Shut Up, Padfoot!

67

The newspaper crinkled under my fingertips. My eyes glazed over the headlines. Disappointment oozing from the repetitive news of the 70s.

Bringing the mug to my lips, I tore my gaze away. Xenophilius swiftly entered the dining room, passing me wordlessly to reach the kitchen. I threw my head back, my hair falling from my face. I watched an upside down vision of him pouring his own coffee.

"Turn the radio on, would you?" I requested.

As I awaited his response, I tapped my bare toes on the floorboard. He tucked his hair behind his ear and continued on with the toaster. The fresh bread sliding into the metal, a soft click when he pushed the handle down.

"Would you?" I repeated.

He rest a hand on the counter edge and sipped from his piping hot mug. I frowned, wondering if I should scold him. Yes me, a mindless ghost communicating with air. Aren't I the best thing to pretend isn't there?

Pandora's dragging feet on wood entered the residence of the dreaded irritation. Xenophilius' large shirt riding up her knee when she walked in. I lowered my lids to catch a sight of her.

With nimble fingers, she flicked the radio on. The static filling my forgotten annoyance and focusing on the station she turned it to. I brought my head up, heat rushing to my ears.

'Muggle born killings increase in Britain. Will the torment ever stop? Masked murderers by the name of 'Death Eaters' disturb the streets of England. If you didn't already know, lock your doors in case wizards and witches are next.'

Ding!

My skin crawled, giving the stink eye to the toaster.

From first to fifth year, the raging war of Tom and his followers ruined the image of wizardry. Muggles are completely unaware of the lunatic witches and wizards. Their population falls in these drastic times.

Disgusting that they killed for pure amusement. As if death and murder are a fun sport. Entertainment for the sickest. I'd kill all of them and hang their heads if I could.

The radio has been playing the same news for a while now. Only getting worse after my 'death'. In my bore, I sparked conversation.

"So.. X, we're in the same year, aren't we?" I began.

God, the awkwardness. Maybe it's not awkward on his end but Christ's sake, Pandora get control of your man. He is incapable of continuing conversation with me!

He didn't even reply. Perhaps he's not a morning bird? He does look like an owl? A bit? He's exactly the same as Pandora and her mum. They leave me to answer my questions. I said I hated Slytherins but Ravenclaws sure can make me take it back.

"Okay... Well, I think it would be a good idea if I wen-"

'A young witch has died in a train station. A month has passed and the body's whereabouts are still in question.'

I swallowed, blankly staring at the radio. Even the insects outside remained deadly silent. Why are they still covering it? There's no need when it'll obviously run cold. It just brings more pain for the ones that don't know the truth.

'The assailant is unidentified at the moment. Unknown sources claim she was tied to the terrorist group, 'Death Eaters.' Others say she was connected directly to their leader.'

Pursing my lips, I picked at my hangnail. The static overwhelmed my senses and the news echoes in my mind. Unknown sources?

'Will she provide key evidence in taking this group down? Or will bring more quest-"

Xenophilius switched the radio off. Taking me off guard and back to reality. He munched into his buttery toast and walked out of the dining room.

I sighed, folding the newspaper and tossing it on the table. It slid for a moment, bumping lightly into the center piece. The Ravenclaw beauty ruffled my hair, following her lover on the way out.

With a huff, I watch my hair strands sway with every breath I take. I wonder what he's doing right now. Blazing summer, awaiting D-Day. Counting the seconds until midnight of August 29th rolls around.

He thinks I'm dead.

Everyone in the whole world thinks that but the poor company of stupidly intelligent Ravenclaws.

I can't go back there yet. If anyone knew I was alive, it could cause even higher risk than it would've if I was alive. What a mess I brought myself in.

Don't get me started on the huge drainage of power. When I woke up, I was weak. No move at magic has brought paid consequences. I was finally free of the struggles of a strega mortale.

No more destructive bursts of magic, no more metamorphmagus, no more electricity sizzling under my nails. Utter normalcy. In the most normal as capable for a former dead person.

Does that mean the curse of Crystallia Phoenix is lifted?

Or will my body pour toxic magic into the world once more?

"Are our souls sewn together still, Tom?" I whispered.

The sun rays blasted through the uncovered window. My hair sparkled and reflected oranges between the yellow tones. Split ends studied under baby blue eyes.

Days of numbing arm and setting sun from the infirmary view. Feet tickling the end frame of the bed, sheets tangled under our bodies. The vibrations of his slowing breaths become memory. Second nature yearns for the other half God heartbreakingly broke apart when building us.

"I love you, Sirius," I breathed out.

Shit.. this is so much harder than I ever thought it would be. I'm tired of feeling the empty side of the duvet, intertwining fingers in the dead of the night. Nothing feels right anymore.

It's funny that we can go spending almost every single day for six years straight‐  to losing the only thing keeping you sane in a second.

Maybe when rain falls again, fog lifts, and when thunder strikes, you'll still love me.

In the midst of the storm, remember a face that held the eyes of a person they loved.

-lana