Mavi's father passes away on a warm night in June.
She hadn't been expecting it — they'd been eating ice cream on the porch just the night before, watching the waves lap at the shore — but she can't help but feel some sort of relief at the fact that he didn't suffer. One night, he was laughing and teasing her, ice cream melting down his cone — and the next, he was gone. There was no pain, no discomfort. It must've felt like falling asleep.
So Arda Sultan goes to join his wife, reunited at last — and Mavi is left alone in a world she feels is not built for her.
Grief is a heavy feeling — but one she can never seem to get rid of. It haunts her, following her, always a step or two behind. Wrapping fingers of forgotten memories and longing dreams around her throat. Reaching into her chest to squeeze her heart with a grip made of wistful smiles and what-ifs.
But if there's anything Mavi is familiar with, it's grief — and she welcomes it like an old friend. Sets out the tea for it and offers it a seat. If she's going to have to live with it, she might as well get comfortable.
The funeral is held the next day — at daybreak when the sun is just starting to clear the horizon. Nezryn is there — and Deiji, Nadia and Idris.
Her father is lowered into the earth — and Mavi has to look away at the remembrance of that same feeling — of the soil that clogged her throat, her nose. She can't prevent the shiver that races through her.
He's in Azkaban, she tells herself, quietly. He can't get to you anymore.
Yet, she scans the trees around the graveyard — just in case.
Deiji squeezes her hand tight during the prayer Nadia murmurs over the fresh grave — and Mavi can feel Idris right behind her, always a steady presence, never touching. She feels her eyes sting when she meets Nezryn's across the grave, her friend of old, a friend she left a year ago. Remnants of the life before everything — a life filled with Easton and dingy flats.
The funeral ends — and Mavi feels her shoulders droop with the loss. The weight of it is all too familiar now.
"We'll be at the Apparition Point," Deiji tells her, gently, giving her hand another squeeze. "Take as long as you need."
Mavi can only offer a small smile in response and then her friends shuffle away. Nezryn hovers like she wants to stay, like she wants to say something more — but seemingly decides against it and settles for a hug before hurrying after the others.
Mavi waits until they're out of sight and then inhales, deeply before she turns, wondering what she should say, how to start this off. She'd caught sight of his pale hair out of the corner of her eye — but she hadn't had the courage to turn towards him.
But the presence she'd felt throughout the funeral is gone — and the thicket of trees he'd been standing at the edge of, just a mere fifteen metres away, is desolate and quiet.
She doesn't know why she expected different. Doesn't know why that first glimpse of him in just under a year had had her heart racing.
She doesn't know why she expected him to stay.
———
It's August when she steps out onto the porch one early morning and finds a tall, achingly familiar frame waiting by the beach
For several long moments, they only look at each other. He hasn't changed — same sharp features, strands of his pale hair falling forward onto his forehead, escaping the rest of his neat hair. But his eyes are hollow — the bright silver seeming to have faded out into a dull grey.
Or maybe it just seems that way, now that she's fallen out of love with him. Maybe his eyes were never that beautiful in the first place.
"I was wondering when you'd come say hi." Mavi leans against the wooden railing of the porch, resting her elbows on it.
He doesn't move — but his chest rises and falls with a deep breath. Like hearing her voice unwrapped some sort of noose around his neck.
"You knew I was here."
She's almost furious that hearing him speak does the same thing to her.
"I saw you yesterday," she responds, squinting against the rays of morning sunlight as they bounce off the waves behind him. "With your wife."
A muscle in his jaw ticks and he looks away. She doesn't know why she expected him to deny it.
"You shouldn't be here," she says when he doesn't speak for a long time.
His eyes drift back to hers. "I'm on holiday."
She scoffs then, pushing off the railing to stand straight and steps off the low porch, bare feet cushioned by the soft sand below. "Do you really expect me to believe you came here purely by coincidence?"
As she walks towards him, his eyes never leave hers — and Mavi can't help the overwhelming feeling that wells up in her. That aching feeling that makes her want to curl up somewhere.
She stops in front of him — four feet away. Can't bring herself to go closer — but by the way his jaw clenches, she can tell he's trying to keep himself away.
