Flashbacks
Warning: Suicidal Thoughts
Day: 1
Esme lays on her back, her head resting upon the thick layer of grass surrounding the perimeter of her house and miles beyond that. The greenery that the trees enforce burrow within her home and the rest of the world. She would much rather be on the small beach that expands behind her house, but she stays because of her Mother's wishes of a guest arriving later. Her Mother has left the tiny island they've been living on. It feels as if time passes like an endless hourglass. It's been a year of living in isolation away from others.
Not once has she complained, but she can feel the loneliness creep up behind her at times. It's been a year since she's last seen the one other place she called home. Hogwarts. She had been there up into her fourth year until her Mother decided to pull her out. It was an abrupt decision, but she understood.
Her Mother's work was important, critical, and if it meant so much to her, then she promised herself to push away the differences and oppositions that rested on the tip of her tongue, begging to be set free each time her mom brings up the subject.
Her Mother's ambitious traits had not exactly fallen upon her. Instead, she was born through her curious willingness to gain knowledge, to learn wisdom. It was all about obtaining more information. The most impossible. It was never enough, and nor were the books. Her manner always seemed to escape among the void she had created for herself; her answers were partially different from others, and maybe that's why she was deemed weird.
But some part of her being Ravenclaw gave her an extra push for the draw of success. And that's how she made such great friends like Mara and Scorpius.
The two being Slytherin have no care for the legal rules of apparition off the premises of Hogwarts. They've been apparating onto the island every other day for the past year in exchange for solace with a company's return.
She envies the growth of friendship that blossomed between the two, and even though she would never like Scorpius, she knows Mara does. She often watches the way her best friends gaze at him, almost as if the rest of the world could burn and he would be the only thing that mattered.
Esme wished Mara would tell her, but she also knows of conniving feelings for her. The one's she will never retaliate. Because she will never have feelings for the blonde boy with blue eyes. His friendship is what matters to her, and he knows. He respects her decision. He respects her. She can see him falling in love with Mara. Her two best friends, it's something she's always wished for deep down, but in time she prays the two will find their way to each other. In more ways than one can imagine.
Esme prays for them to achieve the happiness they deserve, even from a young age and their parents' past.
She's met Mara's Mother, Ms Parkinson, and also her Mother's best friend. Scorpius' father has never made an attempt to introduce himself. She's never seen the blonde's father, but she knows that her Mother's friendship with him is one of the things that's kept her going.
His support through her projects is what's allowed her to succeed. Esme sometimes wonders if her mum misses the two. If she ever regrets giving up the life they had before for this new job. But then again, her Mother has never settled for less. She's always been one to break the rules, to dive into the extraordinary. To achieve things that none have accomplished.
To succeed at the impossible.
She trails out of her thoughts and brought back the present as her eyes skim the pages of her book about Hogwarts A History. Her favourite.
She smiles as her Mother's voice chimes through her ears, teasing her that she's much too similar to the golden girl Hermione Granger.
Secretly Esme always pushed to be like her; she was inspired. She would never tell her mom how she looked up to her and how she always dreamed of being the second greatest witch of her age.
It would upset her mom- knowing the amount of effort and talent she possesses and puts into her work.
Esme doesn't understand why she's re-reading it. The number of times the book had captured her attention is embarrassing and far too many to count. Although the book brings back memories of a simpler, more enjoyable time. When she could learn inside the walls of Hogwarts. The one place that truly felt like home. The one place where she felt she belonged.
Now she's left with tons of textbooks and notes she ought to teach herself. Not that it mattered. It's been a routine to study two years worth of Hogwarts classes before starting her upcoming fifth year. She's been reviewing each subject so many times that she could probably teach her classmates better than some teachers.
She wonders if her Mother thinks she resents her for what she's done. Moving across the whole world to an island that she is still unfamiliar with. Perhaps it's for the safety of the two, and she's well aware of the dangers her Mother's job brings forth.
Esme wishes her life was simple, but she has never resented her Mother for anything.
She sees it in the way her mum watches her, and at times she wants to tell her. To reach across the dinner table and hold her hand with words that could comfort and advise the woman who has raised her. To say that all her decisions have been made for the greater good.
But when the warmth of her mom's brown eyes melts into hers, it becomes harder to speak. Because then she will be lying. Half her decisions haven't been made for the greater good on her part.
