(Nymphadora Tonks)
This was getting dangerous.
I couldn't keep falling into his rhythm like this.
Why did he have to be so stupidly charming?
And the worst part was that I could tell he wasn't performing this time. Not entirely. The sincerity in his eyes when he apologized about the paperwork… Merlin, that was real. Not a single trace of his usual theatrics or smug flourish. Just raw honesty.
That made it worse.
If he were lying, if he were manipulating me, I could end this cleanly. I could walk away angry.
But he wasn't.
And that's exactly why I needed to stop this now. Before he somehow managed to convince me otherwise.
I took an aggressive bite of my burger, far bigger than necessary, chewing like the sandwich personally offended me. Grease dripped onto the wrapper, but I barely noticed. I shoved another bite in too quickly and immediately regretted it as I started choking.
Brilliant. Absolutely dignified.
Before I could even reach for my drink, a familiar hand slid my soda toward me.
"Easy there," Gilderoy said softly.
Of course he noticed.
Of course he did.
I grabbed the cup and took a few hurried gulps, the fizz burning my throat as I forced the bite down. I exhaled in relief, shoulders sagging slightly.
"Thanks," I muttered, heat rising to my cheeks.
I glanced up at him, which turned out to be a big mistake.
He smiled.
Not the blinding, crowd-winning smile from book signings or interviews. This one was smaller. Softer. Almost shy.
It's unfair.
Completely unfair.
I looked away quickly, focusing on the salt grains scattered across the table instead of the way my pulse just skipped. I could feel myself slipping again, getting pulled into the warmth of his attention, the steadiness of his presence.
No.
I straightened in my seat.
This has to end before it gets harder.
I squared my shoulders and forced myself to meet his eyes, which were looking at me in such an attentive way that it made my chest tighten.
"I'm sorry, Gilderoy," I said, keeping my voice as steady as I can. "But I can't do this."
His expression stills.
"I can't agree to share you with other women." The words taste bitter, but I push through. "I could consider giving you a chance if you leave the others. But otherwise, I refuse to be part of a harem."
There.
It's done.
For a brief second, hurt flashed across his face, but it was gone almost immediately, replaced with composure. But I saw it.
He inhaled slowly, then gave me a small, resigned smile.
"I understand," he said quietly. "I suppose I was being too greedy. Things have been going rather well for me lately. It may have gone to my head."
There's no defensiveness. No excuses.
"That's fair," he continued. "I guess this is where we part." His gaze softened. "But if you ever need help, or simply someone to talk to, don't hesitate to contact me. I'll always be there for you."
My throat tightened.
"And who knows," he added gently, "perhaps we could even be friends."
Friends?
That wasn't what I expected.
I was ready for persuasion. For clever arguments. For promises he might not keep.
I even braced myself for him to say he would leave them for me.
And if he had… I wouldn't have believed him.
Worse, I would have lost respect for him.
It was a test.
Merlin help me, it was a test.
And he didn't even try to cheat.
He reached into his coat and pulled out a few Muggle bills, placing them neatly on the table.
"Here's for the food," he said. "I can't keep making you pay whenever we eat in Muggle places."
The normalcy of the statement hit harder than any dramatic declaration would have.
He stood.
"I have a class to teach," he continued, adjusting his sleeves with that familiar, meticulous motion. "Sorry I can't keep you company."
He hesitated, just for a moment.
"I suppose I'll see you around the Ministry?" There was a faint pause. "Goodbye, Nymphadora. I hope life treats you well."
He used my full name in such a way that I completely forgot about getting mad at it.
Then he turned before I could respond.
The bell above the door chimed softly as he stepped out into the afternoon light. The sunlight caught his hair for the briefest second before the door swung shut behind him.
And…
Was that a tear at the corner of his eye?
No, it couldn't be. That's ridiculous.
Isn't it?
I slumped back into my seat, staring at the empty space across from me. His soda glass was still half full.
The chair he sat in looked too still.
Too empty.
I thought this would be far easier.
Every other time I've ended things with someone, I felt lighter afterward. Relieved. Like I'd shrugged off a coat full of rocks.
I would walk away knowing I made the practical choice. The safe choice.
So why did my chest feel so tight?
Why did it feel like I just let something important slip through my fingers?
The burger in front of me had gone cold. I wasn't hungry anymore.
The restaurant noise returned slowly, distant and muffled, making me feel like I was underwater. A waitress laughed near the counter. Someone dropped a tray. Life continued.
But inside me, something had gone quiet.
I pressed my palm flat against my chest as if I could physically steady the hollow ache forming there.
This was the right decision.
It had to be.
I'm an Auror. My life is complicated enough without adding emotional chaos to it. I need stability. Loyalty. Certainty.
And yet…
My heart feels so empty right now.
And I couldn't shake the awful feeling that I may have just walked away from the one person who would have made me happy, if only I had let him.
…
(Gilderoy Lockhart)
The bell above the door chimed softly behind me as I stepped out into the street.
The noise of the Muggle establishment dulled at once, replaced by the distant hum of traffic and the muted rhythm of footsteps against pavement. The November air was cool, crisp enough to sting faintly in my lungs as I inhaled.
I paused on the pavement.
Well.
Some things simply aren't meant to be.
The thought arrived with surprising calmness.
You cannot charm every audience.
Even I know that.
I adjusted my cuffs automatically, a reflexive attempt to restore order. Composure is a discipline. A posture. A choice.
I took a step forward.
And then I felt it.
A faint, cool line trailing down my cheek.
I stopped.
Is it raining?
That would be fitting. Melodramatic, even for me.
I brushed at my cheek lightly with the back of my sleeve and glanced upward.
The sky was painfully clear.
An uninterrupted stretch of pale blue, almost offensively bright for London. Not a single cloud in sight. The sort of rare, pristine day Muggles remark upon with unnecessary enthusiasm.
Another drop slid down, slow and warm.
I froze.
That's not rain.
My fingers hovered near my cheek before touching it cautiously, as though confirming an unfamiliar sensation.
Wet.
I stared at the faint shimmer of moisture on my fingers.
Am I crying?
The realization settled in with uncomfortable weight.
I suppose I am.
I let out a soft, humorless breath, something between a laugh and a sigh. The sound dissolved quickly into the open air.
It had been a long time since I had cried. Genuine tears, not theatrical ones summoned for effect or persuasion.
This one had slipped out without permission.
Without calculation.
I leaned back slightly against the brick wall of the building, staring ahead without truly seeing the passing figures around me. Muggles moved about their day, oblivious. A bus roared past. Somewhere nearby, a car horn blared impatiently.
Life continued.
Another tear threatened to fall, and I straightened at once.
Enough.
This would not do.
With a subtle flick of my wrist, I cast a quiet Notice-Me-Not Charm. The magic settled over me like a faint distortion in the air, bending attention away without drawing suspicion.
No need for Muggles to witness a national hero having an emotional crisis on the pavement.
I drew in a steadying breath.
The ache in my chest remained, stubborn and unfamiliar.
I closed my eyes briefly.
"Pull yourself together," I murmured.
My voice sounded distant.
When I opened them again, the street felt smaller somehow. Too bright. Too exposed.
Very well.
If I remained here much longer, I might do something regrettable. Like turning back.
With precise, controlled movement, I pivoted on my heel and prepared the familiar mental pull of Apparition.
There was a faint crack as the world folded in on itself.
And I vanished from the Muggle street, leaving behind only clear skies and the lingering warmth of a lunch that had ended too soon.
…