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Chapter 1 : Sunset
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Because in the morning, when this bleak morning light brightens and the sun creeps up the horizon, showering us in golden glory in contrast to the dull gray-blue of the sky, you won’t have the faintest idea who I am.
The first question you’ll ask will always be, ‘Lorcan… or Lysander?’
a day earlier.
If sunshine falls right now, the world seems like a bokehd haze. Colours contained in small pixels of circles and hexagons and other shapes seen by the unfocused part of our gaze on beauty.
The pastel coloured buildings fly past us in a constant speed, the yellows and blues and plums mix in the cracks in the walls. Plaster shreds and falls off but you seem impassive about how the world wears out around you. You open your tight ponytail and volumize it with your hands, seeing the young and the old walking us by on the streets; unconcerned about the two strangers that seem to fall into the sunlight.
We’re still travelling, looking for an empty road to let our feelings out. You wear those cheeky sunglasses as the sun is about to go down. You tilt your head back and let your skin soak up the Parisian heat.
The Parisian city life never stops; the lights illuminate the world around them. If you quietly look, you’ll be able to see a new story every second, even if we’re dashing away to solitary at forty to fifty miles per hour, we’ll still see stories of chaos, travel, beauty, negligence, trust, homesickness.
As we move away from the crowds with our scratched blue convertible, over at the corner of a street an old man plays a chello, the notes of his sad song flying off into the air and into the silence of the car rumbling. Sooner or later, I’ll be humming this tune and so will you.
Stopping at the red light, I look towards you and see you’re looking at a woman in the topmost window, who is staring at a young man return from work and embrace his beautiful wife, playing with a ring on her finger that falls off just too easily. Both of us are there too long, gazing at the lonely woman.
The cars behind us start honking furiously and you peer at me curiously and urge me to drive off fast. We’re in these streets between block houses where it’s eerily silent. You shiver and I see your skin form goosebumps.
The sky turns a beautiful blue golden, speckled with thin smoky clouds drifting across the vast canvas up there. You tell me not to look around and focus on the path, in fear I may hit a cow. But in this lonely countryside with fields of barley stretching around us, the fear of
You grip a bit tightly on your seatbelt and lay your head back, letting the cool wind play with the strands and layers of your hair. The quiet peace lulls you to sleep and your face eases into comfort, the previous thoughts on burning hats and crazy bakeries all evaporate into thin air.
The colours of the sky fill with sad beauty as the clouds paint over them in endless groups. I take a grip on the steering wheel, the map annoying my thighs, swiftly glancing back and forth from the road to the map, peering for signs of runaway sheeps and cute little shepherd dogs. The difficulty of reading a map when the sunlight constantly screams ‘I’m giving you glorious light embrace it’ is way too high. The road becomes bumpy and eventually… quiet.
Your small figure laying still reminds me of the day I found you crying on the Hogwarts grounds. Exceptyou’re your now honey-brown-golden coloured hair, the same face that cried so many tears all those years ago is burning fresh in my mind.
I look at your resting form once more and realize… indeed, six years have passed us by.
The first question you’ll ask will always be, ‘Lorcan… or Lysander?’
“I’m still awake you know,” Your waking soft voice breaks my reverie. “Here,” you take a hold of the map lazily and study it, “Where are we going?”
“Anywhere that you like,” You smack me on the head and continue to read the roads.
“Well, we’ve well passed civilization; I don’t think we’re seeing any cows here soon.”
“Why don’t you go read some Shakespeare? Why donneth you notteth loveth readingeth your lover’s worketh?” I chuckle as you smack me once more, mumbling incoherently.
Moments pass in a pregnant pause. You fix your hair and tie it up in a knotted ponytail of some sort and make sure our heavy bags of luggage is set in the back seat of our convertible. When I look back, the setting sunlight is casting a soft shadow on your strange face. You seem to be in an argument with yourself in your tiny little argumentative brain. I don’t question you and look around for any sign of life.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” Your voice is sudden and inquisitive.
