Irrevocably

4. Contrition

A brief argument over sleeping arrangements ensues- one that I lose. Both twins insist I take the bigger room, assuring me they'll be more than happy to stay in the smaller rooms down the hall. That, and Molly would murder them if she found out that they were anything other than chivalrous during our stay.

Retreating to the washroom to stow my few toiletries, I leave them to fiddle with their pocket change. There's hardly anything I can offer help-wise, so I figure not getting in their way or bothering them with questions constitutes helping in its own way.

I take my time organising my things, making sure I don't take up too much room so Fred and George can feel at home, as well. The shower is hidden behind a frosted glass door, tempting me to rid myself of the accumulated filth of the day. Not wanting to be rude by staying in it for far longer than I should, I decide against it. I'll take one tonight or while they're gone to avoid causing any more unnecessary tension over something as minute as hogging the bathroom.

Chancing a glance at my reflection, I sigh at my own haggard appearance. Red, watery eyes from sleeplessness stare back at me tiredly. The quick knot I'd thrown my hair into earlier sits in a dishevelled mess atop my head, only adding to the disaster that is Hayden Potter.

Vanity is a wretched bitch- there's plenty of other things I should worry myself over instead of how I look.

Carelessly redoing my hair, I twist the tap and hold my hand under it to gauge the temperature. Once it's finally cold enough, I cup it into my hands and lower my face into the small pool, welcoming the quick shock to my system.

Today has been nothing shy of a disaster. Is this a norm for everyone? Constantly living in fear of a looming threat, waiting for the ball to drop and devastation to strike?

Gratitude sweeps my self-pity aside. I'm grateful for a brother, and others, who have spared me from the harsh reality they live in. All they asked of me was to prioritise myself, my own healing. It's a shame that it took everyone being ripped away from me to recognise their selflessness, though.

Selfishly, I long to return to my naive bubble of unknowing. Things were simpler. In a sense they were more complicated- like solving a riddle but only having half the information needed to decipher it- but simpler nonetheless.

Perhaps I should give myself more grace. It's been no easy feat to be so lost in my own mind, to search for the concreteness of black and white when everything is a muddled grey. But I'm only a small piece of a much larger picture.

I towel off my face to put an end to my scattered thoughts. Being stuck in my own head does me no good.

The sound of Fred and George bickering carries down the hall as I step out of the washroom. They're amusing, at least. Moving quietly, I shut myself in my room and rest against the door. Sounds of the bustling city below reach our floor and I move towards the large window, watching as people go about their day, unsuspecting of the dangers lying just beyond a veil that they don't even realise exists.

I pull myself away from people-watching, wrenching open the wardrobe to pack my belongings away. A small box lies at the bottom of my bag, filled with things that belonged to me before. I haven't bothered to go through it.

I hide it in the back of the wardrobe- out of sight, out of mind. The spellbooks, parchment and wand catch my eye from the very bottom of the bag. I decide that now is as good a time as any to relearn what I've forgotten.

The rest of my day is spent hidden away, sitting amongst the scattered parchment and books. After hours and hours of tracing my wand the way Hermione instructed, it starts to feel familiar. Finally tearing my eyes from my reading, I realise hours have passed, the sky now a deep violet. Unsure of when I last ate or slept, I debate taking a break, but my own stubbornness wins.