Reflections

Reflections

It was late. Very late. My eyes were heavy, yawns becoming frequent. But I refuse to be tired. There's still so much that I haven't done yet — what, with the Ministry officially dropping the Black assignment on me now.

I hear shuffling just beyond my cubicle and pry my eyes, just for a moment, from my papers to spy Arthur Weasley heading my way. He gave a wave, which I returned, and stopped just in front of my desk. For a short time we made small talk on topics such as the weather; then he asked me what I was up to. I told him I was going through some papers on Sirius Black, and this seemed to interest him. He made mention about meeting up to discuss this Sirius Black business — which I found quite odd since he appeared to be aware of something I wasn't — but I know Arthur quite well so I shrugged it off and agreed.

Minutes later, I find myself alone again, staring down at my work. But much to my aggravation, it is not the work that is on my mind. I had read the word ‘couple’ as I skimmed through an old article headlining the tragic murder of Peter Pettigrew and the twelve Muggles, and it triggered something that I had locked away in my past. What was before a minute inkling, a sort of faint tickle at the back of my mind, had suddenly struck me, out of nowhere, and became thunderous pounding racking my brain.

It was at this moment that my work lay on my desk forgotten. I had delved in deeply into my thoughts — into an area of my mind I had secluded myself from. Her. The one who rivalled my passion for work. The one who had given her heart to me so unconditionally...

It was the day before new years. Snow was settled on the ground in thick heaps. I was standing alone outside of Hogwarts, looking over the frozen lake. My blue and bronze-coloured scarf drooped lazily over my shoulders — a scarf I still possess, packed away in a box somewhere.

There was the sound of crunching snow and I knew she was approaching behind me: the girl that worried my thoughts nowadays. I felt her glove covered hands gently grasp my own that were bare and cold.

I hesitatingly turned my head to see her. Her face as gentle as her touch, her skin a soft bronze and her serene smile — she glowed. And my heart felt is if it had plummeted into my bowels, as I felt so horrible then. I could only return to her a weak smile, so much less than what she deserved. She was a queen in my eyes.

‘You look troubled, Kingsley,’ she said concernedly in her beautiful voice. ‘Are you worrying over the NEWTs already?’ she added in a cheery tone, but it faltered. Her brow knitted and I turned away. She must have seen the distress in my eyes.

Then I felt her hand creep around the back of my neck, and soon I was cradled in her arms. She looked up at my eyes, and I knew she was going to pry it out of me. She was always easy to confide in. My lips always seemed to spill my deepest troubles to her, no matter how much I wanted to hold it in and let it fester me.

‘I....’

I had difficulty formatting the words correctingly to be spoken aloud, but I had to muster up something and say it. It had to be said. True, there was still months ahead of us until we would be thrusted into the world: looking for jobs, our own abodes, etc; but there was no use in pretending that it wouldn't happen. We both had two distinctly different paths — our dreams clashed.

So I cleared my throat and took the deep plunge into what ended our beautiful relationship.

I laid it out straight, no beating around the bush. She desired a family, I wanted a career. And it broke my heart when silent tears streamed down her cheeks. I felt the burn of tears myself, but witheld my emotions; I needed to be a man now and be strong.

She had tried to plead with me; willing to give up on a family and so many other things she dreamt of. I was not going to scoop her up in my arms and agree to this! How selfish of me if I should dismiss those nights of sharing what we so desperately desired from life, knowing a family is all she has ever longed for, and make her live a miserable life everlonging. I had plans, since I was a young boy, of being an Auror — a time consuming job and at times dangerous... how would I be able to give her the attention she deserves much less a family? — and I was determined to succeed. And though I loved her much, and it hurt me badly, I convinced myself that it was the right thing.

After much agony of tearshed she left quickly to the tall oak doors of the school, fearing she could never convince me out of my stubborn hold. And I stood there, amidst the cold snow, watching her until she vanished from my sight.

My lips were dry and cracked, and a cloud of mist puffed from them as I released a breath I was not aware I held; and a cold tear escaped from me and ran down the length of my face. I wiped it away with my scarf and slowly made my way back into the castle. Angry with myself, I kicked clumps of snow as I went along.

Entering the school I could unmistakably hear the rustling and commotions in the Great Hall. The holidays were swiftly arriving and all students were excited to go home and rest their weary minds and open presents on Christmas. Well, all students except myself of course. There was no other emotion running through me than hurt and irritation. And already I pined for Her. Gone from me for a matter of minutes and my heart was already desperately longing for her.

