Delirium

Chapter 10 - Undisclosed

a/n hello i'm back!! sorry for the delay! but we're here with chapter 10 finally! thank you all for being so understanding about the posting schedule changes.

notice: chapter begins with a flashback to summer holiday.

i hope you enjoy. happy reading!

~*~

5 July 1994

Stepping back into her bedroom for the first time since Easter holiday made Jolie's head spin. The estranged eldest Carrow sibling, Charlotte, had likely been the last person in this room, though there were unsurprisingly no signs of her.

Being in France for the summer was refreshing as always, but this time, Jolie felt particularly relieved to be back on British soil.

Her courtship with Jacques was, while enjoyable for the most part, becoming increasingly draining.

He was her friend, yes. But he was not who she'd wanted.

He was not George.

In her room of the Carrow Estate, she slid her finger along the tufted duvet, wishing she could crawl in and lie there for a bit. Or perhaps a few hours. But alas, her father had made it clear that they were only here to gather essentials that had been missed.

Jolie could hardly think of what she'd claimed to need, however, when all she could think about was the night George had been sitting on this very bed, comforting her after she'd divulged to her parents about her and Charlotte's row.

'Blood doesn't mean family,' he had told her.

It had been the first time he had seen her cry, the first time she'd allowed herself to be vulnerable to him.

As she recalled the moment, she willed tears not to fall. Ignoring her stinging sinuses and tight throat, Jolie moved towards her wardrobe.

She did not want to cry over him any longer.

It had been ten days and he had not responded to her letter. She knew he'd received it as Caelum, the family owl, had returned a few days after she'd sent it. If George felt that she did not deserve his attention, she would not waste her time lamenting the loss of their potential.

But, as she crossed the room, she stopped short at her vanity.

On the border of the mirror, taped to the top corner, she peered at a photograph dated April 8th, 1994. The frozen faces of Lee, Fred, Theo, Daphne, and George smiled back at her, each of them crammed together and tucked into Jolie's bed.

Her eyes grew glassy, tears caught in her lower lashes.

Jolie tilted her head back and stared at the ceiling. She would not cry.

The bedroom door creaked.

Whirling around, Jolie's stomach dropped, her heart in her throat as she froze.

A woman stood at the threshold. Her brown hair was pulled up in a tight, slicked bun, revealing the harsh, defined angles of her face. She looked familiar and alien all in the same moment.

When Alecto Carrow spoke, her voice was jarringly soft. "I mourn that we have yet to meet."

Jolie had half-expected the sinister rasp of an evil old woman, or a villainous crook—never mind that her aunt was only in her early thirties.

"For good reason, I've been told," Jolie replied, keeping her expression indifferent.

Alecto raised her eyebrows, a small twitch at the corner of her mouth indicating a suppressed smile.