|Edgar is a sparkling sight (bonesie) wrote in an_ill_wind,|
@ 2009-09-22 21:20:00
|Entry tags:||- 1980/09 september, edgar bones|
22 September 1980
Who: Edgar Bones.
When: Following this.
Where: Ed and Cally's new place in Brighton.
Status: Completed narrative.
Edgar sat in the middle of the unkempt lawn, illuminated by the porch light Calypso had left on so she could watch him cautiously through the kitchen window. Mentally and physically, Ed was in rough shape. He had not properly recovered from his encounter with Bellatrix, and the house burning down, when he and Dorcas had ventured up to that church to try and rescue her parents. Edgar regretted the situation from start to finish. He had agreed because he knew it was something she had had to do. He had agreed because he thought that he could protect her from anything. But he couldn't. He didn't. And now... fuck. Now Yaxley was going to kill her. Ed would never see her again, unless it was in pieces, and that possibility disturbed him greatly and made him shudder. He hugged his legs tightly to his chest, shaking, breathing heavily into the denim fabric of his trousers, his eyes red and bloodshot as tears continued to stream down his cheeks.
His journal was open on the the grass in front of him, to the page of Dorcas' good-byes. His head throbbed. Everything ached. For the best friend he'd ever had that he'd never get to tease again, or who would laugh at his terrible jokes, or give him the hugs that had them practically melting into one another, to protect always (whether from McGonagall's glare or death eating fucks), and to know that she would always be there. Always. Always there to count on and turn to and to trust implicitly. The platonic love and closeness that Cally never, ever understood, but overlooked because they had always been Edgar and Dorcas.
Now it was just Edgar.
Edgar started sobbing again as he read her last reply. That was it. There would be nothing else and he was so lost and confused and it felt like some just... overwhelming fucking nightmare. It could really be happening. If he could stop crying and close his eyes, he'd open them again and be seventeen and in Hogwarts and they could tell Dumbledore to go fuck himself and never join the Order. They'd know everything they knew now and they'd move to fucking Timbuktu and never look back again. They'd save themselves.
Ed couldn't leave. There was so little left to fight for, but he just. He could say 'no more' and walk away from what... what Dorcas was dying for. He had to keep going. He couldn't let her, as cliche as it sounded, die in vain. She was too important, so significant, so very very much to him... his Dorkface. His quidditch junkie best mate who never took his shite but who knew exactly what to say, and they balanced each other out and... and. Who would. He couldn't do it.
After some time, Calypso came out of the house and wrapped her arms around him, and they cried together until she finally convinced him to come inside and have a cup of tea to try and calm down, if only a little bit.