it's dangerous just here inside, you might know what i'm trying to hide
Title: rendezvous in memory lane
Fandom: harry potter rpg
Characters: alexa rodemiere, warren rodemiere
Warnings: non-canon, RPG
Summary: this is dedicated to cinnamon, my first fave. i own 50% of whats written, JKR owns the universe
rendezvous in memory lane
There is something about this part of life. Something intangible but still there. Where everything is sometimes so ridiculously chaotic and yet it still feels so slow.
She will attribute it to growing up in a household of Aurors and then archeologists and then becoming an Auror herself, and then a Professor. And what has her life been but Quidditch injuries and duels? A handful of friends and more scars than she can remember causes for. Tiny jagged lines dotted up her wrists.
'That one was from me,' Warren said to her once, when every single wrinkle on her face made her so indescribably sad.
'Just the one?'
'You're not fighting fair tonight,' he had muttered.
She will flinch because she didn't think she was vain.
Sometimes when the house is quiet, (rarely) and the boys are asleep, she will curl up around her husband and wonder if its possible to ever just be. To come to terms with the past and probably the future. Some inevitabilities that she can't magic or plan away.
Tonight, Warren takes her hand and brings it up to his lips.
'Thank you,' he says, quietly over the deep breathing coming through the baby monitor.
She looks up at him and for some reason, she thinks of Moscow and a cool evening they sat together on the steps of the Kremlin, massacred the Russian language and said I love you for the sixth time. In a foreign city. With different names. With nothing between them but a broken wand and a dozen rubles.
'For everything.'
Date night is priceless Perignon and cheap beer, sitting on the floor of the laundry where the hum of the dryer blurs out their laughter, listening to jazz on the wireless.
'We hated each other on principle.'
'You hated him, Alexa.'
She smiles, something feline.
'Do you miss it?' she asks after a moment.
'No?' he replies. 'What, being an Auror?'
'The thrill, the chaos.'
'Yes,' he says. 'And no.'
'I don't miss wondering if you were going to come home.'
The sentiment comes before she can fully balance the consequences and Warren's sober grimace is enough of a reminder. It is a shoddy, messy spiderweb of sticky situations and close calls and tonight, the moon is new and there is not enough light to keep the bitterness away.
It's in the early mornings, when even the birds are still sleeping that she wakes up and goes for a run around the grounds. By the time she gets back, Warren has gotten the paper and is usually cleaning cereal from the floor while James points peanut butter fingers at Lucas.
Being an Auror came naturally to her. An affinity for transfiguration and a penchant for offensive hexes, she was good at her job.
Being a wife did not. It took a long time to learn to depend on someone. Every single fibre of her being was raised on a need for a stablility achieved only through independence.
It was the small things. Learning to spit out the 'i need you's' and the 'i screwed up, its your turn to fix it'. It helped, a lot, the fact that depending on people didn't come easy to either of them. And maybe also that they'd known each other longer than they could now numerically define.
But still. In between all the dark wizards and the espionage and the murders and the tribulations was all the times they broke promises and missed each other and mistrusted each other and wanted each other and hated each other.
So she learnt. Torturously slowly. That maybe it wasn't so terrible to ask for help or offer it without any stipulations. And that loving someone didn't actually mean trusting them and that the two were not always interdependent.
But sometimes, after a long, long time, they could be.
Fandom: harry potter rpg
Characters: alexa rodemiere, warren rodemiere
Warnings: non-canon, RPG
Summary: this is dedicated to cinnamon, my first fave. i own 50% of whats written, JKR owns the universe
rendezvous in memory lane
There is something about this part of life. Something intangible but still there. Where everything is sometimes so ridiculously chaotic and yet it still feels so slow.
She will attribute it to growing up in a household of Aurors and then archeologists and then becoming an Auror herself, and then a Professor. And what has her life been but Quidditch injuries and duels? A handful of friends and more scars than she can remember causes for. Tiny jagged lines dotted up her wrists.
'That one was from me,' Warren said to her once, when every single wrinkle on her face made her so indescribably sad.
'Just the one?'
'You're not fighting fair tonight,' he had muttered.
She will flinch because she didn't think she was vain.
Sometimes when the house is quiet, (rarely) and the boys are asleep, she will curl up around her husband and wonder if its possible to ever just be. To come to terms with the past and probably the future. Some inevitabilities that she can't magic or plan away.
Tonight, Warren takes her hand and brings it up to his lips.
'Thank you,' he says, quietly over the deep breathing coming through the baby monitor.
She looks up at him and for some reason, she thinks of Moscow and a cool evening they sat together on the steps of the Kremlin, massacred the Russian language and said I love you for the sixth time. In a foreign city. With different names. With nothing between them but a broken wand and a dozen rubles.
'For everything.'
Date night is priceless Perignon and cheap beer, sitting on the floor of the laundry where the hum of the dryer blurs out their laughter, listening to jazz on the wireless.
'We hated each other on principle.'
'You hated him, Alexa.'
She smiles, something feline.
'Do you miss it?' she asks after a moment.
'No?' he replies. 'What, being an Auror?'
'The thrill, the chaos.'
'Yes,' he says. 'And no.'
'I don't miss wondering if you were going to come home.'
The sentiment comes before she can fully balance the consequences and Warren's sober grimace is enough of a reminder. It is a shoddy, messy spiderweb of sticky situations and close calls and tonight, the moon is new and there is not enough light to keep the bitterness away.
It's in the early mornings, when even the birds are still sleeping that she wakes up and goes for a run around the grounds. By the time she gets back, Warren has gotten the paper and is usually cleaning cereal from the floor while James points peanut butter fingers at Lucas.
Being an Auror came naturally to her. An affinity for transfiguration and a penchant for offensive hexes, she was good at her job.
Being a wife did not. It took a long time to learn to depend on someone. Every single fibre of her being was raised on a need for a stablility achieved only through independence.
It was the small things. Learning to spit out the 'i need you's' and the 'i screwed up, its your turn to fix it'. It helped, a lot, the fact that depending on people didn't come easy to either of them. And maybe also that they'd known each other longer than they could now numerically define.
But still. In between all the dark wizards and the espionage and the murders and the tribulations was all the times they broke promises and missed each other and mistrusted each other and wanted each other and hated each other.
So she learnt. Torturously slowly. That maybe it wasn't so terrible to ask for help or offer it without any stipulations. And that loving someone didn't actually mean trusting them and that the two were not always interdependent.
But sometimes, after a long, long time, they could be.