AN IDLE HEART ✷ Ron Weasley.

𝟬𝟮. family is where your absence is noticed

01. — 02.
tw. self harm, eating disorder

✷

Back when Astrid was about seven or eight, she was plagued by terrible nightmares. Almost every night, a frustrated Severus Snape barged into her room to a teary and shaking Astrid who begged for him to hold her. Severus never knew what to do then, too stubborn to simply hug the child and tell her that everything would be alright and too guilt-ridden to simply turn around and go to bed and so instead he pestered her until the morning hours to tell him really anything about her dreams but Astrid never remembered anything about them. They eventually got so bad that Professor McGonagall whisked her off to St. Mungos at three in the night and she was forced to be bedridden and supervised by a hoarde of healers for two weeks. They had never found out what Astrid dreamed about or how to stop it without the Dreamless Sleep Potion that Severus insisted on brewing, so Astrid had been forced to take the potion every night since then.

It was nights like these—Nights when she was too tired to remember to take the potion, that Astrid went down the rabbit hole again.

That was, at least, how she found herself at four am, aimlessly wandering through the dark halls of the Leaky Cauldron, forehead sweaty and body shaking. It was one of the more gruesome ones, she recalled with a shiver and she forcefully pressed her right hand against her left arm, reliefed when she felt the all too familiar sting off the wounds that laid beneath the sleeve of her sweater.

She knew she wouldn't get anymore sleep that night so instead she opted to go up to the roof and catch the rise of the sun in a few hours, a fuzzy blanket and a bottle of cheap wine, she had taken from Severus' "secret" stash the night prior, tucked under her arms.

The moon stood tall in the night sky, almost filled to the brim, basking Astrid's already pale face in white light. Astrid wanted to close her eyes for a moment, just to let the cool air of the night engulf her but everytime she closed them, she was back in the sheer endless darkness of her nightmares—a rattled breath, the clinking of a knife, a mad laugh. Sometimes Astrid wished she was still too young to remember anything of it, to not have the sounds of it stuck in her brain like an annoying headache pulsating behind her eyes.

Astrid was always great at forgetting stuff—names, faces, birthdays, her childhood—but the sounds of her worst dreams stayed tauntingly persistent, haunting her even in broad daylight.

Astrid sat on the edge of the roof, letting her feet dangle in the air and her mind shamelessly wander. The wine bottle hang loosely from her hands and the blanket was tightly wrapped around her bare legs that were freezing in the chill night.

It was not often that Astrid let herself dream of a better life—A life where her mom was still alive and her father was a father and not mass murderer Sirius Black. A life where she still had her Uncle Prongsie and her Aunt Lily. A life where she was okay and happy.

That night she did dream. As she watched the stars, Sirius shining a little bit brighter than the rest, she dreamed off a house that was bathed in sunlight and warmth, the smell of burned toast and the sound of laughter and family. She dreamed and wept until the sun came out and lit the sky up in the most beautiful colors.

She only moved from her spot when she heard Tom scurry up the stairs, his loud breathing and heavy footsteps being a dead giveaway. Hiding the bottle under an old box, Astrid made her way down the fire exit, careful to not make much noise. Tom liked her but she really didn't want to get on his bad side. On the second floor, she slipped through the gap of the opened window, almost knocking over an empty vase in the process.

"Astrid?"

Astrid cursed under her breath as she wiped around to find a very tired looking Bill Weasley stand in the door to number 11. His long hair, longer than Astrid remembered, was messy and he had a toothbrush loosely hanging from his mouth.