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Somewhere in her heart she knows there is a piece that will never quite fit, as though something is missing from the valves and muscle and blood.
Enough time has passed now, but she still spends her afternoons and evenings and that brief moment before sleep, when everything feels so clear, thinking. She thinks about what was, what is, and what might have been. She thinks about Astoria.
Sometimes she’ll feel the urge to scream when she thinks of her friend and her life and all the wrong choices she made, the way she asked Astoria to fight, and then never really fought herself. Thinking never makes her feel whole, though.
Perhaps, after her heart broke, Demelza never managed to put everything back in the right place.
+++
When they meet on the Hogwarts Express, she never expects to make her first friend so soon. Demelza enters the first empty compartment she comes across, waiting nervously for the train to move, and wishing she weren’t so alone. And then, when the compartment door slides open with a thump, and in walks another girl with the same frizzy, curly hair as Demelza, she thinks Hogwarts must really be magical if it makes wishes come true.
They spend the day sharing chocolate frog cards, dancing with excitement, and giggling until they’re too tired to laugh any more. They talk about the Sorting, heads side by side on the seat, so close they could touch, and their whispers taste like forbidden truths on their tongues. Daphne says becomes a soft chant until it sounds like a spell. It’s all very hush hush, though, because Demelza doesn’t know much, anyway, and she can tell Astoria doesn’t want to appear too ignorant in front of her new friend.
Astoria asks about her parents, asks if she’s a Muggleborn since she knows so little. Demelza thinks of her father’s wand, kept in a draw in the laundry, never touched, never used. She says she might as well be. Astoria nods, as if she understands, even though Demelza knows she never could.
It doesn’t mean anything.
When they’re getting into their new robes, Astoria decides to show Demelza the shoes her mum brought back from Italy over the summer. Her hands trace the red leather, it’s so different to anything she’s ever touched, and the impossible word, dragon, slips from her tongue with quiet wonder. Then they’re dancing around the compartment again until a haughty red-haired boy tells them to stop that nonsense, flashing a badge on his chest at them before snapping the door shut with a stern glare.
They laugh some more.
Soon, they’re pulling into the station. Astoria is whispering about Quidditch now, how she’s been flying with her sister since they were two years old. It sounds absolutely absurd and it sounds absolutely incredible all at once. Demelza remembers reading books about witches on their brooms, remembers dark silhouettes against large, white moons. It’s all true. It’s all true.
And maybe she’ll get to fly some day.
Astoria grabs her hand as they follow the giant man down to the lake. A boy next to her whispers that his cousin told him of a giant squid lurking in the waters. Demelza looks up at Astoria who is already glaring at him.
“You’re only trying to scare us. Anyway, my daddy’s already taught me enough spells to fight off any giant squid that wants to drown me!”
It seems to shut him up and she smiles, gripping Astoria’s hand even tighter. Giant squid, indeed!
It’s not until later that the smile fades.
Demelza doesn’t know much but when she’s sitting on the stool in the Great Hall and the Gryffindor table erupts as the hat shouts his verdict, she feels her stomach drop. Because Astoria is sitting beside her sister at a different table, and the sad, distant look on her face must mean something. She doesn’t understand. She doesn’t think it should mean anything. But after the feast, as the first-years are being led to their new dormitories, she catches Astoria’s eye, and Astoria turns away as if she doesn’t even exist.
Demelza looks down at her empty hand, the excitement of earlier sinking fast through her plain, brown shoes and into the stone floor.
When they meet on the Hogwarts Express, she never expects to make her first friend so soon, let alone lose her before dinner has been served.
+++
It’s summer and they are watching Scorpius play on the lawn of Malfoy Manor. The little boy sits among a pile of toys but he doesn’t seem interested in them at all. He picks at the grass, collecting the stalks in a pile that grows and grows and grows until a strong enough breeze comes along to blow it all away. Then, he starts again.
Demelza turns to her friend and smiles. This smile says nothing more than a long, stretching friendship that survived the war. That survived much more. It doesn’t tell of the friendship that was never really there.
Astoria frowns back, a knowing look in her eyes. Demelza should know it’s impossible to hide anything from her.
“Don’t,” says Astoria.
“I didn’t say anything,” she replies.
