Surviving in Harmony

Chapter Sixty-Eight | Hester House, March 2021

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Hester House, March 2021

Papers were scattered across Andrew's desk and floor, covering almost every surface. Old coffee cups perched precariously on book piles or became paperweights. His mother's name glowed on the papers, popping out of his own handwriting. Sitting in his chair, Andrew felt suddenly very old.

In five months he was going to return to more regular work at the Ministry, when little Maeve went off to Hogwarts. It weighed his heart, to think of his youngest child, his magic Maeve, at school. The house would seem so empty when she left. Maybe they should get a dog.

In the last months of his flexible schedule he wanted to finish his project, or at least have enough so someone else could take over. For a long time his mother's contribution to the war had remained mostly anonymous, and in the past year or two he had begun crafting stories from others. At the moment not many knew about the book he was slowly piecing together, but recently he had gained access to some top-secret records and been given permission to publish them.

Just before Christmas Andrew had tracked down an old friend of Morton Bowen's. Hector had just celebrated his 100-and-something birthday ("who needs to count after 100? Certainly not me") and had welcomed Andrew with tears.

"Your mother...I think about her a lot." He had thumbed the cane in his lap. His face was scarred from two wars, and he limped heavily. "It is one of my biggest regrets that I never got her out of there soon enough." Hector had told Andrew story after story about Morton and Hazel's life and Bowen Manor, more than Andrew could have hoped for. The best part though were the names - more people who would be willing to share their tales about Hazel.

Taking off his glasses, Andrew pinched the bridge of his nose. In the last year he had questioned whether this book was even a good idea, but every time he saw his kids he remembered. Hazel had sacrificed herself so he could live well, so his children could exist and grow up safely. So every child could.

Abandoning his current focus, he left his office and called peeked into the library. Maeve was in an overstuffed velvet chair, a book bigger than he torso in her lap.

"Mae?" Her curly head bobbed up, clear green eyes wide. "I'm going outside for a second." Once she nodded, Andrew left the house and jogged around the lawn to the green house. Only Winston lived there, despite having been in a relationship with Rochelle for over ten years. She was not crazy about living in a glass jar full of plants, though she loved Winston very much. So she lived in town and they spent most of their days together, content with a simple, spacious relationship. It was humid inside, magic sunlight streaming from the ceiling. It was a familiar path through the foliage to Winston's little room at the back, where his postage stamp living room and office and kitchen were one. A curtain replaced the door to his tiny bedroom. Every one of his great nieces and nephews had napped on that cot, or on a bed of spongy moss at one point.

"Andy." Winston's smile was wrinkly, warm and familiar. "What brings you for a visit?"

He hesitated only briefly. "I would really like a hug."

"Oh." Setting down the tiny saplings he was tenderly caring for, Winston stood up. "Of course." He opened his arms and Andrew stepped into them, shaking.

"I miss Mamma." He whispered into his Uncle's shirt. A constant in his was that Winston would always smell like fresh dirt and warmth. "Every second of the day it feels wrong that she isn't here."

"I know, I feel it too." Squeezing him, Winston's spine tingled. Lavender tinted the air. "She's here though, with us."

"I want to believe that."

Winston smiled and sniffed the air. "I believe enough for the both of us."

Andrew pulled away, feeling a little better. "If she's here though," he felt suddenly warmer. "Then she must not be at peace."

This thought disturbed Winston a bit. "She was always more concerned with others than herself." He said, putting on the kettle. "If she's here, she's here because she want to be. At the end, only Hazel was in charge of her actions. I doubt that has changed."

Feeling a little poke to his arm, Winston knew. Hazel was around; he suspected she had ever really left.

A beam of sunlight provided golden warmth for Maeve Bowen as she snuggled down in her favourite chair. The library was the warmest spot Hester House, insulated by books and other rooms; the glass walls at the top let in waves of natural light, pricking dust in the air.

Several books were spread out on the floor, and the pages rustled as if in a breeze. Glancing up, Maeve frowned. All the windows were closed. Shifting in her chair, Maeve tried to read her book.

With a bang, all the books on the floor and tables opened at once, pages whispering. "Hullo?" Maeve's voice was tiny as she put her tomb aside, standing. The overwhelming scent of lavender drifted from somewhere, and Maeve recognized it from some shady memory of being very little. It was a fragrance that had followed her for many years now.

In the time it took her to blink, a figure appeared in the sunbeams, hazy and golden. Tilting her head in interest, Maeve stepped forward. "You're her, aren't you? Papa's mother?"

The figure nodded, though it was barely discernable; her outline blended with the sun, shimmering as one.

"I've seen you before, since I was little. Why are you still here?"

"I left too soon," Hazel's voice was soft, like wind through leaves. "I had to make sure they were okay."

Maeve's brow creased, and she fiddled with the hem of her dress nervously. "But Auntie Sonia came home, isn't that what you were worried about?"

Hazel was shaking her head again, her figure fading slightly. A cloud had passed over the sun briefly. "No - well, yes. But they haven't opened it yet, they're putting it off. They need to open it."

"Putting what off?" Maeve asked, sensing the urgency in her grandmother's voice. It was getting more difficult to understand her hushed words.

"They're scared, but I need them to open it." A clattering of footsteps announced that Andrew was coming downstairs. Maeve quickly sat back in her seat, heaving her large book into her lap. Somehow, she felt as if she were doing something secret.

Hazel's form became strong for a moment. "They can't wait any more." Her words lingered for moments longer than she did, vanishing in sun dust as Andrew poked his head into the room and said her name. Maeve looked up, as if she had been reading. "I'm going outside for a second." He told her, waiting for her nod of acknowledgment.

By the time Andrew left, there was no trace of Hazel in the sunlight, and the air held no trace of lavender. Maeve was alone once more.

A/N: I told some of you Hazel would be back!

Question: Andrew is writing a book on Hazel? Thoughts?

Happy early Halloween! Only six days left...I'm going as Kiki from Kiki's Delivery Service, what are you all being?

Rose