⫶⫶⫶ ᴇ ᴅ ᴇ ʟ y ɴ ⫶⫶⫶
― Edelyn Aurélia Black learned
from a young age that h e r o e s
aren't always the ones who win.
They're the ones who fight. And
so, Edelyn fights, until the green
lying dormant beh...
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THE MORNING SUN PEAKS OVER THE BUILDINGS in Sutton, London, and shines through the open windows of a small, two-bedroom flat that sits on the fifth floor of a quaint Victorian-styled apartment. Its rays are warm, contrasting the brisk September winds, and they brighten the teal paint that streaks the walls. The four inhabitants of the flat are still rested in bed, and unbeknownst to their Muggle neighbours, magic lingers in the air.
Harry Potter, now eighteen, winces at the newfound light and yawns before blinking his eyes open. His head is turned towards the window and he watches as a mother bird spreads her wings and pushes off a tree branch, beginning her day with the search for food. As his gaze follows her flight, he catches sight of the clock that hangs on the opposite wall: it's a quarter past seven.
Yawning once more, he shifts and rolls over his shoulder to see Edelyn still asleep beside him, a few strands of ebony draped over her face. He lightly brushes them away and admires her in silence: how peaceful she appears in slumber. Her body rises and falls in a slow, steady rhythm, her lips ever-so-slightly parted, and with the morning sun, he can see fine particles dusting her dark eyelashes. Her hand peaks out from under the bedsheets and he reaches over, resting his on top; though their skin meet, it feels like she is miles away.
Four months have now passed since the end of the war, and while the world outside brightens — sombre clouds drifting away with the summer breeze as the wizarding world rebuilds itself from the wreckage left in Lord Voldemort's wake, witches and wizards from Scotland to Wales clinking glasses of Butterbeer, celebrating the new era that has begun —, Edelyn grows dim, dark shadows casting under her eyes.
She is different now.
But so are they all. The war has left them with scars and wounds, some visible and some too deep to heal. Hermione is less focused these days, her thoughts muddled and straying off path; Ron is less talkative, his jokes only weak attempts at weaning a dry laugh; and Harry's demeanour is more passive.
Edelyn, meanwhile, has recoiled into a shell, seldom ever present. She is quiet; apart from the soft whispers she coos at night when Harry wakes in a pool of cold sweat, scarlet orbs haunting his dreams, she rarely speaks to him. Either distracting herself with schoolwork — they return to Hogwarts during the days to take lessons for their N.E.W.Ts — or leaving the apartment to go on long runs, Harry can't remember the last time they've actually spent meaningful time just the two of them.
She is suffocating in grief, and though they have all lost loved ones in the war, Cedric Diggory, Sirius Black, and Remus Lupin had meant so much more to Edelyn than they had the others. To Ron and Hermione, they had, at best, been acquaintances, and though the latter two had been the closest father figures Harry had ever had, Cedric could hardly be considered more than a colleague.
And then there was Fred.
The sound of a car horn echoes through the window and Edelyn shifts, her face momentarily scrunching in discomfort before her eyes blink open. "Hey," she speaks softly and offers Harry a small smile before slipping her hand out from under his to rub her tired eyes.
