The Bug Collector | marauders

A Pit Viper In A Rose Garden

t.w depictions of grief and depression

Cokeworth, England, Between late winter and early spring

Upon returning home, Rose found the house was far emptier than she'd remembered it, and she herself was different than when she'd last been in it. Her hair was longer and the skin under her eyes was a fair shade of blue.

Being home did not bring any real since of comfort to the girl. Her older sisters' rooms were mostly empty, save for the beds. The letters on her own bedroom walls no longer held any real sentiment, and neither did the artificial plants that decorated the room.

In spite of that, she had found one thing in her home that consoled her. The family's record player, and her mothers vast array of albums from the 60s.

There was one song she grew particularly fond of while listening to the albums, Crazy by Patsy Cline.

She'd play the record on repeat, each time awaiting the first few beats of the song to start.

Crazy

The woman's voice would begin.

I'm crazy for feeling so lonely

It would play on as she went about her day.

I'm crazy

She'd wake up the morning, and her mum would have left the record on for her as she went to work.

Crazy for feeling so blue

She'd lay there in bed, starring up at the ceiling with an expression that lacked any real feeling.

I knew you'd love me as long as you wanted

She'd stay there all day. She wouldn't talk to her mum.

Why do I let myself worry?
What in the world did I do

She'd be tired, despite just waking up. She'd had trouble sleeping since Regulus died.

Oh, crazy
For thinking that my love could hold you

She'd lie awake, paralysed by this feeling she was being watched. Paralysed by whispers in the night, memories trying their best to claw into her.

Through it all, the record would play on.

I'm crazy for trying
And crazy for crying
And I'm crazy for loving you

The whispers started as a small voice in the dark. A perfect echo of both Regulus' tone and diction,

Crazy

The voice was always followed by a ceaseless dripping sound, like water dropping from wet hands into the floor below.

Crazy
For thinking that my love could hold you

The sound of decade old music would mix with the drips and send Rose into a fit of despair all over again.

I'm crazy for trying

Even so, she tried to "feel better".

She'd open The Secret Garden to try and lose herself within the lines, but she'd find no peace, and close the book again.

She'd get calls from Lily and Xenophilius, but couldn't think of anything nice to tell them.

She'd make tea, add a dusting of cinnamon, just to break down and cry upon smelling it.

And crazy for crying

She'd cried every time she thought of Regulus.

Every. Single. Time.

And I'm crazy for loving you

—

March 24th 1979

Fresh from a bath on a Saturday afternoon, Rose stood in her bedroom doorway as the final line from Crazy played out.

She stared at the door for a moment before taking hold of the brass doorknob, originally planning to enclose herself inside, and climb back into bed.

Instead, the girl released the cool metal from her hand allowing her to arm drop gently to her side, and called for her mum.

There was a muffled response, followed by the sounds of shoes shuffling up the stairs almost clumsily.

"Yes, love?" Her mum asked, as she quickly came into view from the stairwell.

Rose's mum was a woman of average height, her skin was dusted with freckles, and she had the same red hair as Rose, except with a bit of white peeking out of the roots. Her hair was straight like Lily's, and cut into a bob.

"I think I'm ready to talk about it now, mum." Rose answered, scratching her arm awkwardly and avoiding direct eye contact.

Sprout had filled her mother in when she and Sirius brought her home, but there was much more Rose needed to say for herself, and she'd been avoiding it for quite some time.

The two sat together on the edge of Rose's bed. Her mother smoothed down her hair, as she spoke up.

"Okay. Tell me about this boy. The one who died." She said, and Rose's eyes finally met hers.

"Not a boy." She corrected gently, her mother nodded.

"Right. We'll start there." She suggested, giving her daughter a supportive smile.

"Okay. We'll start there." Rose agreed, as she began telling the tale of the best friend she had ever had, and the deepest love she'd yet known.

—

Rose cried countless times during their talk, but afterwards she felt so refreshed she craved a rare bike ride to reveal in that new feeling.

When her mother made her way back downstairs Rose followed after her. On the way to the front door she pasted the record player as the vinyl atop it spun at its end. She gave her mum a short wave before exiting the house.

She ventured off into the garden and opened the door to a small wooden shed. Inside it were various gardening tools as well as an old bicycle.

The bike had been her father's, it's handles were rusted at the base and the brown leather seat was dusty. She wiped off the seat and pulled the bike out onto the grass.

The bike still worked, its tires appeared a bit worse for wear, but she had every intention to ignore that and enjoy the ride.

The bike's wheels made a clicking sound as they rolled against the pavement just outside her garden.

On her route she noticed flowers were beginning to bud along the road and saw several stray cats. The first one had made her sad, but by the third she had tears pouring from her eyes again.

With her vision blurry, Rose stopped at the nearest clearing and parked the bike. Wiping her eyes to took in the surrounding area.

Small white flowers, much like baby's breath, sprouted up near the area she'd parked the bike. Along with these, a fresh vine of wisteria hung down from nearby shrubbery. Rose plucked a few of the white flowers as well as a bundle of wisteria and created a bouquet of sorts, tying the whole thing together with some wild grass. 

When the bouquet was finished, she placed it unceremoniously back onto the ground in which most of the flowers had come from. In her mind, she was giving it to Regulus.

Rose wasn't able to attend their funeral, she'd never even seen their grave, and so she'd not been able to give them flowers yet. This gesture had finally allowed her to think about Regulus fondly.

Rose took hold of the bike's handlebars, as the wind blew against the powdery lilac petals on the ground below. Grass crunched beneath the tires as she made her way out of the clearing, and headed home.