Seventeen

𝖝𝖎. how charming it can be.

There's a fool's moss growing pinprick by pinprick in the slope of her chest. It's stinging her from inside out, her flesh and veins were twisting and resisting but she was in a pain that spoke loud volumes. Her lungs were corrupted with a heavy force that made it shudder against the fragile bones of her ribs and she is excess. The pink scar on the side of her leg still feels wet with a chlorine sting, suddenly, her hair was damp and the room was spinning, every voice was muffled under a silk tone. All she could hear was her heart beat in her ears. She was nothing but excess, body, bones, flesh— devil girl with a halo grin— her eyes were open, a crimson red with all the tears and the water licking at the sclera. She smiled. The brick tied to her leg kept her down and she could hear her mother's humming rooms away. Her arms were swinging in the pool, one, two three

(it's almost like the dance you taught me, papa)

Her arms were trailing every step of the furlana, her toes were pointed against the porcelain tiles. Her chest burned, blazing scratches against the inside of her sternum, the air was stuttering and stammering in the midst of her inhales like her teeth clattering against each other in the middle of winter. Solaris' mouth was pale, splitting. Hands shaking. Her eyes flutter shut and she heard Flora screaming but all she could think of were the pointed toes, the open back, the swaying from left to right foot by foot and she swears she still could still hear the violins and the piano stroking at her ears but she couldn't have. She was dying and there was no one to save her. She was alone in death.

(maybe it's not like the dance after all)

There was no fear there, but she felt four hands pulling at her body and she closed her eyes to drift further away from reality. They laid her in the middle of the garden, so pretty but she could have been minutes away from rotting and maggots tearing through her soft belly. Chlorine and cherry lips with green grass was everyone else's summer— Solaris had the same— drowning and letting the chlorine seep through her pale skin, cherry lips bleeding from her teeth pulling them from sight then back again, green grass resting against her back and her hair. Solaris' heart stop beating, but did it ever really start?

       "Hey," Hermione said. "Are you alright?" Her tone was concerned, Solaris looked up and gave her an unconvincing grin. The room of requirements was a pretty place to visit at night and even prettier to visit with Hermione.

        "Yes," Solaris smiled. "I'm okay."

         "There's the Mirror of Erised," Hermione pointed. "Have you never really seen it before?"

          "No, I haven't."

         "Afraid of what you'll see?"

         "My, my— you're right again, 'Mione, what a surprise."

         "I'd have been surprised if you have any idea of what you'll see."

           "I do."

          "Let me give you a gasp then," Hermione cleared her throat and gasped loudly. They both laughed as they strutted towards the covered mirror.

          "Hermione."

          "Yes?"

          "What do you think you'll see?"

          "Success, maybe. You?"

          You.

         "Death, perhaps."

         "Solaris." A firm tone, a slap on the arm.

          "I'm kidding, 'Mione."

          "Take the curtain off, Sol."

          Her fingers gripped the fabric and she pulled it down, Hermione stood behind her with her hands on her shoulders and she smiled at her in the mirror.

           "What do you see?"

           Solaris turned to look at her, only to find her far behind. She looked back at the mirror to find a smiling Hermione with her hand in hers and she gasped. Hermione halted.

             "What is it, Sol?"

             "Uhm," Solaris smiled, shaking her head to dismiss herself. "It's just. . . Not what I had expected."

(or was it everything you did expect)

            "I think maybe you might have. What is it, then? Don't tell me it's the ridiculous muggle snack you like."

             "Like—"

             "Oh! Is it Elliot?"

              "No."

              "Death? Love? Riches?"

               "Erm. . . It's all of that."

                "All?"

                "Yes." Solaris pursed her mouth. "All." A flat out lie.

"What do you think I'll see?"

"Ron Weasley, maybe."

"Oh, please."

"Could you imagine if it were, though? You lot with little red babies and big hair."

"I don't think I would want to imagine that. It's just barbaric."

"Well, go on, then."

Hermione stepped forward whilst Solaris took three step backs from the mirror.

                  Solaris. Her chin rested on Hermione's shoulder, and gave her a toothless grin. Hermione's smile fell. Her pretty mouth pursed into an itching frown and her fingers fluttered and clutched at nothing, she turned her head.

                  "What'd you see?"

                   "Two kids, living in a place that never rains, gardens of roses—" Hermione sighed. "A place where I am happy."

                  "Oh." She had expected nothing less. Hermione's head was always spinning with ardor, she had always wanted to kiss the sun and have her mouth blister with its glow. Solaris was never that, and she was certain she would never be. Solaris knew she wouldn't be able to be there long enough to see Hermione have the life she deserved, but there was still an itching— she wanted it, too— she wanted to be what Hermione saw, she wanted to have what Hermione would. But it didn't ever matter. She wouldn't be here long enough to ever have it.

"What's wrong?"

"No, nothing! I'm fine, I'm well. I'm good."

"You don't look 'well', Sol—"

"Well, I am."