+++
It’s two years before they speak again, before they acknowledge the awkward acquaintance they’ve skirted around since their first day at Hogwarts - a nod in the corridor, an elongated pause as they pass one another in the library. They’re paired up together in Potions so now they have to talk, have to ignore two years of embarrassing self-awareness.
Her friends titter from across the room, glaring at Professor Snape for separating them, but Demelza can’t ignore the way her breaths quicken at the thought of talking to Astoria again.
Properly.
Like adults.
She’s feeling so much more adult this year.
They are silent at first, scribbling down notes on parchment, gathering their equipment and ingredients without a word. Demelza is just igniting the fire below the cauldron when her sleeve is caught in the flames. She lets out a small yelp and Astoria grabs the nearest container of water, throwing it at Demelza. She gasps, her entire front soaked.
“Thank you,” she says, quietly, before Snape strolls past and flicks his wand at her robes, muttering about silly girls. She feels them dry immediately. Astoria looks at her, lips pursed and eyes bright, and then they’re giggling together as if it’s the first of September all over again.
It’s surprising how easy it is to rekindle that familiar warmth and laughter. It’s like Astoria is showing off her new shoes, and Demelza is dancing and poking out her tongue at the back of Percy Weasley’s head.
“Professor Binns is such a bore.”
“Oh! Isn’t he just?”
“Do you want to have lunch down at the lake today?”
“Yes, why not?”
Demelza ignores the way Astoria whispers her answer, the way her Slytherin friends snatch her away at the end of the lesson.
They have lunch behind some bushes so that all they can see is the lake and beyond. Astoria asks if they can do this again next week, same place, same time, and Demelza nods eagerly because it feels so new and exciting, just like that day on the Hogwart’s express. Only now she’s looking forward to so much more than a magical school. This is an entirely different magic. Friendship.
They meet the next week and the week after that, and they have Potions in between. Demelza’s friends don’t ask questions; they have their Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff friends, too. It’s no big deal. It doesn’t mean anything.
It’s not for another few months that she realises Astoria is different.
One afternoon, as they are packing up their Potions equipment, another Slytherin girl slides past their table with a sneer at Demelza and a smile at Astoria.
“It’s a shame you have your remedial Potions on Wednesday’s, Astoria. The girls and I have some interesting plans over lunch with… well, you remember that pathetic little Hufflepuff from last week?”
Astoria grins back and says how it is such a shame but her parents would kill her if her marks slip any lower. She shoots a look at Demelza as if to say sorry, but Demelza pretends to not see it. Just like she ignores the whispering and the way it always feels like they’re hiding behind the bushes by the lake instead of meeting for lunch.
“It’s nothing,” says Astoria when the other girl leaves. “It doesn’t mean anything. Can’t we keep a secret?”
Of course, we can. Of course.
“I’m not like them, you know? They wouldn’t understand.”
She’s not sure if it’s borne from guilt or just need, but Astoria takes her hand that afternoon over their sandwiches and Pumpkin juice, and they don’t let go until the bell rings.
The year slips past from third to fourth.
+++
She sips on her lemonade, fingers wrapped around the glass as if they’ll never move again. The child keeps on playing in the grass, and the pond in the distance reminds her of the lake and holding hands behind bushes until her fingers ached.
Scorpius screams at something in the grass before bubbling into laughter, and Astoria looks over at her son with a warmth that Demelza has only ever seen a few times.
“Don’t ruin a perfectly good afternoon, Demelza.”
+++
Harry Potter puts Demelza on the Gryffindor Quidditch team and she thinks back to Astoria’s excited whispers on the Hogwart’s Express. Suddenly, all the practice she’s been doing over the years with all the other young hopefuls doesn’t seem so important. Suddenly, that first lesson with Madam Hooch doesn’t mean anything at all.
She notices the way Astoria’s smile doesn’t quite meet her eyes when Demelza shares her good news at lunchtime. Slytherin girls aren’t allowed on their team.
“Come to the pitch after practice and fly with me, then.”
“Someone would see.”
Of course. Of course, they would. For the first time, Demelza wants to shout at her.