Esme's Mother is selfish, but she still does not resent her for choosing her job over her only child, her only daughter, Her only family. So instead, she allows herself to drown in the absence of truth, hoping the scorching sun will soon take away the pain she dwells on and the longing to return back to a time that doesn't cause such poison to enter her body.
She wishes her life was normal. But it's not and never will be. Her Mother's absence of words is a drowning of the truth, an enemy of the reality she refuses to face. And she hopes her Mother comes to see the fact of life and that there is more than just her work.
That her daughter was supposed to be more important- though it doesn't matter. It never has, and she shoves the thoughts aside once again, falling back into a world of history the book heavily describes for her.
The whoosh of apparition captures Esme's attention; standing up from the glass, she trudges over to the apparition point behind the trees near her house. The silence in the air is eery, and now a single step can not be heard. She tries to block out the panic and the thoughts wandering across her mind in confusion and fear. No one can breach and pass the wards.
She remembers that her Mother's friend Mr Malfoy is coming over to pick up her work. Slowly she inches near her house, waiting for a sign of movement.
Then her eyes lock on him.
Esme's eyebrows scrunch together, eyes narrowing in forward to get a better view of the tall man walking towards her. Suddenly she feels her breath catch in her throat from the exact resemblance between Scorpius and his father.
His platinum blonde hair is combed neatly to the side, and the closer he gets, she picks up the cloudy grey eyes peering back into hers. His movements gracefully lead him across the wide grass lane, and then she tries to hold back a snort from his outfit.
Out in the heat, Mr Malfoy is wearing a crisp black suit, and she knows it's been custom-made by the way it portrays his body flawlessly. By the time he reaches her, she sticks out a hand, following her Mother's instructions to be polite, especially to men like Mr Malfoy.
"Hello, Mr Malfoy.".
He eyes her hand suspiciously for a brief second before extending his and shaking it quickly. Esme gaps quietly from the smoothness and cold texture of his skin on her warm flesh. When he pulls his hand back, she shoves her's inside her pockets, "Nice to finally meet you, Ms Smith. He sends her a half-smile that look's forced. Fighting the urge to roll her eyes, she continues up the steps inside her house, waiting for him to follow behind.
The footsteps pursue behind her almost soundlessly, and she remembers the way her Mother speaks about him. The pureblood etiquette, the manners, the proper way to communicate. When she reaches the doors to her Mother's library, she shifts slightly.
"This is my mother's library, and her workspace is just off to the corner near the other door." She points to the small library with several extendable shelves to hold the number of books her Mother continuously brings home.
"Right, thank you," he replies stiffly.
Then briskly, she feels his suit coat push against her skin as he walks past her. The scent in the air has changed into a smoky aroma of firewood and peppermint.
Sighing, she walks back towards the kitchen, plopping down on the chair. Every couple of seconds, her eyes continuously flicker to the library doors; she's been distracted by his appearance, the pleasing sound of his voice has her book almost forgotten.
Almost an hour later, he exits the library, and his grey eyes have once again met hers. Esme swallows stiffly, opening the mouth to say something and break the uncomfortable silence, but he beats her to it. "You seem awfully bored here."
"That's because I am. Did you find everything you need?"
He bits his lip holding back a smirk at her forwardness to his questions.
Mr Malfoy lifts a brow peering at her, and then backs down to the several books in his arms, "I suppose.".
Then his attention moves beside Esme to her Mother's chessboard. "Do you know how to play chess," he questions before briefly glancing around the house. Almost as if he's inspecting it, with a gracious disgust of everything he has and she does not. But then again, she notices how his eyes soften from the picture frames that line directly across the wall from him.
"No, I don't. "
"Mhm. Best be on my way. Have a lovely evening."
Mr Malfoy apparates from the spot without a second glance back at her.
Later that evening, when Esme lays in bed, her eyes dance across the ceiling, staring at the bewitched sky above her. Her mind travels back to the short conversation with Mr Malfoy and his reluctance to offer a more extended discussion.
She sees the absolute resemblance between Father and Son, only that Mr Malfoy is formed by his hard exterior. Knowing he's been a friend of her Mother's since childhood eases away from the sudden distaste she feels for him. Nonetheless, he's a mystery, and she is not interested in finding out.
He's older than you.
