I don't have dreams anymore.
For most of my life, I remember dreams plaguing my nights. They were strange and random, always making me feel confused in the morning but then forgetting them soon after. It was a nice escape from the world and sometimes I'd try and close my eyes so I could continue the story my mind had created.
Then September hit and it was filled with nightmares and waking up in cold sweat because the nightmares were plagued with death and guilt and so much longing. But after a few days, even the nightmares went away and those good dreams I'd experienced for most of my life didn't seem to want to come back.
They say dreams are all your hopes and internal wants being projected by your brain.
Maybe hope dies when you realise you're going to outgrow your older brother. It doesn't seem right, to ever possibly be older than the person who you'd seen as this great entity that was so much smarter and taller and . . . older, for your whole life.
I'm only seventeen and I don't anything.
But I know that the idea I'll one day turn twenty-three while my brother is always stuck at the age of twenty-two doesn't sit right with me.
That's not the point though because all that unresolved trauma isn't what I want to delve into. Rather, it's the fact I have a dream after months of darkness. Maybe, I expected a nightmare to be the road back to nights filled with something rather than nothing.
"Lina," Will says, pulling me into the blanket fort, lit up with flashlights and decorated with pillows from every room in the house. "You're always away."
I smile, slouching as I sit on a lime green pillow that's definitely from my room. His fort building skills are quite impressive and I see that he's supported it fairly well. The interior is nicely decorated with an assortment of brightly coloured nick-nacks. He's a maximalist like my mother but it's endearing.
"Well, I'm here now."
He shakes his head. "But then you'll be gone and it's not the same without you."
Words mean the most when they came from someone seven years younger than you.
"Will," I shake my head. "Remember, you're Pietro and I'm Wanda. We're together forever."
There's a flicker of pain passing through his face, he moves over to hug me and I can smell peppermint all over him. "I'm sorry for dying."
"It's not your fault," I whisper, holding him tighter.
"It didn't hurt."
"Pardon?"
"Dying didn't hurt," he tells me, a serious expression on his face. There's an unfamiliar cut on his cheek and my fingers skim it, he softens. "It just felt like a tiny pinch, Lina. Mum says that you beat yourself up about it but, I need you to know it didn't hurt."
I nod. "It didn't hurt."
Then he moves to grab some comic and lay down on the ground, reading about X-Men and mumbling something about how he loves Jean Grey. I sit back and find a magazine in my lap, looking through some quizzes about what type of dog breed I am.
Spoiler alert. I'm a border collie.
"James seems nice."
The magazine disappears from my hands I stare at him in confusion. "I've never told you about him."
He shrugs. "You learn a lot of things once you die."
"You've always been quite the gossip," I say, teasingly though my heart is growing heavier by the second. I didn't realize that you could miss someone when they were right beside you. "So what do you think of him?"
Will looks at me with an I-could-care-less-but-secretly-I've-been-dying-to-talk-about-this expression. He chucks Clark Kent onto my lap. "Rory says he's swoon-worthy. Eli calls him a little shit--"
"William Locke!"
"--but he's always smiling when he says it so it must cancel out because of BEDMAS. I liked when he said you deserved nice because you really do," he says, then's continue listing his top ten James Potter quotes. "Oh, when he said the thing he likes most is how he feels about you, in the movie."
I'm burying my face in my hands, dying of embarrassment. "Do you guys see everything in my life?"
"Just the highlights."
Maybe in the back of my mind, I've known all along that this isn't just some normal dream but the more Will keeps talking, there's some feeling that confirms it because dreams aren't like this. I know myself enough to know my mind could've never conjured up this because how he's talking is so much mature than the last time I saw him. He's a different version of my brother, one I'm meeting for the first time.
He catches onto my thoughts because the people who love always seem to do.
"Are you a ghost," I ask, but I know it can't be so because we're in some strange place in my head. "What's happening, Will? You've gotta tell me."
"I don't think I've found peace yet," he tells me, his blue eyes growing sadder by the second.
More figurines start popping up around us. A new Peter Parker figurine is in his hands and this one's a version I'm not familiar with. Maybe this all orchestrated by him, wherever we are. This is his happy place, a blanket fort, comics, his action figures, and me. It's all morphing into dark deep colours now, pale yellows and light pinks replaced with rich oranges and the cold blues.
I watch his feelings change the once serene place into something that reminds me of September and dead letters.
Will's skin grows paler and paler, something sickly and very lifeless overcoming him. "I just wanted to make sure you're okay." The gash on his cheek starts to bleed, blood slowly seeps out of it and he's shivering as the life keeps leaving him.
He's dying.
I'm quick to hold him as he shivers against me. The last beats of his heart are slowing down knowing that this is it for him and I feel a deep cough run through him.
"I'm sorry for always being so annoying," he whispers. "I'm sorry for breaking your headband and your jewelry box and ruining your carpet. I'm so sorry, please forgive me." His guilt shows up in the form of rain and suddenly we're both being hit by hard bullets from the clouds. "You were such a good sister, Angelina. I wish I would've told you that when I was . . ."
