Heavenly Waters||Sirius Black

Chapter 33

{{I didn't edit because I wanted to get this out early! Forgive any errors!}}

"Tomorrow,"

Gwen's own voice whispers to her ears, carried on winds that had been there long before her. They would be there after too.

"Marry me tomorrow."

Tomorrow never came. Not for her. It had been an endless day since she'd whispered those words to Sirius Black, tangled up in their bed sheets and wishing for a better tomorrow. Instead, she'd faced repeated hours full of sunsets and sunrises, stars and moons that never really changed. Tomorrow. She was still waiting for tomorrow.

She looks at the envelope in her hands. She'd torn it open already, she just hadn't wanted to read it.

Not until she was home.

The dune grass tickles Gwen's ankles, fingers steady as she pulls the parchment free from the envelope.

Ninnie,

I'm so sorry. By the time I got to the ministry to figure out what was going on, they'd already done it. I think they were waiting for me to leave. They've been watching.

Fudge refused to speak to me. Your old friend Crouch is impossible to even speak to. The only answers I got were that muggles were growing suspicious of the fact that they couldn't approach that part of the beach. That's what the British Ministry had to say at least. I've tried my best to get to the bottom of why they would do such a thing when The French Ministry has no reports of muggles venturing close to your house. Because you work at Hogwarts, because you have a record with the British ministry, this apparently fell under Fudge's  jurisdiction. It's ludicrous. But when I tried to find out more, I had a wizard or witch from every fucking department explaining it away. Why the department for regulation and control of Magical Creatures was involved is beyond me. I'm sorry. I wish I had known it was this bad. You, the Ministry. I wish I'd payed more attention.

There isn't much left. They said if the trunk wasn't gone this week that they would come back and destroy your ward. I would hate for you to lose such a loyal token. It never left your door.

I was going to wait for you to come, but I figured you would rather be alone. I think they'll put a trace on my owl next. This must be it for awhile. I'm sorry.

For all of it.

Little.

Gwen reads the letter again. Then she reads between the lines. It's the only thing that could cause her to maybe smile, Regulus' apology. Because it isn't just about her cottage. It's about the last twelve years.

Her grip loosens on the parchment, the wind ripping it from her hands and carrying it to the sea. There's no distraction left.

She stares at the dunes that once housed a plain white cottage. One she grew up in. A cottage with wooden floors that gently scraped her feet when she was a child, causing her to wear socks. Her mum told her she would get used to it, the feeling of roughness underfoot. She hadn't really realized what she meant.

Instead of white wood and winding vines that held her favorite flower, stands a grave haunted by ghosts. She can hear Peter's snores from her sofa, Remus' soft spoken words in the early morning. She can hear James' outrageous laughter.

She can hear Sirius saying in a quiet voice, "I want you to marry me."

She should've said yes then.

Then she wouldn't have to see the charred wood that stretches from the sands like headstones. Beams slanted sideways across the faintly smoking remainders of her home. It's gone. A mangled sketch instead of a finished painting. Just a skeleton of what used to be, the bare bones that housed so much more than people. Her chimney rises from dunes of soot and rubble.  The frames of her house rattle with each breeze, looking thin and spindly. Breakable.