𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝐹𝑜𝓊𝓇
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6:17am.
One of those mornings where you just naturally wake up. No alarms screeching in your ears. No movement in the air that could have stirred you. No dreams on the mind that could have startled you.
No reason to have woken…, and yet you just do. Anxiety? A night filled with instances of waking up and falling back to sleep? Some internal clock forcing you awake moments before an alarm could scare you from sleep?
Could be anything, really.
Remus would place it on some weird combination of all three. After all, it was the 31st of July… not the best of days….
There were three days throughout the year when Remus had this problem. The problem of a restless night, waking far too early, feeling that onrush of dread. Having to wake up and feel absolutely nothing but an overwhelming desire to stay in bed all day. The almost… need to curl up and simply sleep away the day… much more appealing than actually facing the grief that grows with every moment spent awake.
February 20th.
July 31st.
October 31st.
Three days that, without fail, every year filled Remus Lupin with so much pain, he could practically drown in it.
Funny… well, no… just plain horrible how big events can so leave a mark that days themselves can be forever tainted. Year after year, bringing on the exact same pain. An inescapable pain… the days that cause it having to circle back year after year, the flow of time never stopping and never skipping.
Dates forced to just be a constant reminder of the past.
Remus, however, could not allow himself to be lost in the reminder of the past. He had to push through, get on with his life. Because the more years that pass by…, the less society allows for one to dwell on those bad days. The more one is expected to just be okay. It is horrible… but Remus did just have to push himself to conform.
And so he had to push himself along… and besides… he had an even greater responsibility tied to the day of July 31st now…
Making sure Iris Blackwell was okay… no, she would never be okay… so pushing along? No, he couldn't even consider making her do anything on that day. So… maybe perhaps just making sure she was… safe… getting through the day in whatever way she needed?
Remus nodded to himself, pushing himself from the warmth of his bed. Slowly working through his morning routine as he checked off his mental list of duties for the day.
Grocery shopping, laundry, prepping meals for the week, planning his budget for the next month, cleaning the oven… and most importantly…. Guarantee Iris makes it through the day.
That was his job.
His most important task… but just about anything regarding Iris, is always easier said than done.
For upon walking into the kitchen, Remus would be immediately drawn to the fridge. Stuck to it… a paper. A handwriting he had grown all too familiar with as his job as a teacher the previous school year.
I will be out all day, don't expect me back until tomorrow.
Remus could only really sigh at the note because, at the very least, Iris was holding true to her promise to at least leave a note before vanishing off. No matter how bare they always were… at least it gave him something. But the vagueness would definitely leave that hint of worry to sit on his mind.
But he had no control over the situation, so all he could do was trust the girl's ability to deal with this day as she had the past few years… entirely on her own.
And in turn, Remus would have to deal with it alone as well, something he too was familiar with.
Discarding the note, Remus let one more sigh escape him before he turned back to pushing on through the day.
Three years had passed, and yet it was still the same horrible day it had been since the event that tainted it.
July 31st… the day he lost another friend.
~~~~~~
8:13am.
Harry Potter had been on his way to the kitchen when he heard the distinctive click of the postage slot. At first, he moved on almost instinct as he turned back around to go retrieve the daily postage… but then it hit him… it was a Sunday. Harry paused as he considered this.
After all, if his uncle had ever taught him anything, it was that there was no post on Sundays.
But, he would have to admit that so far, his experience with postage on Sunday had only ever been positive… so smiling a bit at a memory, he grabbed for the envelope on the ground.
It struck him immediately as odd; his name was on the front in marker, but it was also a manila envelope. He wasn't quite sure wizards used anything beyond the typical envelope and parchment. And Harry had already received his birthday present from Hermione. So his list of potential senders was quite small, if not just non-existent.
So, ready to quell his curiosity, but knowing better than to parade his postage before his family… Harry rushed back up the stairs and into his room. The envelope was ripped open the moment his door was closed, and his hand dug in to grab at the contents as he approached his bed. Harry just didn't stop moving… until his eyes landed on what he pulled out.
A bundle, wrapped together in some form of packing paper, tied to the front a note. A handwriting so elegant that he could only place it to one person.
For every year I couldn't properly wish you a Happy Birthday.
Harry seemed to lose a bit of his vigor as he sat on his bed, carefully untying the note from around the bundle before tearing apart the paper. Onto his bed fell the contents… cards.
Handmade birthday cards.
Harry almost hesitantly picked one up. It had the feel of a professional card and, in some ways, the clean look of one. But it had the look entirely of that of a hand-drawn card would. The rough bold of the words and the patchy coloring.
Professional cards made with prints of something drawn.
The one in Harry's hand was for his fourth birthday… if the large four taking over the entire front meant anything. Opening the card caused another object to fall out, but Harry found himself focused on the artwork within…. That being a very crudely drawn cake with seven lit candles… the big kicker being that the flames of the candles actually wavered, as if real.
Tearing his eyes from the cake, Harry looked at the object that fell out. Another note. This one written much less neatly, clearly done by a much younger and less experienced hand.
