Sacrilege |H. S.|

21. mad woman

I'm sorry I had to change a few things because I had forgotten a very solid plot point that would eventually turn to dust if I keep giving more Harry povs even if it's from the past so I had to change it!

It becomes messy, the passing of days, I mean. There's nothing homogeneous about them, they're lopsided and fleetingly colourful yet achingly dull at the same time. Every morning is a stark contrast from the night before, it's bright and noisy and dizzying, and the night is anything but, the silence becomes loud enough to hurt my ears, the darkness predatory.

At night Harry haunts me, and in the daytime even more so. The worst part is, he's aware of it. He has to be. There's been no further mention of our past conversations, but there's a palpable shift in our dynamic and the way he is around me since then. Not to imply it's significant, but noticeable. He seems to always be looking, gawking. And I wasn't unaccustomed to his ever present gaze, he's always had that intensity in his eyes and a liking to making them linger, but lately it's more than just looking. I'm reading or eating or training or just existing and still, I am always aware of the fact that I'm under his careful observation, like an indignant bird flapping its wings as it flies over the birdwatcher, wondering if it's curiosity or depravity that has him so amazed.

He's deemed it necessary to become a constant, the minutes I spend without him have become less and less each day. It's almost isolating to a degree, I feel him all around and in every waking moment, just him. Cora has become nothing but a distraction and Dana a nuisance, so he says. I haven't had any magic to practice with since the day he first left, so about a month ago. Not that I'm really complaining, I like the quiet it brings, the calm of not having to wield and control it.

Isn't that ironic? I used to be desperate for the thrill of if, for using something I'd been kept away from and marginalized for, I dreamt of weaving it between my fingers and now it's become a heavy weight to carry, something I sleep better without. I can't deny how funny that's become.

The absence of practicing my magical abilities has made the days longer, that I can admit. There's a certain thing that happens when I use it, hours fuse and minutes shorten, now days are endless with nothing but books stuffed between one moment and the next. He's had me reading so much I'm sure there's a black hole in my head where all the information flees through once it's made a quick prance around my brain. And most subjects are very similar if not the same, with small variations between one conclusion and the other. And most of them are about me, or my kind, siphons. Extent of the ability, consequences of use and abuse, natures retaliation. Which is why the majority of the texts are not long, they start out strong with information but eventually die down a few dozen pages later with the authors personal hateful discourse towards any being that can steal a witches power. Harry says most of them are silly but some are useful, he's not as kind as to spare me the ones that wish me dead or banished or maimed. That's alright, there's a certain pleasure I get from reading a centuries old book, written by guy that's probably dead, swearing siphons wouldn't live long enough to see the new world.

Yet here I am, twenty first century, we've got the cars and the artificial intelligence and the disease curing vaccines, shame to see not everything evolves, though. Most of the magical community thinks the same way he did all those years ago. So was there really any progress? Was there a point to all humanity's been through if its survivors can't step out of the retrograde system we were born into eons ago?

"What?" My inner voice quiets, making way for the sharp question. I turn to look, finding him frowning, lip curled the way it does when he's unhappy.

"What?" I repeat, not knowing what he wants.

"You said something about progress, what is it?"

I remain silent for a bit, getting suspicious because did I really say something out loud without meaning to or noticing or is my ongoing suspicion of him being a mind reader about to be proven?