I did enter the Great Hall and sat amongst my colleagues — they were all in a deep conversation about the ancient philosipher's of Rome and exchanging their own views and philosophies. I on the other hand had nothing to offer in their conversation. In fact, I couldn't even put the food that was on my plate to my mouth. I merely picked at it with the silver, looking on at it with disgust. Hunger wasn't a part of me at this point.

‘Oy, Kingsley, you're quiet.’

I shook my head. I didn't want to be bothered. So I retreated to the dormitories to seek some solitude, convinced that that was what I needed. I laid, sprawled, on my four-poster bed, the bed hangings pulled tight in case my roommates should turn up early from dinner. I wanted to be alone. I wanted to clear off my mind of her. And yet I wanted to find a way for things to work out between us, that somehow there was some loop-hole where we both would get what we so desired and be happy. I failed. I, who did so well in coming up with solutions to difficulties and sniffing out answers, failed at deciphering the dilemma. And I began to cry.

The tears were strange to me: they were ginuine (I couldn't recall the last time I had cried like this) and continued to pour out from my tear-ducts even when I willed them to stop. She had me in an emotional frenzy. Only She could do this to me.

I don't know how long I cried, but it felt like an age had come and gone. Through the crack of my hangings I stared out, all cried-out and dry-eyed, hypnotized by the frost that clung to my window. It was at this moment that it hit me: I had to make amends.

I parted the bed hangings furiously and made my way out of the boys dormitory. On my way I passed my roommates, all asking where I was off to in a hurry and why my eyes were swollen. I did not answer them, my mind was focused on one thing. Their voices were drowned out as I left the warm common room and began sprinting down the nippy corridors. I knew where I was going, I had been there before, been into the common room of a House that I did not belong, and knew the password — because she trusted me.

The glow of torch light was a blur to me as I passed a dimly lit hall and the air was chilling as it hit my bareface, feeling colder than what it was as I ran. I could hear my heart beating like a snare, thumping wildly in my chest; this heart I planned to unload to Her. The words that I wanted to say were effortlessly flowly through my head and I was convinced that by the time I came to her, was face-to-face with her, it would be as if recited poetry resonated from my lips.

When I finally came to the ivey-covered wall, spoke the password and entered, I found myself troubled. A group of the House residents, seemingly fifth years, was huddled round a table conversing animately until they noticed me at the threshold of their common room. There was a silence (expected, as, before, my presence had always been discrete) and their puzzled faces furrowed at me. By the dim glow of the fire, out of my perephrial vision, I caught a swift moving figure. That figure, donned with a low, feminine voice, began shooing off the group to their dormitories, and just before she left she gave me a hard, nasty look. I knew this girl, she associated often with my love and had made it quite clear from the get-go that she was not fond of me (for what ever reason unknown to me).

Then, when the room was emptied and all was quiet, save for the crackle and hiss of the fire — I saw her. She sat in front of the fireplace in an off-yellow-coloured chintz armchair. The silouhette of the back of her head was all that I could see, she never turned around to even glance at me, but I knew it was her. I felt my mouth go dry, tasting like cotton as I swallowed hard. Words escaped me.

I approached her slowly. I wanted to touch her. I rubbed my thumb across my fingers — they were cold. The thought of placing my icey hands on her warm face made me hesitate, but something in me pushed my hand out to softly stroke her cheek. She recoiled from my touch and I damned my freezing hands, but the look on her face when she turned to me shocked me. She hadn't been crying, at least not for a while. She was scowling at me, just as her friend had done before she left us here. Her glare was hateful; and she was silent as the dead.

My head was empty of words save for the ghastly chanting of my voice, ‘Go away. You have done your damage. Go away.’ So I did. I let her be, and walked, zombielike, back to my House dormitory.

I awoke just then, the article clipping I had been surveying clung momentarily to my face. My eyes stung at the flickering lamplight. Why am I even dreaming of the past?

I gathered up my things, deciding to call it a night, and made my way out of the ministry building. As the booth-shaft arose to level with the concrete sidewalk of London I buttoned up my coat snugly and threw my black scarf around my shoulders. Winter would be ending soon, yet it still was quite chilly out.