Alive.
"Hey," I say, letting him cling onto me like I'm some lifeline. I rub his back gently. "You were a good brother Will. You did so good, bud."
"Really?"
"Yeah, nobody else could've been as awesome as you. I love you, kid," my voice is muffled into his shoulder. I know I'm while trying to make him feel better but it kills me, the idea that he would ever think he was ever not good enough. "You're my favourite super-hero."
Then I feel him grow still, his body feels less and less there under my touch.
He takes a step back, looks at me with the smile we'd all gotten from our mom. "All those guys I see in the comics," he says, fading away as his skin turns grey. "They've got nothing on you."
I raise my hand to wave goodbye.
He does the same.
I'd never gotten the meaning of rest in peace. But at this moment as I see Will fade away with a smile on his face and guilt that's been lifted off his shoulders. I understand it. He's found his peace now.
When I finally open my eyes, the sun's barely started to peak up through the mountains. The possibility of going back to sleep is out of the question, I quietly move out of my bed and throw a sweater on my scandalous camisole. My feet are greeted by cold stone flooring and it starts to rush some blood through my system and actually wake me up.
My hands carefully open the door hoping to not make a noise and disturb the other sleeping girls.
(I'm great at it. Not making a sound. Going unnoticed. Blending in. Chameleon might be the worst possible nickname, but it was accurate so points to Sonya for that one. She honestly might have even inspired my back up plan of becoming a cat burglar if all this healer stuff didn't work out.)
I go towards the lived in carpet and proceed to try and remember the spell to make a fire because perhaps the cool stone floor hasn't fully woken me up yet.
It's a solid five minutes of being cold before I give up and look for the lighter that we hide on one of the bookcases. It's a comforting thought most of my housemates struggle with simple spells like I do.
The lighter is behind a picture of the quidditch team and I pause while grabbing it, the pictures from five years ago and it's with the Gryffindor team. They're all laughing and my eyes immediately zone in on Eli whose arms are around his two-second string chasers.
Sirius and James are much younger and both tall yet gangly. Sirius's hair is neatly trimmed while James's is still a familiar mess. They're both so young and I know for a fact, I'd never even spoken a word to them during that time, though all the boys worshipped my brother.
Life's funny that way.
It takes me years to step back and relieve myself from the pain the picture causes and it takes a lifetime to try and light the fire.
Maybe I really need to learn to do things myself but I like the idea of a nice of charming saving the day. Because at least in that situation the princess wouldn't have to struggle to create fire and freeze to death in an underground fridge of a common room.
Then after my millionth try, I see sparks start to grow and engulf the wood.
Of course, the princess saves herself at the end of the day but isn't everything nicer when you have someone to share that happiness with? Maybe it's just my need for connections but I couldn't ever be alone.
"Oh Merlin, please tell me he didn't."
I nod solemnly, taking a large bite of grilled cheese. "Then he tells her that, 'I don't know anything but I know I miss you.'"
Poppy's mouth falls open, she dips her own grilled cheese into the tomato soup and shakes her head. "I hate men," she whispers.
"But, you have a husband!"
"Here's the thing Angelina," she says, then pauses to finish chewing and swallow. "I hate him too but I love him a lot as well."
We both nod over our shared hatred for men and how Jesse was in the wrong but maybe Augustine should also be blamed to some extent. If she knew that Betty and Jesse had this big old history, she should've stayed out of it and definitely if she knew that it wasn't even a break up more. More of a small break.
"I was talking to her at lunch," I say, thinking of how Augustine, the redhead who'd always chosen the bed beside mine since first year. "She told me that he'd said it was over, that during easter break he'd just knock at her window on his broom and tell her to come. How she'd cancel all her plans just in case he'd write to her."
Poppy shakes her head. "Poor girl," she says, "I think she got the short end of the stick in this whole affair."
When I teased Will about being a gossip, he could've said the same about me or anybody in our family. Like our father, all of us had a tendency to be a bit obsessed with drama and loved knowing every little part about it (it's his fault because talking about Otto Von Bismarck only leads to raising gossips).
So, I'm updating Poppy on the love triangle because yesterday Jesse, a Gryffindor, showed up at Betty's birthday party in the Ravenclaw tower without an invite and apparently apologized while hoping to win her back. She'd apparently seemed very torn and asked if they could talk somewhere private and when they came back, things didn't look perfect but it look better than before for them.
I've gotten all this from Raj during potions because Betty is the team seeker and his best friend. He has dubbed Jesse a little bitch and shakes his head mumbling something about how he hates that he knows they'll probably get married.
Gossiping doesn't count when you're only telling one person and it's an authority figure, I convince myself.
"St. Mungos is currently sending out their acceptance letters," she raises her brows. "Anything yet?"
I shake my head. "Rachel got accepted this morning but I haven't heard anything."
"Don't worry," she says. "Benny's in charge of writing the letters and that kid is the slowest writer you'll ever meet."