They like to play a game. It’s all displaced lust and stories spun from lies to pass the time when they could be telling the truth instead. Always smiling but not really. Always laughing when Demelza knows Astoria just wants to tell her to shut up and never mention Quidditch again. Always holding hands but never more, never more. Until now.
“I snogged Liam behind the greenhouses.”
“The Ravenclaw?”
“Yeah.”
“I snogged Theodore.”
“I don’t even know who that is.”
“Never mind. It wasn’t really a snog, anyway.”
Oh.
They lay their cloaks down upon the grass, green and red lapels, side by side, as if they are exactly the same. Demelza isn’t quite sure who kisses whom first. They’re both too reserved; they’re both too impulsive. But it’s soft and gentle, not like Liam who’s all hard and clumsy and sloppy. She feels like a woman at fourteen, and the thought is so delicious and mature.
After, Astoria walks back to the castle without a word. Demelza doesn’t feel so mature then.
It means nothing.
Can’t we keep a secret?
And as the year slips by, the world seems to explode into lifeless being.
+++
It’s times like these that she wishes she could just get on her broom and fly away. Astoria is in one of her moods. Demelza doesn’t even know why her friend bothers to invite her around for afternoon tea when she’s like this. The only thing that makes Astoria smile is Scorpius, so why doesn’t she just go down there and play with him, for God’s sake? It would make it a lot less painful for the both of them.
And maybe Scorpius wouldn’t ingest so much grass.
+++
They used to sit behind the bushes by the lake, holding hands in the grass and complaining about History of Magic. Now, they crouch behind the tapestry of Wendelin the Weird, hands clasped tight, and say nothing at all.
There are only soft vowels whispered on skin, and then, when it seems like they’ll never be able to move, a short, sharp gasp as one of them pulls away.
It’s usually Astoria. Demelza tries not to think about it much because then she has to worry about one more thing and there’s not enough time or space to just think. Not when they’re in the middle of a bloody war.
Some days, Demelza’s lips are still broken from whatever punishment the Carrows have been dishing out that week. Astoria traces the cuts with her lips, and her tongue is full of silent sorry, sorry, sorry’s. Demelza knows that they have to hide now, that if they want to see each other then it’s the only option, but it also feels like one more layer covering them up.
They can keep a secret, though. It’s what they’re best at, after all.
When the time comes, it’s like their first day at Hogwarts all over again. Demelza runs, shouts for her, and Astoria turns away. But this time is different. This time there is blood pounding in her head, and Harry Potter is here, and Voldemort is coming, and it might be the last time.
She’s not going to hide.
She won’t.
Now is not the time for all those damn secrets.
“Astoria!”
She follows the Slytherins up the stairs and down a corridor, pulling Astoria to the side and into a classroom.
“I’m staying, I’m staying,” she gasps, clutching at the stitch in her side. “Stay with me.”
Astoria shakes her head.
“Look at you! Out of breath already from a few stairs and you think you’ll stand a chance against the Dark Lord? Get real, Demelza.”
Demelza opens her mouth to speak but Astoria turns away as if to leave, so she grabs her arm and pulls her into a hard kiss.
“What were the “sorries” for, then? What were you so sorry about?”
“You were hurt… they hurt you! Don’t you see? That was just the Carrows. What do you think will happen if we stay here tonight? A broken lip? A sprained ankle? A few hours in the dungeons if you’re caught? We’re only sixteen! We don’t know enough magic to make it.”
“I don’t care about myself! I care about fighting!”
“Well, I care about you. And I do care about myself, thank you very much. Don’t look so surprised! And what happens if I come face to face with one of my friend’s parents under those vile masks? We’re not all self-righteous angels, here, Demelza. It’s never black or white.”
Demelza reaches out and places her hands on either side of Astoria’s face.
“Be brave. Be brave for me.” Her voice cracks a little, and she clears her throat, not wanting to show any sign of weakness to contradict the words that are slipping off her tongue as if they’ve been waiting for years to be spoken.
“Oh for heaven’s sake, stop being so melodramatic. And stop this bravery crap because it’s not going to change who I am and you’re not going to change who I am.”
Astoria grabs Demelza’s hands, ripping them away from her face. She presses a hard kiss against the other girl’s mouth, then lets go and turns away.
