𝙘𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙨-𝙧.𝙖.𝙗

𝟑𝟔-𝐠𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬

JOSEPHINE POTTER IS A DIFFERENT PERSON.

And maybe it can't be seen. She does the same things she's always done; get just fine, average grades, hold Dorcas's hand as the two of them walk down the corridors, indulge in the whisperings of the younger students she's taken under her wing, draw patterns on the back of Regulus's hand as the two of them walk through the castle and listen to records nightly. But there is something fundamentally different now, something Jo is almost positive is permanent. She can feel it, bubbling under her skin, creeping up the sides of her neck. It makes her skin hot and her muscle tense, it makes her new. Jo's just different now.

Ivan Reed being dead is still a reality Jo struggles to grapple with. Sometimes she feels like it is not real. Like she will show up in Defense and he'll be seated there, quill in hand and glowing like the sun. There are other times when his death seems smothering, and she sees his cold and bloodied corpse wherever she goes. Some nights she wakes up screaming and Alice has to get her some potions before she can fall asleep again. There are other nights Jo's afraid to close her eyes and keeps them as wide as she can until the sun rises. Sometimes she sleeps soundly, and when the morning comes, she feels a periodic sense of calm, before she remembers everything that's happened.

Everything about Jo is tightly wound. She is constantly tense, on edge, like a small gust of wind from the wrong direction will send her spiraling. Her movements are jerkier. Her laugh is now sardonic. She is curt and unfriendly and primarily silent. If she scowled before, now she glares, eyes harsh like a gorgon to anyone that passes her. She is now sharp and biting. This is who she is now. Anything else will start to undo her. Anything else will make her vulnerable.

Regulus is really the only person Jo unravels around. She feels like it's okay to, with him.

His fingers tangle in the roots of her hair, by the base of her neck. Regulus always holds her close to him now. He always did, but it's more. They seem to have entirely abandoned walking in favor of tucking into a corner, pressed as close to each other as possible. There's something about it, to Jo, like there's nothing bad that can happen when she's in Regulus's embrace. He makes her feel safe in a way that Jo feels like she's become addicted to. "I was horrified, you know," Regulus tells her in a low voice, eyes tracing over the details of Jo's face. She blinks. "I didn't know what happened to you. I couldn't help but imagine the worst."

Jo presses her forehead against Regulus's. She doesn't understand him, doesn't understand how all these horrible, awful things can happen to one person and come out as sweet and kind and caring as he is. Jo imagines she hasn't even seen half of what Regulus has had to endure, and she feels as if she has entirely soured. "I'm sorry," she whispers hoarsely to him, unable to come up with anything better.

"Don't be," he counters swiftly, and leans forward ever so slightly to kiss her. His lips barely brush hers but it's enough to send goosebumps over every inch of her skin. "Don't ever apologize to me."

She sighs. Jo thinks that maybe she would cry but she's done so much crying lately that she hardly thinks it would do her any good, and she doesn't even really have the energy for it. She shifts her head to rest it on the crook of Regulus's neck, and he shifts at once to pull her in closer. Jo has done her best in taking his advice. In just doing it. But living is harder than she anticipated. It's easier now, though, that it was the day after, and every day since then, Jo has to admit, has been incrementally better. But she's not particularly patient, and it feels like the pain is dragging. Tomorrow, she will go to class. She will do her work and she will study in the library, and she will lead practice and she will have to contort and control every muscle in her face and she will make everyone think she is perfectly okay. But tonight, she lies with Regulus and feels some sort of relief in admitting she's not.