Lux [h.s]

fifty-four

"Of course," Cora muttered, turning around and walking up the stairs fast.

"Cora!" She hadn't even heard Harry stand up, but suddenly his hand was closing around her wrist, his foot on the first step of the stairs. "I'm not trying to bribe you," he continued, his voice low. She didn't dare to turn around to see the look on his face. "I simply saw that flower and thought you would like it."

She clenched her teeth, not saying a word. She hated how good he was with words. Often, he seemed to know just the right combination to make her anger dissipate. It made her feel powerless, her rage weightless. Each time, though, she was left feeling like she'd forgotten her own emotions.

She freed her arm and went up the staircase without a word. When she entered her room the rose was still there, sitting in the corner of her vision as if mockingly. She took a step towards it, but she didn't have the heart to throw it at the wall like the previous one. Instead, she grazed the glass, and the level of the water inside it rose.

Cora knelt before it, putting her hands on the table and staring at the criminally red flower accusingly.

Harry was making her go mad.

There was a knock on her door.

"May I come in?"

Cora glanced up; Harry was standing in the doorway. Oddly enough, his usually comfortable demeanour was replaced by an unsure glaze—as if he expected her to refuse his presence, or to shout at him. She could've never done either.

She nodded, and he stepped inside. To her surprise, he sat by her side, his long legs splayed on the marble floor and his back against the frame of the bed. He studied her from under his long eyelashes, as golden as the morning sun outside. Then, his gaze shifted to the flower on the table; the water droplets made the petals shine.

"You filled the glass with magic," he stated. It wasn't a question, and Cora sent him a puzzled look. "I can sense when you use your magic," he explained. "I feel it."

"What does it feel like?" she asked faintly.

"Tingling," he replied, "like a silver bell at the back of my mind."

Cora hummed, and went back to looking at the flower. She couldn't tell she'd ever perceived his magic, but maybe it was just another of the things that made him so... him. "I did use magic," she murmured. "That flower would've died with such a little amount of water. You should be more careful."

"I wasn't the one that brought it to your room. I'll keep it in mind, though."

She didn't know if it made her happy that Harry hadn't entered her room while she was asleep, or somewhat sad. It was a bittersweet feeling to remember they didn't share their nights anymore. It'd been more than a month since the last time she'd gazed upon his peaceful sleeping features, enough time to forget the gentle bow of his lips when he had no more words to say and the shadows moonlight painted on his face. It'd been too long, but what a betraying thought that was.

"I'm surprised you gifted me a real rose," Cora said quietly. "I thought you preferred to create your flowers."

Harry moved closer to the table and picked a rock up from one of the corners, where it'd been playing the role of paperweight. He brushed his hand on top of it and offered it to Cora, a rose was gently etched on top of it. It was beautiful, perfect—but a little too beautiful, and a little too perfect.

Cora took it and weighed it in her hand, tracing the shape of the rose and feeling the dip under her finger. "Is this real, or is it a trick?" she whispered.

Harry seemed to be slightly startled by her question, but didn't let it show. "You know about that?" he only asked. He touched the rock, and it went back to how it was before. Cora thought she could see the gleam of the glamour wear off, but, knowing Harry's skill, it was likely only her imagination.