The Choices We Make ∆ Harry Potter Sister

Chapter 5.11

It was close to midnight when Xenyk rapped on the door of a flat in Dublin. Winter would still be a week or so away, yet its chills was already coming ahead. Still, it had nothing to do with the steel cold shivers down his spine. He waited for exactly two minutes before he began rapping again. A disgruntled answer came from somewhere inside the flat, and a clumsy shuffle of feet.

A young man in his late adolescent opened the door, and Xenyk was immediately greeted by none other than the former Slytherin Quidditch Captain, Adrian Pucey. During his short time at Hogwarts, Adrian had been one of the few Slytherins that Xenyk had actually liked. Adrian was just as Xenyk had remembered, even though his ocean blue eyes dimmed like a foggy day as if he had been keeping vigil for a fortnight, keeping sleep at bay. His hair was in disarray - sticking in all the wrong directions - and he wore nothing but a pair of wrinkled pyjama pants, yet Xenyk doubted that he himself looked any better than Adrian. The widened and alarmed look he received suggested as much, although that might also be from something else entirely.

Xenyk held up a hand wearily before Adrian could even utter a word, and informed him, "A change of plan."

"A change of- bloody hell," cursed Adrian, "That girl is still killing me even in her absence."

Xenyk arched an eyebrow at the young man in front of him, and with a heavy sigh, Adrian stepped away from the doorway, letting Xenyk into the flat. It was a fairly modest flat, considering the owner's upbringing. Nothing that screamed pureblood royalty at a glimpse. Although, Xenyk was fairly certain the place was warded as heavily as any wizard's manor would be.

Xenyk took a seat at the couch facing the mantle and rubbed the bridge of his nose as the crackling fire slowly soothes away the chills down his spine. He could not help but wonder whether he deserved to sit in front of a fireplace, seemingly at peace, whilst Ellie was Merlin knew where. He just had to trust that she knew what she was doing.

Trust. That was what he always had for her, yet that was also the hardest thing she had ever asked of him. He would die for her, hell, he did die for her. He would all be content with dying even without being brought back to life. But to trust her?

To trust her he would have to understand her. She was a pandora box yet to be opened, waiting to unleash her power and chaos onto the world, or anyone whom she thought deserved it. Still, even though he knew what she was, there was no telling of the measures she was willing to risk, and that terrified him. The last full measure. That was what she promised him back at Grimauld Place, and yet he often wondered which of her actions was her last measure?

She was a well so deep, no echo would resonate when a pebble was thrown into it, and he was ever so willingly to free fall into it like the damn fool he was. The darkness did not scare him. The depth did not swallow him. The only thing that rattled his ground was the idea of when he finally crashed, she was nowhere to be found.

Sitting in front of the warmth of the fire, he imagined carving out his very own heart, squeezing the blood out of its every artery and every vein, and throwing it into the fire in front of him where it would be reduced to ashes and burnt flesh. Maybe then he would not be so foolish. Maybe then he could get some sense into his own head. Maybe then he would not be so afraid to lose her to actually hold her as tightly as he needed her, because in truth, he needed her more than anything.

He had no doubt that Eleanor Potter, the brilliant witch she was, would be content of living her life with only her brother, her godfathers, and the Weasleys. She would be loved, and she would be radiant. Yet, for Merlin's tangled beard, he somehow landed on her doorstep, and she opened her door when he knocked. She was the constant in his inconsistency of life. The compass to guide him, the torch to light his ways.