the last verse ; harry potter [2]

fourteen ; parting

Here, in the snowy outskirts of Broceliande, there was no god.

The Temple of Ambrosius, a castle in its own right, was only a lonely palace for lonely souls. The town of Broceliande was only a mirage, which wasn't quite something she understood until she looked closer.

Broceliande was a wasteland swathed in a mask of silk and feigned happiness. The more she watched the faces drinking until they couldn't stand in the little pubs lining Main Street, the more they turn from drunken bliss to alcoholic escape. They didn't drink because the Christmas festivities were best followed with rosy cheeks: they drank because they couldn't stand to watch themselves waste away in a town that they hate with neighbors they can't stand. The families walking in and out of shops did not smile because of their children's love of holidays: they looked on with weary eyes, the weight of gifts that they couldn't afford pushing their shoulders into a tiring slump. This town was only a pile of broken fantasies and wishes of love and happiness.

They all walked upon the broken shards of their own aspirations.

She left the Temple that night, the scene between her mother and Ambrosius fresh in her mind. 'The Huntress,' he had called her. The title had never felt more appropriate than it did now.

The little inn above the busiest pub reminded her sadly of the Hog's Head. She had walked in and asked for a room, paying with Muggle money, and she half expected Aberforth to walk through the door at any moment, a large smile on his face and a dirty rag in his hand.

She settled in that night in the small room facing the alley behind the bar, though sleep was elusive. She watched through the curtained windows as a drunk man began groping a woman as she told him to stop. From her perch by the window, she flicked her wand at once, her eyes hard, and the man fell unconscious on the cobbled alley, slumped against the dumpster. The woman, her mascara running, looked around for the source of her good fortune. Diana hid behind the curtain, and the woman had the good sense to leave.

The next morning, her eyes dry from lack of rest, she once again made her way to the temple. She retraced her footprints she had left yesterday, each step fitting perfectly in line with her boot prints. Her bag hung comfortably around her, and with each step it bounced, assuring her that she is safe.

This time, she pushed open the iron gates to the cemetery. She began slowly weaving through the aisles of tombstones, reading each name carved into each stone. One of the oldest stones, she noticed, held two names, each from the mid-nineteenth century. The eldest was a twenty-two year old woman, though her name was too faded to read. The other name, from what she could make out, was a boy named John. John was buried with his twenty-two year old mother. He was only three years old.

That day, she didn't spend much time in Temple. She sat upon the first pew in the leftmost section, her mind oscillating between John and his young mother and Vera and Bathilda Bagshot and Harry and Hermione and Ron. She hadn't talked to them the night before, but she planned to leave that night.

Ambrosius settled next to her after awhile.

"You didn't sleep?" he asked, though it was more of a statement.

"Too busy saving the world," she murmured back, her mind on the woman she saved in the alley.

At midday, she bade him goodbye.

"I don't know if I'll ever see you again," she told him as they embraced like a pair of old friends.

"You will," he said, his eyes glinting like he knew something she didn't, but she didn't like that. She wanted him to tell her everything. "No one's ever truly gone. Not even the dead."

She didn't really know what it meant, nor did she think she particularly wanted to.

She left the Temple for what was probably the last time.

Main Street bustled with people on their lunch break. People inside pubs had baskets of fries and large cups of soda in front of them, and a few men in business suits perused shops for last-minute Christmas gifts. Though the Christmas lights glittered a festive red, blue, and green against the blanket of snow, they looked more like the stars you see in dying than the stars you see at night.

She checked out of the inn, leaving an extra tip in time for the holidays.

"Come back anytime," the kind woman at the bar said, her eyes wide as she held the generous tip in her hands.

Diana probably wouldn't ever be back.

She ventured through the neighborhoods one last time on her way to the hill. The little Magical girl she had seen yesterday was outside clad in pink mittens and a yellow hat. She examined something in her hand with wonder, but when Diana passed, she closed her fist around it as if hiding it from prying eyes. Diana smiled to herself.

"What's your name?" Diana asked the girl after finally deciding to stop. Though she had already heard the girl's brother say it yesterday, she thought it'd be polite to ask.

"Maisie," she said, though slightly suspiciously. Diana smiled, amused.

Maisie. It was kind and sweet and safe. The name of someone who loved too deeply and hurt too dearly.

"Be careful," said Diana. "You're special, you know. Don't let yourself get carried away."

Diana walked away without waiting for a reply. The girl watched her go, her eyebrows drawn together.

She'd understand soon enough, Diana thought. Maybe she'll remember the words of the passing stranger in her quiet town.

She heard shouting coming from one of the last houses just before the hill. A large Muggle truck sat in the driveway next to a small, rusted car, and weeds poked through the snow and the walls were stained with mud and it was faded with age.

Diana took her wand from her jacket pocket and cast a Disillusionment Charm on herself. From the sidewalk, she invisibly watched as someone slammed the front door open and marched out, a dingy suitcase in their hand.

It was a woman, her neck wrapped in a wonderfully colorful and eccentric scarf and a swollen belly. It was the pregnant girl from yesterday. Wendy.

Just as Wendy slammed open the back door of her rusted car and heaved her suitcase inside, someone else stormed out of the front door.

"DON'Y YOU DARE---!"

It was a man, his red shirt stained and jeans ripped and old. He had slight scruff on his face, and he would've been handsome if it wasn't for the terrifying glint in his eyes.

He marched to Wendy just as she closed the back door.

Diana was quick to move. She swiped her wand violently through the air just as the man raised his fist. Her bolt of blue light blasted from her wand and he was pushed backward onto the snowy ground. He groaned, and Wendy watched with wide eyes, but wasted no time getting into the driver's seat of the car.

Wendy looked around for whatever could've done that, but her eyes glazed right over the invisible Diana.

"Go to hell," she spat at him, and her ancient car roared to life and she quickly pulled out of the driveway, throwing a soda can from her car at the man groaning on the ground. She roared down the street until she turned a corner and she was out of sight.

The man got to his feet and cursed violently at the spot Wendy's car had just disappeared, but he made no move to chase her.

Diana walked on, not bothering to make herself visible. She stood at the top of the hill, finally lifting the Charm, and took one last look at the Temple in the distance.

"Good luck," Ambrosius had told her as they sat on the bench earlier that day. "I hope you find her. I really do."

I hope I do, too.