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'But there is all this time between
when the cracks start to open up
and when we finally fall apart'
[John Green]
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Chin resting on her hand, Adeline's thoughts drowned out the monotone, flat voice of Professor Binns in her History of Magic class. She'd been feeling weaker and weaker everyday, sending her mind into a blurry mess of when that day would come; unsure of how much time she really had left, how much longer she would actually last. And although it was still a couple of months until the start of July, she couldn't help but wonder whether she really had that long left, or if her time would be cut short. These days, everyday felt like it could be her last.
She'd either sleep for too long or not at all. She was so cold seemingly all the time. Anxiety stirred in the pit of her stomach like a never-ending swarm of nauseating butterflies. At times, she even felt hollow—her hands would shake; her legs would tremble. She felt fragile and empty and vulnerable.
It felt so painfully hard to pull herself from these thoughts with how weak she felt; with the vivid grief she felt at the idea of being gone. With what would become of her at the start of July. With everything—everyone—she had to lose. Because if she felt like this now, with three or so more months to go, how would she feel the day of her death? She couldn't imagine feeling worse than she did right now.
Harry put a hand on her bouncing leg, stilling it, and she was brought back down to earth. As though she was some lone balloon, and he had tied her string around his wrist.
Unlike Hermione—who'd feverishly been taking notes, her quill scratching the parchment—, he too had been drowning out the ghost professor like always, his own quill laying unused on the wooden desk before him. Addie met his eyes and read the concern on his face without him needing to say a word.
She put her cold hand on top of his, and he entwined their fingers.
Adeline could never hide her anxiety from him nowadays, as they had, with everything they'd been through, become each other's support systems by now. Just the other night he'd broken down from thinking too much about Sirius; his head on her collarbone, her arms around his back as stifled sobs wracked his body, running her fingers through his black curls in an attempt to soothe him, despite the silent tears cascading her own face.
Focusing on the warmth of his palm, and the safe weight of his hand in hers on top of her thigh, she took long, slow breaths the way he taught her to ease her nerves. He'd also taught her another method of calming down—which was to take in the things around you; what you can see, hear, smell, taste, touch. She looked at the wooden desk before her, with old scratches and names of past students carved into it. She eyed the old book with a purple cover that Professor Binns was drowsily reading from at the front of the classroom, and noticed the lingering taste of one of Fred and George's sweets in her mouth that Ron had given her earlier.
