Letters I Can't Send

Y/n's POV

"...and now I have to go see Mad-Eye Moody for these—these visions, or something," I say a week later in the Great Hall for dinner with Quinn.

We had discussed what happened the day after—like civilized people—but I am still hung up on why she decided to tell my little secret without my consent.

"Someone had to know, Y/n. Someone other than me had to know," she says. "Plus! What would have happened if you never told anyone and kept it bottled up for so long? Nothing good."

I sigh and rest my chin in my hand. "But I still have tutoring with Malfoy and homework and—"

"You still haven't told me what your first session with Moody was like." Her statement catches me off guard. I hadn't told Quinn what happened that first time. I wasn't ready to tell her that I had seen my mother again. I didn't want to cry. So, I masked the emotions I felt with smiles and playful glares. I was starting to worry that I was laying it on a little too thick for her, because I could feel her getting suspicious.

"Yeah, well," I poke and prod at the food on my plate.

"And something obviously happened..." she trails off.

I check my watch. 6:30. I have tutoring with Draco soon, so it's a good excuse to leave this conversation. I don't know why I won't tell Quinn, because "it's not worth the tears" is not a good answer.

"I—sorry, but I have to go—tutoring," I scramble to get my bag.

"Oh—fine. Go, but I'm bringing this back up later," she calls as I walk out of the Great Hall.

Then I'm speed walking to the common room and I don't even know why. I feel the tears stinging my eyes as I mutter the password and push open the door.

I'm fully crying when I'm gathering the things I need for tutoring. I'm still crying when I find the room of requirement. But when the room is revealed to me, it looks the same—but different. It's mostly the same, but there are sofas in the corner of the room, a lamp and coffee table with tissues and a wastebin nearby.

I smile through the tears. This room never fails to render me speechless.

I head to one of the sofas and sit down tentatively before sinking into it, curling into a ball against the arm and letting myself sob into my hands.

I don't even hear him come in at first. Then I hear the creaking of the floorboards and I look up to him standing in the center of the room, watching me with a scowl.

I freeze, so unsure of what to do.

"You're crying," he says. It's not a question. It's not a joke, he's not laughing or smirking or mocking or teasing me.

I stand suddenly. "Yes, I am crying. So stop staring at me like I'm a different species," I whisper harshly to keep the sob from escaping. I wipe the tears from my cheeks. I stare up at him, my glassy gaze hard.

He slowly sets his satchel on the ground next to his feet, his eyes never once leaving mine, his expression staying cold and distant, whatever emotion he feels are masked with a cool exterior.

My fists are clenched at my sides as I try to stand my ground when all I want to do is crumble to the floor and stay there for the rest of my sorry life.

Finally, I give in and I turn away from him, shielding myself from his stare. My fingernails dig into my palms I fear it will draw blood.

"Turn around," I hear him say from behind me.

"What?" I say through gritted teeth and salty tears.

"Turn around," he says, just as he did before.

My fists clench harder and I bite my cheek as I slowly turn around to face him again.

He takes my hands in his own and uncurls my fingers. His thumb traces the marks where my fingernails cut into my skin. He turns my hands about and inspects them. I watch him with a strange sort of interest and confusion.

He holds my hands in front of himself, tugging me closer. He looks at my face, at me, and he takes the hand he holds and uses it to wipe the excess tears off my cheeks. I feel myself smile.

He uses his own hand to tilt my chin up and look at him. I watch his eyes as they search mine. He pushes hair out of my face and behind my ear. I feel myself blush.

He smirks when he sees the color on my cheeks, his face all too close to mine.

He holds me. He pulls me to his chest and he holds me. My head rests against his shoulder, his arms wrap around me and cage me in.

He smells like pine, and rain and the pages of a worn book. I lean against him, my hands clenching against him, gripping his shirt tightly. 

I think I said that never again would I cry to him, but sometimes, I just can't help it. With all the tears I shed, it seems impossible not to cry to him again.

As soon as I come to my senses, I slip out of his grasp and run my hands through my hair, tugging on it as I sit on the sofa again, pulling my knees to my chest.

He comes and sits next to me. He faces me, takes my wrists and pulls my hands out of my hair. He tilts my chin to look at him again. He takes his fingers through my hair to flatten it out. When I think I can't feel more than I am in this moment, he pulls me back to his chest, and I'm fighting every instinct that is screaming at me to stop this. Because, when I stop, and just feel, I've never felt so at ease than right now.

I exhale against his neck and he stiffens. His arms tighten around my shoulders, holding me in place, like I would fall out of his arms if he didn't hold onto me tight enough.

I look up at him, his hand comes up to hold my cheek, wiping the tears away.

For a moment, it's no emotions, everything I had been going through just a second ago is gone. We both freeze, staring at each other with an intensity that makes me blush again.

His eyes flicker down to where my lips lie and see him leaning closer to me. I don't pull away. He brushes a piece of hair behind my ear when I feel his breath on my lips.

The room is absolutely silent, save for our breathing, and the way it hitches in my throat every time he moves closer to me.

His eyes pop up to mine for a moment, for reassurance, before his lips brush mine.

Then, I go rigged, my vision blurring, and I feel myself fall backward.

__________

I see a gilded rose.

It's made of metal.

I see the fingers holding the gilded rose.

I see white, silky fabric in the background, flowing around the holder like a cloud.

I see two hands come up to clasp the ones holding the gilded rose.

It looks like a warm caress of love and virtue.

I hear the words "I love you" muttered with laughter.

All I can see is the rose. Its petals are a shade of gold that mesmerizes me beyond comprehension. I want to reach out and hold it, to run my fingertips along the smooth, steel stem and petals.

I see fingers intertwine, grass, lips smiling and kissing.

I see two people cutting a cake. Her white dress is so lovely. It flows around her like a soft, creamy rainstorm. It dangles from her waist and hugs her ribs and chest like an embrace.

Then there's rice on the grass, and it looks like snowflakes.

Then I see the gilded rose again.

It shines brighter than the diamond on her ring finger as she clasps her hands with the man in a black tuxedo beside her.

I watch their lips touch in a kiss that makes me smile. I see the love unfold between them. I see the admiration in his eyes when he looks into her eyes.

I see the unmistakable love between my mother and father.

a/n: sorry it's been a while—I was dealing with some personal things, so I might not be posting very regularly anymore, sorrrrrrry (to the like 3 of you guys that are reading LOL)