Blow out your candles. Father had to do the magic. He says Happy Birthday.
Looking back to the moving lines of the flames… Harry lingered for a moment before doing as told, lightly blowing at the card in his hand.
And that is when the real magic unfolded, the card in his hand fluttering, Harry dropping it suddenly at the movement. Left to watch as the card shifted and shaped. Folding in on itself. Shaping and forming, until within almost the blink of an eye… it was no longer a card… it had shifted into a paper bird.
Harry watched as it rose into the air. Circling the room. Taking flight for the first time. A bird that awaited flight for ten years. Waiting for the day, the boy could blow out those candles.
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As his paper bird settled onto his nightstand, Harry had to just take a moment. Sit in the stillness of the room, surrounded by ten years worth of these magical birthday cards. Ten years' worth of cards, created each year for him. Proof that even though he never knew it… there was always someone out there that cared about him. That every year made him a card.
Proof that he, even before Hogwarts, had someone.
Harry rushed into opening each and every one. Holding onto every detail. Reading as each note grew longer with each year. In awe of how the artwork grew more intricate with each year. Shocked to be met by a different creature with each year.
Ten years, Iris Blackwell had made him up cards. Saving them for the day, she could finally hand them off.
July 31st… the day Harry Potter was born.
~~~~~~
1:25pm.
If you asked Tracey Davis what she was doing in a shop far above her price point… well, she would come up blank on any reasonable answer. There was no real sense in even browsing the shop… it just made her want what she could never have. Would just end up adding a bitterness to any dress she did finally settle on… knowing deep down that nothing in her price point would compare to what she had found in that shop.
She did suppose she could ask her mother for help in creating something close… but it was still a bummer.
And despite how absolutely horrendous of an idea it was… who would ever deny themselves the opportunity to try on their dream dress? Not Tracey Davis, that is for damn sure.
Two things would hit her upon seeing herself in that dress. Regret and utter adoration.
And immediately, her mind started thinking of ways to get the price down to something manageable… maybe begging the cashier? After all, a young girl's happiness has to make up for something. But at sparing a glance at the cashier, she would just be met by a stern gaze and a certainty that a young girl's happiness did not make up for anything.
Tracey's mind wandered as she allowed herself a moment to twirl in the dress… almost wishing she had been born into a family with more money. But the thought would be shaken away quickly with a frown.
Her mother gave up status and fortune to marry her father. Choosing love over anything else. It was something she would always admire her mother for. And she would never let herself be bitter over a lack of luxuries. Her parents were in love and provided a happy and comfortable home. That in itself was a luxury.
One that she once fantasized for herself someday. Having a love so strong that they give up all else for one another. But a reality Tracey had recently learned to come to terms with is that fantasies aren't always reality.
She once fantasized Theodore Nott giving up his family status and wealth for her. That want for a great love story exactly like her parents, a driving force behind her silly crush on the boy. But she liked to think that she had matured beyond that and accepted that, realistically, she was never going to be some great love story for Theodore Nott.
Accepting reality.
She would have to do so yet again with this dress. Ignoring the fantasy of walking into the ball in that dress and favoring reality instead.
Sighing wistfully and giving one last twirl, she disappeared to the changing room.
She was nearly out the door when the worker called out to her, asking her where she was going without her dress.
Confused as could be, Tracey wasn't quite sure how to react when the worker handed off the dress along with a note… but reading the note seemed like a good place to start.
Definitely the one. —Iris
Almost giggling in joy to herself, Tracey thanked the worker before bounding out the door. Ready to go home and show off to her parents… and planning just how to properly thank her newest friend for this surprise.
July 31st… a rather good day.
~~~~~~
…
Avoidance, productivity, good deed…
Third year of the exact same formula. Starting off the day strong, pushing away the swirl of emotions. Busying herself with tasks, not allowing the mind to slip elsewhere. Giving to someone somewhere, striving for a good moment in the day. All to keep herself from letting the pain seep out.
But the day always went the same way… something always comes along to break Iris Blackwell. Something that turns all that built-up pain into nothing but pure uncontrolled anger. Anger that spills out, anger that gets taken out on whatever fool ends up at the receiving end.
Avoidance, productivity, good deed, lashing out…
If you asked her how she ended up there… Iris would come up blank. The how always lost on her. Left with nothing but flashes to piece together the previous events.
A women's scream. Distant, muffled… but heard loud and clear to Iris's sharper ears.
A man pushing a woman against a wall. The alleyway dark… but clear as day to Iris's eyes.
A fist flying at his face. He was bigger… but was nothing against Iris.
Now there she was. Left alone in the alley, standing tall as the man lay in a heap at her feet. Faint whimpers from him the only proof of consciousness. The woman had run off the moment she had the chance.
Iris stood rigid, eyes unfocused. Woefully unaware of anything but the blood splattered on her hands… and the man's raspy voice.
As he quietly pleaded, to the world, to her, to some god… Iris's gaze moved back to him. Watching… listening as the walking piece of scum beneath her pleaded for salvation. As if he in any way deserved it after what he had attempted.