The sky was still dark out when I finally stepped out of the entrance of the Ministry of Magic, but I knew it was nearing toward dawn for the darkness was waning about the east. I strode slowly, solemnly, to my flat, blocks away but within walking distance at least. I could have flooed home or even Apparated, but I wanted to be outside and walk under the stars. They're hard to see — stars — with all the lights of London and all, but at this time of night on this day of the week they were clearer than most times. And the streets were nearly bare. I'd pass a Muggle here and there walking to where ever it is they go so early in the morning: job, school, what ever; and the road was particularly quiet; everyone's in bed still. Youths — hoodlums, to the look of it, winding down from doing something wreckless I suppose — were still haunting the roads, stood just one block from my flat, but they didn't dare bother me. Perhaps because I towered over them.

As I made my way upstairs the building I took residence in I ran into my landlord who was in his dressing gown and slippers, wand gripped firmly inhand. I greeted him cordially, he's been a fine landlord and quite friendly.

‘Hello there, Mr Goodrow,’ I said.

‘Ah, hello, Kingsley, hello,’ he said with a yawn, his eyelids drooping. ‘Caught a few hooligans busting my windows on the second floor. Awfully tired of it.

‘Had another long day at the Ministry, I see.’

I smiled.

‘Yes. Everyone's failed in catching Sirius Black, so Fudge has added me on the case. It has been time consuming, I suppose.’

‘Well, well, well. Off that last case already, eh Kingsley? You know, I would have thought after that stint at Hogwarts that he would have been caught in no time. Ah, well. If no one else can catch that Black fellow, I am sure that you can — it is why you are the top of your league.’ Mr Goodrow gave me a friendly pat on the back and bidded me a goodnight.

I finally tucked away into my flat, the clicking of the door being shut was soothing to me. I was home. Though home wasn't as homely as one would like.

‘Incendio!’ I commanded, my wand in hand and whipping every whichway.

The room became filled with light. All the candles set aglow in their holders, set atop large boxes, and sconces. My flat is spacious, or at least appears that way. I do not have much furnature. In the living room there's a lovely sofa pushed up against a wall and an old squashy arm chair that used to belong to my uncle Tinne settled in front of the fireplace, but other than that and boxes, and a few papers scattered here and there, there really wasn't much to the place. I don't spend a lot of time at home and don't have the attention span to go through all of my possessions and set them out to decorate the place.

I threw my coat and scarf over a box near the door that has served as my coat hanger for several years now, and as I walked across the hall to my room I found my mind begin to wander once again. Most unfortunately I began to scour through some of the boxes that was closest around me, avoiding those that were properly packaged with labels (such as: SILVERWARE or QUIDDITCH/ACADEMIC AWARDS). I searched until the light of dawn crept into my window and began to cast its hazy light onto my bedroom floorboards. That's when I found something...

My scarf, now faded, dusty and moth-worn, lay at the bottom of one of the boxes I was rummaging. It was folded up neatly and, to the touch, brittle and thin. I grabbed it and held it up gingerly. It brought back that day I visualized earlier, except it was much more vivid. And from the scarf something tumbled. A photograph. When I turned it over I realise why I had stashed it away, wrapped hidden in the old scarf. Staring back at me was Her. Her big brown eyes curtained by a flutter of black lashes.

I recalled something I so desperately wanted to forget. What hurt me like ten rusted nails driven through the tissue of my heart.

I had just completed my Auror training, top of my fellow comrads in course. There was a small, but cosy, desk for a rooky like me, awaiting me on my first day as an official Ministry worker. I had worked hard during my training and I planned to work doubly hard from then on. My whole mindset was focused on my work. Moody, an Auror I admired for his excellence in his work, even complimented upon my dilligence throughout the training.

That morning, entering the Ministry for the first time as an... Auror, I spotted someone that I could have gone my whole life with not seeing again. It was Her, and with her a train of very young children — three all together and just babes. And there was a man linked at her arm. He was registering residency in the States and I recognised him as one of the Jordan¹ brothers, the youngest as it appeared. My heart sank, then, lower than ever it had before, and a day that I had looked forward to all my life became jaded, haunted by the memory of her.

I did not approach her and I hid from her sight behind the huge golden fountain of the witch. At that very moment, in my head, I buried her far in the back of mind not to be ever again scavanged up. Though it seems that I have failed... again.

So this picture that I hold in my hand now in the present devistates me, even after all these years. I shove it back into the box along with that damned old scarf and other relics from my past, and push the box to the far end of my room. I never want to see those memories again.

Though, I fear, I do not have the heart to do away with them...

THE END