Chapter 4 : Come Back to Him.
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Here is the fourth chapter, everyone! Only one more to go after this, and I'm so excited. Then, once I have this all up, I will - hopefully - begin posting the new novella, or possibly novel, that I've begun, called Ladylike.
It's really fun to write so far, and it's about Dominique Weasley trying to please her mother and herself at the same time throughout her fifth year at Hogwarts. My little summary for it:
Dominique Weasley is not what you would call "ladylike". She has a foul mouth, adores Quidditch, and spends as much time in detention as the Marauders. The decision to follow her wishes over her mother's has never been difficult. Until now: will it be the odd Lorcan Scamander, or her mother's choice, the handsome Holden Wood?Well? Whatcha think? I haven't gotten to the introduction of Holden's character in my own writing, but in my mind he's a fifth year, stocky, handsome, very arrogant and obsessive, perfect student, shoe-in for Head Boy, the Keeper, well-known across Hogwarts. He'll be nothing like Lorcan, whose strange, somewhat quiet, helps the others with their pranks, etc. He's nothing like the Lorcan I depict in this story, of course. But still not quite like Lysander in this story, either. It's rather confusing. I think I make him stay true to character nonetheless. Dominique is my favorite character I've ever written, except Lily in this story. Dominique is the exact opposite of who I as a person am, except for the horrid mouth, and that makes her unbelievably fun to write. It's all in her point of view, as well. That story is just fun in general. I love twisting the whole Lorcan and Lysander thing, plus Dominique. All three of them are so universal, since you can make them practically any age you want since there was no boundary made in the epilogue of Deathly Hallows. It's great!
Wow, I'm spending all this time on blabbing about this story when I bet you all would just love to go read the fourth chapter. I could go on for hours about this stuff. Here you are.
Chapter Image made by BitterSweetFlames @ TDA.
And when you hit the coast,
Maybe you’ll finally see.
And then you’ll turn it all around.
And you’ll come back to me.
It has been a month today. One full month since I left my Lysander Xenophilius Scamander in England, while I ran away to California to protect him from falling even farther in love with the dreadful person I knew I am. It has been an absolutely miserable month, and just like I told Lysander I would one day do, I spend almost every single day with my feet buried in the sand and my clothes damp from the salty waves. Even the Pacific Ocean, so different from the Black Lake at Hogwarts, reminds me of Lysander. Everything reminds me of him. The clothes in my trunk, the way my auburn hair falls over my shoulders, the strange splattering of freckles on my bare shoulders that I remember him so gently kissing once or twice. There is nothing about me that doesn’t hold a million memories of him- nothing that doesn’t make me feel like a complete imbecile for doing this to the both of us.
I’m not usually one for regretting the things I do. I’ve never had to before. All of my careless decisions always lead me in the right direction- until now. My parents aren’t really helping me with this whole regret thing. Mum has been sending me Howlers since I arrived here, and every morning, her owl arrives with another one, flying through the open window in the small room I rent at a small in in the magical part of California. Daddy writes simple letters, not so much begging me to return as much as he writes about how the Scamanders have been worried senseless about their younger twin, Lysander, who has barely left the flat he shares with his brother since I disappeared. Somehow, Dad’s subtle attempts at returning me to where I belong are more affective than Mum’s screaming.
My brothers are trying to persuade me to return, too. Albus, who has always been fiercely protective of me and never really liked that I was with Lysander to begin with, never mentions him in the many letters he has written- even more than one a day- but he always begs me to come home. Out of my four direct family members, I can tell Albus is the one who misses me the most severely. We have this weird sibling bond thing. James isn’t half as protective of me, but he still thinks I’m completely barmy for running off to California and leaving my entire family behind; he also fusses at me for leaving Lysander in such a state without considering the state I’m in, and I really have no idea where he got his extreme lack of tact. Possibly from Uncle Oliver, who had trained him in Quidditch when he was just a young boy.
Alongside my parents and my siblings, Dominique Weasley, my cousin and the closest mate I have, has been writing continuous letters. She is second only to Albus on the letter count, but she is much more persistent in her attempts to convince me to return home. She is the only one whose letters to which I constantly reply. Dominique, being my confidant and practically my sister, is also the only one who knows how much I regret my choice to leave, and she fills her letters with Lorcan’s descriptions and stories of Lysander and how lonely and quiet he has been since I left. Daddy tries the same tactic, but I know he is doing it only for the safe return of his daughter to her home; in Dominique’s letters, I know she tells me these things to return my heart to its whole state. Out of everyone who has written me letters in the past month, it is Dominique who has succeeded in convincing me.
Maybe she is lying to me, simply to cause her cousin and best friend’s return home. Maybe Lysander is really happy now. Maybe he fell in love again. Or maybe he just finally stopped loving me. All of those things are very likely, and the miniscule part of me that possesses my father’s pessimism expects one of those things to greet me when I see Lysander again. But I can’t take the maybes anymore. I need confirmation, and I need to see Lysander. So that is why I’m returning- to confirm that everything Dominique told me is either a truth or a lie, to confirm that I can either return again to California or get back what I ran away from, and to see my Lysander.
