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It's September and I’m the only Gryffindor in the Arithmancy N.E.W.T. class. And I guess I am kind of nervous about it.
The seat next to you is the only free one. And the thing is, I’ve seen you before. Corridors, feasts, Arithmancy. Blonde hair, the clatter of jewellery.
But I’ve never met you. And this isn’t when I do either.
I do sit down next to you though. We exchange greetings.
You sit at the front of the classroom so now I’m sitting here too. And I am looking at the blackboard, and copying down what Professor Vector is saying but it’s like transcribing a language I don’t understand because something is pulling my attention to the right.
And well, look at that. Who’s sitting to my right?
You, Pandora.
Only I don’t know your name yet. I know it’s Lovegood. And I remember your first name is something pretty, I remember someone pointed to you once and said it, and I thought to myself, what a pretty name, but I’ve forgotten it.
But well, now you’ve stolen my attention and soon you’ll get my eyes too and then I’ll be the one who throws my whole bleeding heart at you. So who really cares about names.
We both know you’ve etched yours on the inside of my skin.
We don’t care about names, but I do actually learn yours eventually.
It’s Halloween by now, and I’ve gotten by with Lovegood until now.
And imagine this. I learn your name from Sirius. Not someone in our Arithmancy class, not you. No. Sirius. And he learned it because apparently, you’re friends with his brother?
Anyway, you’re Pandora now. And there’s a party at the Ravenclaw common room and— would you like to come Lily?
And of course, we’re having a party as well. But you’ve had my attention since the start of the year and you got my eyes a few weeks ago too, so yes. I’d like to come, Pandora.
You’ll have to help me with the riddle though.
Seriously, why can’t you just have a password?
(You answer it right on the first try that night, and I get it then. Rowena Ravenclaw was so smart that she knew that you, a thousand years later, would look hot doing it. Wit beyond measure, huh?)
It’s December and we both don’t go home. I don’t ask you why you stay and you don’t ask me why I don’t leave.
Instead, I let you into the Gryffindor common room and we do our Arithmancy homework. I’m rushing each chart and we both know it’s because I want to impress you.
I don’t think we realize why yet. But rest assured, the mist will clear.
There’s this giant puddle next to the lake. With Scotland’s weather it’s there for half of every year, do you remember it? And sixth year, just before Christmas, we go back in time a bit and it’s autumn again, all rainy and the kind of moderately cold that’s worse than freezing.
But Christmas is freezing though, so this puddle is frozen over too. We leave our textbooks and parchment behind, bundle up and face the biting wind.
The snow-covered ice crunches softly beneath our boots. This is how I imagine clouds sound when you step on them. Oh, I don’t mean you, I meant like the hypothetical— But actually, do you know that sound? You must. You’re only visiting, after all.
You find me on that sunny patch of grass right on the edge of the forest. That puddle? It’s over there, you see? It’s dry now, but it’s December and we both don’t—
Anyway, this patch is more moss than grass, really. I feel like I’m on a cloud when I sit here, just a green one. And strangely, I feel like I’m with you.
You’ve already found me, of course, but I mean before that too.
What is an organism? I said organism, Pandora—
Has the door ever asked you a riddle like this? Because my mum gives me a biology book for Christmas, don’t know where she gets the idea, but since I read it I’ve been wondering.
See, we don’t know what an organism is. And it’s not because we haven’t figured it out yet or something, it’s that there are no organisms. There are only cells, and even those—
Okay, it doesn’t really matter. Point is, there is no distinction. Are the bacteria in your stomach symbiotic? Or are they just you? There is no answer, but if I had to come up with one to get into my dorm, I’d say that stuff that always moves together is part of the same organism. You always carry your bacteria around with you, ergo it’s you.
I think my eyes are you. They go wherever you do.
Do you want them?
Each heartbeat can be your last. Hypothetical you, of course. But how scary is that? Your heart contracts and that moment after, that silence, where you can’t be sure another beat will follow — how can we bear it?
You visit me in the summer. You’re only a friend, but you’re a friend I kiss now. I’ve probably always wanted to, but now I can.
Mum is oblivious, but Petunia isn’t. You don’t care. I try not to.
You don’t even mention anything magical around her, but she still doesn’t like you. I think she can still see it; it’s obvious like sunlight on a clear day, the way you shine. Petunia can squeeze her eyes shut all she wants, but the warmth hits her face all the same. And she’s jealous of this magic too, the one that she could have as well. The one she and I already had before any stupid letter came to our home.
Before the kind of magic only possible with wands cursed our home into a house.
But you, have you considered a career as a curse-breaker? I know you’re not one for careers and, well, this is rather cheesy anyway. And still. You make my house feel like a home again.
And then you leave and it’s just rooms and traces of broken magic again. And I think I might need glasses.
I visit you too. And I feel at home in your home too. I don’t know what it is about you.
I do remember the Prewetts, yes. They have a sister? Yeah, I do see that house.
Your home is better though. On a hill, better for astronomy.
If it weren’t for all this light pollution. You know, I sometimes have to squint when I look at you.
That was a compliment. We squint when we smile too.
We still go up to the roof to stargaze. I don’t look at the sky, no. But it still counts, let’s not get into semantics. And it’s not really my fault. You are my eyes. I can give them back to you if you want?
The roof damp beneath our backs. Your hair splayed out, half tangled with mine. Our hands an intricate lace. Are we one organism? Do you move with me too, or is it only me hanging onto you, unrelenting like gut bacteria? Would you call this symbiotic or parasitic?
I don’t want our hearts to be in sync. I want your heartbeat to fill in my silences, fill out the rhythm. Let’s make eighth notes together instead of a four-fourths funeral march. I know we hear too many of those.
Sometimes I welcome the dread, you know? Just so my heart doesn’t beat so somberly.
But see, when we’re together, chest to chest, even a funeral procession can turn into a barcarolle, something flowing like— have you ever been to Venice?
I think I die before that, but you…
Anyway. I like to think that we’re one organism. Or at least here we are.
Later… well. Maybe we both become the parasite. Is that possible?
Could you ask the door when we get back?
It’s September and I'm somewhere between London and Hogwarts.
I have a Head Girl pin on my robes and James has the Head Boy. Do you know James? I mean, you know of him, but I know of you a year ago and we both know it’s not really the same.
But he had a thing with Sirius’s brother, I think. Had, because they’re both in the prefects’ carriage right now and James is way too quiet. But we’re all dead anyway, so who can say. Okay, okay, let’s say they have a thing. You know James then, yeah?
A year ago you are Lovegood and right now I am gut bacteria and a year later we’re on a mission.
You aren’t. But we are.
I don’t know how much of use I am. My eyes are you. I still have my heart, but your name is already scratched on the inside of my skin.
Or does that come last?
I mix it up too.
I think it’s a few years later when I die. We all do. Do I throw that bleeding heart at you before or after He—
You don’t—?
Okay, here’s what you do.
Press me like a flower and make a bookmark out of me. Use me to remember where you are.
That should work.
Don’t worry, my love. It’s perfect here, pressed between your pages.
I don’t think I ever minded.