How different they are — and yet, she'd been so in love with him at one point. She'd been a fool to think he had loved her back.
"You shouldn't be here," she repeats, looking up at him. She has him memorised — and it's a herculean effort not to trace his face with her fingers to make sure she's remembered him right. To make sure somehow, somewhere, they once existed together. To make sure it wasn't some wild fever dream.
"I know," he replies, his voice so soft, she can barely hear him over the gentle rush of the waves. "I tried. I swear I did."
I tried to stay away. She knows that's what he's saying — and yet, she can't believe it.
"You're married." Her eyes snap to the ring on his left hand. It feels like she's trying to remind herself what she's seen a million times in the papers. It feels like failure.
Draco follows her gaze and spins the wedding ring around his finger. "Purely for appearances."
Mavi wants to cry at the relief that brings her. "I thought you'd be marrying Daphne."
"Thea was an excellent scapegoat." There's a hint of a smirk on his lips — so reminiscent. She remembers that smirk. Remembers waking up to it. Remembers kissing it. "Don't think my parents have bothered me since."
"She's not a Pureblood," Mavi reminds him, the breeze picking up strands of her short hair.
His smirk becomes a little more defined. "If they were going to marry me off, I certainly wouldn't have let it be to someone of their choosing."
Mavi says nothing. Stares at the white button down he wears — half-unbuttoned like he was midway through taking it off. Like someone else was midway in taking it off.
"You have a wife." She turns away, trying not to flush red at the way her voice catches. "You shouldn't be speaking to me."
"Mavi."
Oh, Gods, her name. She hates herself for being affected. It feels like a betrayal. "Enjoy your holiday."
"Mavi." He catches her wrist — and it's over.
She freezes as he swivels her back around and steps closer, smelling like sea salt and wine and sun-kissed breezes. She goes still as he nudges her chin up with one knuckle so he can look at her.
She lied. His eyes have always been beautiful.
"I came here for you," he says and she sees it for the admission it is. "Planned this entire damn trip just so I could catch a glimpse of you. At least let me look at you a little longer."
She doesn't know when she started trembling. "You—shouldn't."
His eyes flick between hers, looking, searching for something she doesn't understand. "Is there someone else? Is that it?"
She sees his gaze flick over her head to the little beach house behind her — and she wonders if she should say yes. If she should say she's moved on and forgotten all about the tall, handsome Auror who ruined her life.
But she's waited too long — and Draco has always known her inside out. She sees realisation dawn in his eyes, mixed with something like pride. Like he knows he's ruined her for everyone else but him.
"You're not being fair." She struggles to say it, mortified to feel her eyes burning.
He lets her step back, lets her wrap her arms around herself like that can shield her from the pain flaring in her chest.
"You're married," she says, furiously. "You're—You're Head of Magical Law Enforcement. You couldn't even resign after what you did to me. You're on the front-page of every single fucking newspaper that I read and Thea's always on your fucking arm. You attend the biggest, fanciest, most extravagant Galas and you receive awards and medals and—and you dare to show up here and tell me you came here to see me?"
There's the faintest of smiles on his face — and she's glad for the rage it evokes in her. "Leave, Draco."
"Always so quick to put yourself down." Half a step closer and she tells herself to move back but she doesn't. "You think any of those things you mentioned distracted me from you?"
Mavi can feel her heart pounding in her chest. She shouldn't say it — but she does. "Does Thea know of these sentiments?"
He doesn't seem fazed. "Thea is well aware of how I feel about you."
She doesn't know what she expected but it wasn't that. She doesn't know why that makes her head feel lighter. It shouldn't. She refuses to let it.
"You should go," she says again, trying to fight the urge to let her voice waver. "Enjoy your vacation."
But she doesn't turn away from him — and he doesn't stop looking at her. And in that silver-eyed gaze, she can see it. She can see the regret and the guilt and the emotions that have piled up there, that have been festering since she left. She last saw him in June — in the thicket of trees at her father's funeral — and she wonders if he'd looked this haunted then too.
"No," Draco says, quietly, softly, eyes locked on hers. "I'm not going anywhere."