“What do you mean being nice?” I ask, bewildered.
“You’re taking me on this trip and you haven’t even been mad at me for once! I mean, we hardly know each that well, I mean, I did use to hang out with Lorcan but he’s getting married to Lily isn’t he now? I find it uncomfortable to have a one-on-one dinner with my brother-in-law-ish? And for some reason my cousins don’t like you, you’re like a taboo subject in our sleepovers together and now we’re like best friends I don’t know what but I think you made me cry once-“ My breath stops for a moment, “- oh I don’t know and you’re just being insanely humble and not shutting my mou- mppphhh-“
I hold a hand over her talkative mouth, “Dominique- Andorra- Weasley, do you want to be free?”
You look at me weirdly because I think you expected me to shut you up. I let go of your mouth and you start talking again, “What do you mean… free?”
“Being free.” I turn up the radio and sit back, unbuckling your seat. There is atleast a four mile stretch of undisturbed tarmac road, the dying day’s sun setting on the horizon. I accelerate faster, a seventy to eighty miles per hour.
I just need to look at you one last time.
The last pale orange yellow hue of the day is strong enough to illuminate the fifty thousand shades of your hair as you move and turn about, the layers of your hair shines brightly even as a shadow forms on your face when you look down or towards me… and you still look beautiful.
For minutes, the soft trance like music synchronises our heartbeats together, the calm wearing off on us, the sun setting down for sleep, the light bringing the night…
Then the bass drops.
It resonates deep within the mechanics of the car and the world becomes a dance-floor. The ground shakes with the friction of the vehicle and it rumbles as we speed off, faster and further along the lonely, long tarmac road.
And the world becomes ecstatic and free, the strength of the earthquake rumbling under strong feet and emotions. The car accelerates faster and faster, the thrust of the engine is in tune with the coarse music, and warm air blows past colder than before – your eyes half-closed, you stand up and embrace the open horizon.
You let out a fulfilling laugh and the fast air is filled with you. I drive off faster and faster, like those lifelong driving scenes in those indie movies where all your troubles fall off of you and you’re as free as a plastic bag. And now you’re screaming in excitement. You’ve never had the chance before.
We let go off those emotions clogging up our body, we feel so free and wild and fantastic.
We’re driving into the sun; full speed, no regrets, out into the open, across the canyon of dreams, the warmth burning into our skin and making us radiate sheer pleasure.
And even as we drive at a steady constant speed, your smile glows and your hair is glorious. The past words and memories of tears and betrayal and sadness is all forgotten and never remembered. I’ll always cherish the moment I make you laugh wildly, and made you kiss passionately, and made you feel like we were always together.
On the Hogwarts fields, asking if we love each other.
And tonight, we’ll fall in love, all over again, and I won’t stop till you know I love you. And then the day after that, when the bleak morning light brightens and the sun creeps up the horizon, showering us in golden glory in contrast to the dull gray-blue of the sky, you won’t have the faintest idea who I am.
a long time later on the road.
And now you softly ask, “Where are we actually going?”
“Germany. Because I’m homesick to a place I’ve never been.”
You whisper, “Ah, I know that word; a craving for travel, fernweh isn’t it? And hey, we’ll always go the places you’re homesickness takes you. I won’t leave this trip.”
And only if you knew.
Hello! This is an entry for Hufflepuff for the House Cup 2013 challenge with the theme of travel. I don't know how much you'll like it but I think it's okay.
I do not own the characters of Dominique and Lysander. The line 'you won't have the faintest idea who I am' comes from Steven Moffat and I take no credit or ownership on it, (Doctor Who, Series 6, Episode 1, The Impossible Astronaut, said by River Song) - I have just changed the pronoun.
This is also sort of connected to my other story, Raining Fire.
And that's pretty much it. Review if you want to!
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