But then again, she's always preferred the company of older individuals, never quite settling in with kids her age. Her Mother's voice then rings in her ears, "You're just more mature than other kids your age.".
It's been remarkably long, and the feeling of desolation has crept up inside of her, locking the union of being free deep inside. Each day is a repetition, and it will only be a matter of time before she ultimately drowns. Closing her eyes, she returned with the appearance of Mr Malfoy cold silver eyes taking over her vision.
Unable to submerge from the depths of his gaze from earlier,- she feels her body immersing and somewhat curious about the pain lurking behind his hues. Then again, she wonders if her eyes resemble the same look.
Maybe pain is exhibited deep within, and only those who understand can see beyond the bricks built—the people who can see the agony from the surface. Finally, tiredness takes over as her thoughts fall back, and she drifts off into a deep slumber.
Day 5:
Days later, Mr Malfoy returns- suggesting to teach her chess to keep up with the time. Hesitantly she accepts. During his first lessons, she watches how he reacts to the words she articulates, to his expression to distinct materials. She takes clear notice that he never smiles. His instructions are simple, and she picks up the game fast.
Day 10:
His words become less clipped after ten visits, and he seems more comfortable in her presence. He never answers the personal questions she asks, but it feels good to speak to someone about her hobbies in a way.
Since her Mother has limited time to spend with her, it's fulfilling. And during those moments, she only speaks of her work, leaving Esme feeling defeated at her Mother's reluctance to know about her daughter, talk to her daughter, and share similar hobbies.
So instead, she finds her free time spent with Mr Malfoy, and it's becoming sufficient.
Day 22:
Time has passed, and her Mother takes no notice of Mr Malfoy regularly visits. Instead, Esme finds herself alone more than ever as her Mother rarely stays at home, always apparating away to work and returning every couple of days.
The stillness in the house is now channelled into friendly banter between her and Mr Malfoy. She wants to ask him why he's decided to spend so much of his time with her, but from the way he glares, she keeps her mouth shut, not wanting to break this newfound routine established between the two.
She notices Mara and Scorpius haven't visited her in over four months.
The isolation is beginning to tear her apart from the inside out.
Day 38:
They are sitting at the kitchen table with a chessboard separating them, and she catches his eyes glimmering from the movement of her pieces on the board.
Esme gazes back at him, lifting her eyebrows suspiciously, and his lips mould into a straight line. "Darling distractions will never help you win. You need to use this." and then he lifts his fingers pointing to the side of his head, signally to his brain.
Esme rolls her eyes and huffs but watches his strategy and notes the many ways he beats her after several rounds. He doesn't speak for the remainder of their time together, only staying on the subject of chess.
Day 49:
Time is moving faster than it ever has before in his company. Esme now awaits for the sound of his apparition, and somehow that's something to look forward to about the day. It's something to get her out of her bed and out of her twisted mindset.
She barely knows anything about the man who is spending almost every other day with her. Rather than making her feel uncomfortable about being in the presence of someone older than her, Mr Malfoy adjusts to her perception of life, and in several heated discussions that usually get the two of them in arguments, he respects her intelligence.
She is grateful for this.
Spending time with someone who properly visions the world and has a vivid sight of the meaning of life has become a treasured gift. Secretly though she would never admit it, Esme finds herself wanting to spend more time with Mr Malfoy than Scorpius and Mara.
At times, the guilt sweeps inside of handing out with his father, but there is nothing to feel bad about when the truth is laid out. She simply is spending her free time with someone willing to teach her how to play chess.
She will not speak out loud, but Esme watches how Mr Malfoy looks more sunken each day. Pale skin, shallow eyes, reflecting the same loneliness and pain she feels every single day. Purple bruises under his eyes from sleepless nights.
His persona is a complete mirroring of her image. His company is fulfilling, but the loneliness returns like an old friend from when he wishes her goodbye.
She begins to consider it an enemy of time.
Day 55:
Esme has created a routine. Her mornings are always spent with Mr Malfoy, playing chess and developing new strategies. He comes to visit every Monday, Wednesday and Friday but stays away on the weekends.
It's Friday now, and she's eager to speak to him before the weekend usher forward, lulling her away from light in times of her Mother's disappearing darkness. His footsteps melt into the sand along the beach behind her house.
"You're wearing a suit on the beach?".