Iris's head tilted as a thought crossed her mind…
But before she could get the chance to act upon her thought, a vaguely familiar voice appeared. Attempting to stir her from her daze and failing, the familiar face would just instead settle for pushing her along… taking her away from the man.
And no one would ever ask Iris about that day… what she felt in that moment… what that lone thought was before being pulled away…
But if anyone would have ever asked… she would have told them one thing.
She could have killed him in that moment.
But instead, she was just pushed along by a lingering hand on her back. Only vaguely aware of the panicked Theodore Nott urgently taking her away.
Too spent… emotionally, physically, mentally, to do anything but go along.
July 31st… a day filled with more pain than she could handle.
~~~~~~
10:38pm.
The two teens appeared through the green flames of the fire. Theodore took a moment to breathe as he looked around the empty sitting room, thankful that his father was, as always, nowhere in sight.
But as Iris stepped away from the fireplace, he began pushing her along, knowing he would feel better once she was hidden away in his room. Up the stairs, down the hall, through the door. And finally, they were hidden away.
Theodore related a breath as he softly closed the, taking a moment as a million questions bubbled inside him. Questions ready to spill out as he rounded on the girl… questions that died the moment he took a look at her.
Theodore Nott had seen a lot of sides of Iris. Happy, calm, angry… deadly… but he had yet to see her quite as… empty as she was in that moment. It was as if she had shut off, the way she stood aimlessly, her eyes clouded over and unfocused. Even if he thought his questions would actually reach her… then was not the time to probe her for answers.
So sighing to himself, Theodore brushed past her, grabbing some clothing from his wardrobe before re-approaching her. Almost having to force her hands to hold the clothes, Theodore pointed to a door, telling her to head off to clean up and change.
The words seemed to take a moment to settle in her brain... But Iris did wander off to the bathroom after a moment.
From there, Theodore busied himself. Sending a letter off to Remus Lupin, a simple, she is with me. Then he prepped a spot for himself to spend the night in his armchair, the traditional values that raised him, meaning Iris would get the bed. And then he vanished off down the hall to clean himself up for the night.
Upon returning, he would find Iris to still be locked away in the bathroom. Glancing to his clock, he frowned… 11:10. Iris never took that long.
Approaching the door tentatively, Theodore knocked, and when he was met with no answer… that is when it hit him. Uncertainty.
Theodore Nott hated uncertainty. And right in that moment, it hit him like a wave. Because he had absolutely no idea how to deal with Iris like this. This was an unknown to him. An unknown that he wasn't sure he could afford to mess up. The mental state that his friend had entered into was incredibly fragile. One misstep on his part, and she could be set off in just any way. And to be completely honest, his best hope would be she is set off in a fit of rage. At least her anger was something familiar to him. Although having witnessed that night already how far Iris Blackwell could go with her anger… not even that seemed all that ideal.
So, feeling as if he could drown in the uncertainty of that moment, Theodore just had to push through.
Opening the door, he felt relief. Found her cleaned up, dressed, and standing. Just standing again… Theodore hovered a hand over her back, the phantom touch pushing her along.
She settled onto the bed… well, "settled." She more so sat ridged on the bed. But Theodore wasn't really sure he could get much more from her. And he was too scared to test the waters to push her any further. So he began to step away, head off to his makeshift bed…
"Can you read for me?"
Her voice startled him so much that he hardly even registered what was said. Turning to look at her, Theodore finally found an ounce of something familiar in the girl before him.
Iris Blackwell greatly disliked silence… so even if the girl before him seemed like a total stranger… she was still Iris. And he could deal with Iris… in any form, she came in. He just needed a bit of time to figure out what she needed.
Finding himself giving in to her request almost far too eagerly, he grabbed a book from his shelves. And was about to head off to his armchair before he was stopped by her voice once more.
"Sit here."
Here was next to her on the bed. Space between them but a closeness that seemed to almost comfort her a bit. That was… new. He had never known Iris to be one to seek comfort in being close in a literal sense. So much new. And Theodore wasn't sure how he felt about how easily he was giving into her asks that night.
But he didn't dwell on it… he just read. Faintly aware of that feeling of someone else looking into his mind. Something he was growing far too accustomed to.
Just read and read and read.
Not halting for even a second… not until he finally felt the weight that dropped onto his shoulder. It didn't startle him… but it definitely was a surprise.
And it did bring another wave of uncertainty crashing upon him. Uncertainty about moving her, how much he could move. What would wake her from what finally seemed to be a peaceful rest for her.
Uncertainty… Theodore Nott was not a fan.
And honestly…
It scared Theodore Nott how much he found himself pushing through the uncertainty. Relaxing slightly as he adjusted to allow for the weight of her head to rest more comfortably.
It terrified him how much he found himself wishing he could better care for Iris Blackwell. Hoping that next year he can help the day pass by better.
But unable to really allow himself to dwell on any of it… Theodore just kept reading.
July 31st…the absolute strangest of days.