in the corner of one's eyes, the lump in their throat and in that hollow part of their chest. Grief, she realised, was just love with no place to go.
Later, Maeve—with the permission of his parents—planted the cactus she had planned to give to his mother in front of the headstone containing his name. Then, she hugged and cried with her friends until they were forced to leave and there were no tears left to shed.
Her friends returned to Hogwarts on New Year and the day after that, Maeve sat between her parents on cold, steel chairs in the waiting room of a special department at St. Mungo's hospital, fidgeting with the hem of her dress and swinging her legs back and forth.
"Thank you for coming with me," she told her parents, eyes fixed downwards to the fluffy carpet covering the floor.
"Of course, darling," responded Mavis, squeezing her daughter's hand warmly.
"And we'll wait until you come out," added Marius firmly, an arm wrapped around Maeve's shoulder as if she would disappear if he loosened his grip. "We'll go for ice cream then."
"Could I have three scoops?"
"I'll buy you the entire shop," he promised assuringly.
"But," Maeve bit her lip. "Won't you get into trouble at work? It's still morning, dad, maybe if you go now, you can—"
"It's not as important as you, pud—Maeve," Marius corrected himself hastily, his smile wobbling. "Your mother and I—We're your parents, Maeve. You'll always be our priority against everything and everyone."
A smile—the first in two days—bloomed on Maeve's lips and she leaned into her father. "I adore you to atoms, dad."
"And I'm enchanted by your existence, sweetheart."