He smirks at her, with a hint of tiredness lurking in his solver's eyes. "What do you expect? It's me?" She giggles, and his face shifts back into a hardened expression. The silence takes over as they walk along the water, "Mr Malfoy."
"Mhm."
"What happened to your wife?"
She hears him clear his throat, but he doesn't say anything. Deciding to not push on subjects that regard his life, she continues walking, eyes peering down as her toes disappear under the water and the sand. "She died from a dark magic explosive bomb".
Gasping, Esme snaps her head up to look at him, but he's staring off in the distance, refusing to meet her stare. "Do you miss her?" she treads lightly, not wanting to cause him some sort of outburst.
"She enjoyed my money, so no. I was ordered to marry her, and I did," he says, without a hint of remorse in his voice.
She leaves the topic but reminds herself to ask more about his childhood when he's feeling open to sharing.
Day: 60
"Will you stay for dinner?". Esme asks from the kitchen as Mr Malfoy sits in the chair, reading over the Daily Prophet.
"What?" He snaps, glaring at her. "Why would I ever stay longer than intended?". She blinks and feels her heart plummet down in her chest.
I thought we were friends.
He doesn't look back as he apparates from the kitchen table, leaving back an expense of black smoke and the remains of the Daily Prophet.
Day: 90
He doesn't return for the next month. And Esme's surrendered to the loneliness around her. She doesn't see her Mother for more than an hour during the day. She cooks dinner, eats, and leaves, leaving Esme to wither her importance and being in darkness quiet.
The sound of his apparition catches her attention, and she plants her feet to the floor, unwilling to run to the door and see him. The floorboards creep from his footsteps, and when he enters the kitchen, she keeps her back to him, rummaging through the cupboards in search of the scone ingredients.
His scent sweeps through the kitchen and into her nose, the peppermint too familiar to miss. Esme feels her stomach twist inside of her, but she pushes away the excitement of having his company again with her darkened thoughts.
He's not here to see you. He's here to take your Mother's notes for work.
"Ms.Smith." his voice rumbles, and she spins on her heels, glaring angrily at him.
"Mr Malfoy, my Mother's notes are in the library. I think you can see yourself to it."
He gulps, and she rolls her eyes, turning back towards the cupboards. "I came to see you."
"Well, you saw me. You can leave."
He huffs loudly, and When the vibration of his apparition rings through her ears, her feet give out underneath her, and she sinks down towards the floor.
Warm tears spill from her eyes, falling down her face at rapid speed. She doesn't bother to wipe them away; she sits there enjoying the misery of her newfound state of loneliness.
You deserve it.
Day 91:
He returns the next day, and he breaks her routine. She panics, feeling the air rush within her chest tightening down towards her rib cage.
Breathe, Breathe. I'm okay. I'm okay.
"What are you doing here?"
His hand lifts, holding up a book. "Brought a book for my friend."
He gives her a tight smile, placing it down on the counter, and then apparates away. His silver eyes are now fueled with pain and misery. Once again, it's a mirroring of her existence.
She picks up the book from the place he's left it.
A Tale of Two Cities
He remembered her favourite muggle author Charles Dickens from their discussion months ago. This is the second time she breaks down, allowing the tears to flow freely.
A piece of her heart shatters, missing his daily visits and their childish banter. She misses seeing his focus expression on their chessboard and how his anger gets the best of him during their intellectual talks.
She misses her only actual friend—the one person who indeed remembers a part of her and something she cherishes.
Mara and Scorpius have never done that.
Day 92:
She sits on the sand, staring out at the waves crashing against the beach. The eerie silence now feels more comforting than ever. The sun is hidden behind the clouds, and she watches the flock of birds high in the sky above her.
Esme's mind wanders to Mr Malfoy and how his presence has become a constant in her life after years of being alone. She wonders what she ever did to deserve the comfort of someone as cold as him.
The fire and ice between them have brought forth a silence of a beautiful essence of life.
Day 93:
He returns the next day to play chess with her, and when his attention is solely focused on the board, her mind can't stop repeating the words.
Don't leave me. Everyone leaves me. You are my only actual friend. Don't leave.
He gazes back up at her, sending her a small smile, almost as if he'd heard her thoughts. And when she sees the pained expression hidden behind his calm demure, she wants to reach over and squeeze his hand.