"Who's Benny," I ask.
"Bennet Castello," she clarifies, but then sees my blank expression and continues. "He's probably a decade older than you. All he used to do in Hogwarts was get into fights," Poppy paints a picture of a boy with bruises permanently on his face. "At some point, I think he realised he was good at all this healing stuff and decided to become a healer. He's the head of trauma now."
I give an 'ooh', loving the idea of a bad boy turned healer. Something about it feels like it's out of a book and perhaps that's the best part of it all.
I'm walking to the library to meet the boys because we've planned a big group study session, which will most likely lead to them trying to convince me to be an accomplice in some prank. I'll shake my head but be forced to create some alibi when a teacher asks and they'll warily believe me because, "Angelina's a good girl, she has perfect attendance and her family's dead so we should probably believe her."
The last time I said they were studying communism with me when in reality they were scuba diving in the great lake.
Thornberry looked as if she wanted to question me more but I gave her my best sad face and she went away after mentioning that she was happy to see that I was on track or all E's and O's for NEWT's season.
But today, I'm very adamant to make sure they all stay on track. If I can make sure Remus isn't corrupted then Peter will stay strong, and James and Sirius will call them buzzkills and groan but do their work unhappily anyway.
I'm turning a corner when my shoulder crashes into another shoulder.
"Oh, fuck."
Harvey looks as if I've scared him, he's holding his heart and for a moment he doesn't move. Frozen in shock. But then he bursts out laughing and I get to see his rare smile.
I wave though nobody really waves anymore, and I'm too close to even be waving. "Hey, Harv."
He smiles at me. "Angelina Elizabeth if you wanted to kill me there are better ways to."
"I'll bring a knife next time."
"That's so boring, you've gotta spice it up."
"Shotgun?"
"You can do better."
I think about classy ways to kill a person, "What about," I say, drawing the last word out. "A good old sword fight that goes into a bloody death."
"Very Shakespearan of you," he notes, approvingly.
I shrug. "I try."
Sometimes it feels like talking to Harv is like playing an instrument in months. You know it by heart but after months, sometimes it can feel a little rusty. But then, everything just clicks and you're back at feeling like it's the easiest thing in the world.
An old muscle is used again when I'm talking to him.
"Can you do me a favour?"
He blinks, "You're not bringing up at murder pact, right? I thought we had a few years until," he mumbles, alarm running through.
The murder pact is what we'd created when we were fourteen. It was during a particularly boring walk in herbology where we'd stayed behind and just chatted instead of listening to descriptions of the flora and fauna of the woods. It was a deal that if one of us ever killed someone we'd help the other get away with it, no questions asked. This also carried onto any other thing that needed to be gotten away with, whether it pirating music or perhaps stealing some billion-dollar diamond.
I'd forgotten about the murder pact but when he brings it up, it refreshes a billion more memories alongside it. Past birthdays and late-night walks and conversations filled up our silence because we were the quietest people, but with the other person, it was all we did.
I missed the best friend he'd became.
"No," I laugh, "I was gonna ask if you might be able to get me a hyacinth plant? There's not any at Hogsmeade an . . ."
Harv furrows his brows. "Well, my mum's not a big fan of them so we don't have any in the greenhouse," he says. "So they'd have to come from the actual nursery and spring weddings are really in this year, so it'd take at least a week. But I hope that's okay."
He doesn't even question why or hesitate to say yes. Maybe Harvey and I don't label each other as best friends, but I think whatever connection we'd formed over the years is something eternal.
I thank him a million times and he shakes his head in an embarrassed way, saying it's not a big deal though it really is.
"Angelina?"
"Yes, Harv?"
He smiles, "I heard about you and James," he says, and there's no malice or bitterness in his voice. It makes me admire him even more. "You look really happy so I just wanted to congratulate you guys . . ." he trails off, awkwardness going through his body, "that sounds weird. I'm not trying to be weird. It just feels like you guys just got engaged or something and, obviously, you didn't but--Angelina?"
"Yes," I grin.
"Do you get what I'm trying to say?"
I'm glad that you're happy.
I nod. "I do," I tell, "thanks, Harv."
James rests his arm around my chair as I sit down at the table all the boys are at. We all quietly converse though everyone has actually decided to study tonight, in between writing and reading passages, someone will tell a joke and everyone gets off topic for a minute before returning their attention back to their work.
Sometimes someone will ask a question. Peter will respond with a helpless shake of his head. Remus will try and help. Sirius will wait a very long time before saying if you can't find it then it's probably not important. James will agree then make some dad joke that causes a groan from everybody except Peter who always laughs.
"I'm tired," I whisper to James.
He smiles. "Hey, tired. I'm James."
author's note
hey guys, so i just wanted to warn you in advance but the chances of an update before february are very low (though i might be able to write one but no guarantees) because i have finals coming and i'm going into full study mode with only sparing time for all things bachelor related such as hating queen victoria and loving abigail more but being terrified of the first rose curse.