I wave my wand again, letting my last few remaining pairs of threadbare jeans and almost transparent blouses fly out of the drawers of the dresser and into my open trunk. As everything folds and stacks itself, I look around the room again. There’s the bed I spent the past month crying myself to sleep in. There’s the nightstand next to my bed, where my only picture of Lysander once sat, smiling and waving at me while his image told me he loved me over and over. There’s the chair I sat in while I read all of Dominique’s letters. There’s the desk at which I replied to every single one she sent.
There’s still sand on the ragged carpeting under my bare feet, because I never remember to wash my feet off before leaving the shore. Even now, I notice as I glance down, a thin layer of sand coats my bare toes. The sand once comforted me, the way it clung to my skin like a thin blanket. That was when I was still by Lysander’s side. Without him there, nothing succeeded in comforting me.
With one final glance down to my sand-coated feet, I close my eyes.
My intent was to go straight to Lorcan and Lysander’s flat, find the boy I was coming back for, and fix everything I wrecked. But as usual, I never can do what I originally intend to. Somehow, I have managed to Apparate straight to Dominique’s own flat, which apparently isn’t far from the Scamander twins. Ironic, I noted; Dominique has been trying to pretend like she and Lorcan aren’t together, but I really don’t believe her one little bit. The close proximity of their flats gave me yet another piece of evidence to use against her.
I reach for the door knob and twist it. As always, Dominique didn’t lock her door. That strange habit of hers worries her parents, Bill and Fleur Weasley, half to death every time they visit her, but I find it to be a funny little quirk of hers. She’s very trusting of human nature, and she told me in one of her letters that she thinks she has proved everyone else wrong, since no one has broken into her flat yet. In my reply, I tried to explain to her that no one would dare rob a girl like her, but she didn’t quite understand. That’s normal for people when I try to explain something, though. I’m not a very good communicator.
“Dom?” I call out, walking into the flat in my bare feet. My shoes were in my trunk, which I shrunk back in California and tucked into my back pocket. Luckily, Dominique wouldn’t mind a bit of sand on her floors. She was far from being neat. “Dom, are you here?” I walk a little farther into the house, finding myself in a living room, with copies of The Quibbler and The Daily Prophet stacked on the coffee table alongside Dominique’s three coffee cups from this morning. I look around me; to my right, a archway leads into the kitchen and dining room, and to my left, a window looks out on the road beneath the building. In front of me, a narrow corridor leads to what I assume is Dominique’s one bedroom and bathroom. It’s a rather small flat.
“Who is- bloody hell!”
I spin around in the direction of the voice. Standing at the doorway of the kitchen is Lorcan Scamander, with his dark khakis tattered at the bottom and his plain grey shirt wrinkled. Lorcan is Lysander’s identical twin, but I couldn’t get the two of them confused if I tried. His long blond hair is darkening as he gets older, no longer the same buttery blond as their mother’s hair is, and it flops sloppily around his face, which is built identical to his brother’s. His grey eyes are fixed on me, and I’m not used to Lorcan snapping out of his dreaminess long enough to realize anything.
“Hello there, Lorcan,” I smile at my friend. If he is even my friend anymore. Maybe he is furious with me for hurting his brother the way I did. It would make sense. “Fancy seeing you here.”
Lorcan turns into the kitchen. “Dominique, your cousin is here.”
I hear my cousin snort. “I have nine cousins, love.” Yeah, I knew they had something going on between them. Good to have confirmation on that, at least.
Then, Dominique shrieks. A chair screeches as she jumps to her feet, and she bolts out of the kitchen, not even running into anything on her way out. She stops at the archway, her sleek strawberry blonde hair settling neatly on her bare shoulders. She smoothes her strapless sundress down around her knees, raising her pale, barely there eyebrow at me over her crystal blue eyes. Dominique, even in a few seconds, manages to make me feel about five years old with her sophisticatedly beautiful looks.
“You finally came home, then?” she asks.
“Finally,” I reply. I take a few fast steps towards her, launching myself at my cousin.
Dominique shrieks again, throwing her arms around me. She’s not as tall as I am, so she has to settle for pressing her freckled face against my shoulder. Then, as quickly as she appeared in front of me, she pushes me away and turns into the kitchen again. “Lysander, come here.”
I freeze. He’s here? Bloody hell.
Obviously having heard the conversation between his brother and Dominique, Lysander knows exactly who is standing in the living room. He knows I’m back. I look down at my hands; they’re shaking. What if he doesn’t want to see me? What if Dom has to ask me to go, so they can comfort Lysander? What if he does have something to say to me- and it’s to tell me to go fuck myself? Well, I’d deserve that one.
Oooh, what's Lysander gonna sayyyy!? Aha, I love this.
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