“You told me once that you’re not like them, that they wouldn’t understand!” shouts Demelza, not giving a damn that the tears are falling now. “But, you know what, Astoria? You’re just like them, just like every single one of them. A coward. A scared little girl who won’t admit what she’s feeling is right, and that it doesn’t fucking matter what other people think because it feels right.”
“Well, we’re not just talking about staying to fight against the Dark Lord anymore,” replies Astoria before slipping out into the corridor and out into something more than just night.
+++
“You should have stayed. That would have been enough.”
“Well, you don’t know me at all, then,” whispers Astoria, her face still turned towards Scorpius.
“I know you enough.”
She looks across the table and removes her hand, half-reaching, palm facing up towards the summer sun. The memory snaps into place, just below her ribs, and she can’t hold it in any longer.
“You should have stayed.”
The silence says everything.
+++
It takes them a while. The silence is prolonged and awkward; small nods in Diagon Alley, a glance across the Leaky.
Demelza used to think that bravery meant running into battle head-on. She’s learnt the hard way. Everyone has. Now, she knows that bravery is shy; it’s subtle and quiet, simmering beneath the surface and sparking out words that she can barely hear. It says: go. It says: go to her.
She goes. She goes to her.
They meet in Hogsmeade, somewhere they’ve never been together, but the Three Broomsticks is too loud, and it’s too cold outside, and the Hog’s Head is “completely out of the question” so they ask for a private room upstairs. They eat sandwiches. Astoria sips lemonade with gin even though it’s barely noon. Her engagement ring is so large it’s like there’s another person in the room with them.
There’s never been more than just the two of them, not even on the Hogwart’s Express, unless they count Percy sodding Weasley.
After a while, Astoria clasps her ringless hand around Demelza’s and pulls her into a soft hug that feels like it could flake away with the slightest breeze, but then her lips are on Demelza’s neck, and they are soft but they are also firm.
And hot. It’s all so very hot. She can’t breathe. But she can, she can, she’s gasping as Astoria’s hands slip beneath her robes and touch the bare skin of Demelza’s stomach.
Their lips meet, their clothes slip to the floor, and they fall back on the bed, a mass of warm limbs. It’s everything they couldn’t do behind a tapestry with fear in their mouths and on their tongues.
She flips Astoria over, looking down at her flushed cheeks and smiles but there is no smile in return. Instead, Astoria spreads her legs wide and closes her eyes as Demelza’s fingers slip lower, dipping into her navel and down. She wants to kiss open her eyes, she wants to look at her, unlocked and alive, as her mouth widens into an O with a hushed sob. She sucks at the sound with her own lips until their tongues meet once more.
After, they sit on the bed in silence, leaning against the mauve pillows, which seem obscenely bland compared to what they’ve just done.
“Come to my wedding, you can be one of my bridesmaids, if you’d like.”
Demelza stares at her, the numb, sinking feeling behind her eyes must be so very obvious but she doesn’t care.
“I thought… I thought after this, you might…”
Spit it out, she thinks. Tell her. Tell her. Tell her.
Be brave. Be brave for me.
Astoria blinks and shakes her head, a short laugh spilling forth onto the duvet between them. It’s like the sound sits there, both of them not being able to look away from it, even when they cannot hear it any longer.
“You’re my best friend. You’ll come to my wedding, you’ll stand next to Daphne and hold flowers, and, afterwards, everything will go on like it should.”
“Please, can’t we talk about what this means?”
Astoria stares back as if Demelza isn’t even there.
“It means nothing.”
+++
Scorpius loses interest with his toy broom as the afternoon light weaves itself into dusk. Astoria takes him inside and returns with something stronger than lemonade.
As usual, the tears begin to fall after only two glasses and soon their hands are clasped together across the table. She knows where this is going, she knows they will be back to the beginning tomorrow. She doesn’t care.
“I’m sorry,” whispers Astoria. “It meant something. It meant everything.”
“Come on,” replies Demelza. She pulls her friend onto the lawn, onto the grass, and it’s as if nothing has changed.
Demelza wonders if Astoria still has her Slytherin cloak.
Somewhere in her heart, a piece, a small, not-quite-enough-but-we’re-getting-there piece, falls into place.
It means something.
It means everything.