It's okay- I feel alone all the time too.
Their routine returns and the passing time is made up for his lengthy absence.
Esme's fallen in love with the book he's gifted her, but she's also aware that it's a peace offering over his strange outburst a month ago. She doesn't push him to talk anymore. Esme doesn't offer for him to stay longer than he does. Although deep down, she secretly hopes one day he will.
Day 94:
When Mara and Scopus come over, she's bored. Her eyes flicker from their animated chat to the clock on the wall. She would much rather be in Scopus father's company right now.
Day: 100
This time she's caught him staring at her. They are both on the deck outside her house, reading across from each other. "You don't have to sit so stiffly. It's only me."
His eyes darken, and a smirk takes over his pink lips, "I'm quite relaxed."
"You look like a marble statue."
"That's what I was aiming for."
Esme laughs, eyes falling back on her book. From her line of sight, she can see he's back to watching her. He seems to be doing it a lot recently. She's curious. And he watches, silver eyes glistening from the sun.
Day 101:
"You never tan. You're like a pale ghost." She states.
This is the first time she sees him actually laugh. His eyes shine in happiness as his head falls back.
"It's part of the Malfoy gene."
He winks at her before apparating away. A smile creeps up on her lips from the sight of him mere seconds ago in a good mood.
She hopes it stays; she enjoys the carefree side of him.
Day: 105:
On his birthday, she hugs him, and for the first time, she witnesses his genuine smile with his sharp white teeth. Straightened to perfection.
When he leaves, the memory of it replays in her mind, and she savours it sweetly.
Day 113:
Relying on his presence at a specific time every morning has built into Esme routine. Due to her Mother's longtime absence and the unknown absence of her two friends, the panic sweeps inside her body, infiltrating her with a full-blown anxiety attack. He's an hour late, and he has never been late for a while.
If Esme thinks about it, he's never been late. Not once. She paces across the kitchen, and she's breathing with short, struggling breaths.
No. He's coming. He will. Breathe.
I'm Okay, I'm Okay. I'm okay.
This is why you never rely on someone you stupid bint.
Her breathing because erratic, and her eyes well up in tears. The air in the kitchen has been vacuumed. She's gasping in between the last bits of oxygen left and the remainder of air circulating in her lungs.
I want to die; why bother to live.
Stupidly her hand reaches out for the potions left out on the counter. Her vision is blurry, but all she feels is the need to drown herself in potions. It's an addicting frenzy for one who's spent days wanting to die in a black void of isolation.
Who would have ever thought it would come to this point? Esme tips her head back without hearing his silent apparition, mere feet away from her.
The footsteps are quick across the floorboards, creeping in the same pattern they always do when he inches closer to her. She can sense his body as the unknown potion passes down her throat.
Words. He's speaking rapidly, but she's deaf to it all. Seconds later, her jaw is pried open, and another potion liquifies down her throat.
Right. He's a healer.
When her eyes somehow regain the ability to see properly, his silver eyes mould into worry. When they meet gazes, it channels back into his obscure mystery. Her balance is unsteady, and she falls to the floor before he can catch her. Just then, her chest constricts as the oxygen passes through again.
"I'm so fucking lonely. I'm alone. I'm so alone. I don't want to be alone anymore. Help me, please. I need someone. I'm so alone." she mumbles incoherently.
Muscular arms wrap around her, pulling her petite frame into a firmer one. Mr Malfoy begins rubbing small circles on her back as she weeps into her shirt. The scent of peppermint and firewood fill her senses from each inhale and exhale.
His voice rumbles as his lips are inches away from her ear. "breathe in, breath out." Her chest lifts and falls as she follows his instructions.
When Esme's breathing doesn't come out as staggered anymore, he holds tightly, soothingly continuing tracing small circles patters across the small of her back. She clings to him.
"I gave you a calming draught."
She nods as silent tears pass through her cheeks.
"Mr Malfoy, I don't want to be alone anymore. I'm so tired."
He nods in understanding, and she feels her eyes flutter shut in exhaustion. Without a doubt, he's given her a sleeping draught to allow her the rest needed.
He leans down again, whispering into her ear, "You are a mirroring of my own isolation. We'll be alone together. As friends."
Her eyes close, but she swears for a second a smile has tugged onto her lips.
And in that second, he's let one of his walls down.
Progress.