She hates the tone he says it with — because it makes her want to fall to her knees in the sand and scream with frustration.
"You came to the funeral," Mavi says, trying to focus on the sea behind him, instead of the silver of his eyes.
He bows his head — a soldier admitting defeat. "I told myself not to. Believe me. But I couldn't let you go through that alone."
"You should have." Her voice is faint.
"You were there for me at Astoria's funeral." He tilts his head at her, the breeze stirring the strands of his hair. "I needed to be there at least. I'm sorry. I tried to leave before you saw me. I know that wasn't easy for you."
And he speaks to her with such familiarity, such sincerity — like she's still living in his manor, reading with him in the gazebo, eating bal kaymak with him in the kitchen. Like she's still tangled in his bed, laughing as he peppers kisses across her face. Tracing his fingers across her cheekbones, her lips, her jaw, playing with her hair as she talks. Like they're still gazing at each other from across that small table in the quaint Turkish restaurant in Glasgow, trying to hide their smiles and stealing glances whenever they could. Like she's still his and he's still hers. Like they still exist.
"I hate you," she says, struggling to get the words out, struggling to keep her emotions in check. "I will keep hating you. Always."
There's a flicker of something in those silver eyes — raw and potent and enough to make her own eyes burn — but there's a hint of a smile playing at his lips and she can't fathom how he has the guts to look like that.
"I'll wait for you," he says, stepping forward. She's surrounded in the scent of him and sunkissed breezes — and then his fingers ghost lightly over her cheek, so gentle, so tender.
She trembles at the touch — and his smile turns wistful and nostalgic. Like he's remembering how many times he's brushed his thumb across her cheekbone just as he's doing now.
"Always," he murmurs, so quiet she can barely hear him, repeating her words back to her with that small, sad smile on his lips.
Her breath catches and his gaze drifts to her mouth. For a second, she thinks he's going to kiss her — and she's ashamed at the fact that she nearly begs him to.
But she doesn't — and he steps back, hand falling away from her face, taking with it warmth and familiarity and home.
"One of us is going to turn out wrong," he says, quirking an eyebrow as he backs away from her. "You know that, right?"
She's not sure what he means or if she's even breathing right now. Faintly, she says, "I meant it. I'll hate you for as long as I exist. Maybe even more. Forever."
He pauses — and for a second, he looks Poseidon-like with the background of the ocean behind him, silver against dark blue, tall and toned and handsome.
Then he glances down and slides off his wedding ring, tossing it at her. She catches it, mostly on instinct, wishing she'd let it fall instead.
She looks down at it, finding it exactly like any ordinary wedding band. It's gold and plain — but on the inside, there's an engraving, tiny letters glinting in the sun.
Forever.
Her heart aches and twists — because this is the promise he made to Thea, the promise he made to his wife in a marriage he claims is only for appearances.
"Let that be evidence of how fickle I consider forevers," he says, nodding at the ring in her hand. "So come find me when yours ends. I'll be waiting for you."
She blinks as he turns his back to her — and then turns back around, eyes skating over her like he's trying to memorise the way she looks in front of him.
"Guppy misses you," he says. "Gypsy too."
It's funny how those are the words that make tears burn her eyes, that nearly make her collapse onto the sand. And Mavi learns in that moment just how difficult it is not to go back to familiarity — not to return to something she once knew so well and loved so much.
One more longing, wistful smile at her — and she finds herself fighting to keep silent, lest she ask him to stay a little longer. Just so she can look at him. Just so she can make sure he's still the same Draco — and then she'll go back to hating him again. Just so she can remember what it feels like to be held and cared for. Just so she can remember what it feels like to be held by him.
She thinks maybe he sees it on her face — because he blinks like he's holding back tears himself. And when he speaks, his voice is rough with a finality she hadn't expected, seeing as he's the one who showed up on her beach.
"Come home soon."
It's all he says, soft and quiet and barely there — and he's gone before she even registers what he's said.
And Mavi is left — on her own — staring at the wide, never-ending expanse of blue in front of her and wondering when forever became the sweetest con.
FIN.