@DerreckHughes “I always thought it was my presence that caused the problem. That’s the impression you gave me, anyway.
I’m going to a meeting, I have more important things to do than try to get back in your good books.”
She attempts, then, to edge around him, feeling much less —
@DerreckHughes — jaw which gives away his ire.
“Excuse me, Derreck, I’ve somewhere to be,” she insists once she’s had her fill of his devastating beauty.
Note the use of his first name. No formalities here, she wants him to be reminded of exactly how personal their relationship used to be.
@DerreckHughes “Of all the bloody Ministry workers,” she grumbles, willing herself not to melt under his touch, brushing his hand away as she steadies herself.
She’s not quite as self-preservative as him; her gaze quickly, hungrily, inspects his features, locks onto the telltale tick in his —
@DerreckHughes — all sense of caution to the wind and decides on a shortcut, through the printing area of the Prophet, head down and eyes glued to the floor.
“OOMPH.”
Of course she’s walked into someone. Of course this wasn’t going to be easy . .
“Oh, of course it’s you!”
@DerreckHughes The chime of the clock tells her she’s running late, and she knows from experience that Unspeakables are less likely to wait for a meeting than they are to reveal their real name.
So, because she’s essentially been hanging out exclusively with former Gryffindors, she throws —
@DerreckHughes — difficult when she’s got to walk, head held high, into the lion’s den itself.
The Ministry was his territory, and Merlin only knows how she’s supposed to keep her cool.
@DerreckHughes — him, knowing she doesn’t have the privilege of being on the receiving end of one of his rare smiles . . She never wanted to be a woman whose life revolves around a man, but the ache in her chest hasn’t stopped aching, and shows no signs of reprieve.
Of course, it’s even more —
@DerreckHughes “I can get my own lunch, thank you,” she bites in response, as though she hasn’t stepped back to allow him inside.
Fine, maybe she misses him. Maybe it’s hard to sleep without him next to her. Whatever.
“I’m going out with Athena soon. Make it quick.”
He’s fine.
It wasn’t like he hasn’t left the house since @AstuteHistorian left him.
Wasn’t like he’s been staring too long at this photo he took when she was being adorably odd after an event they went to.
He’s fine.
@DerreckHughes She peers through the spyhole, a twisted sensation of anger, nerves, relief... all of them fighting for dominance in the pit of her stomach.
After what feels like an age, but is probably only a moment or two, she slowly opens the door.
“What do you want?”
@DerreckHughes It’s one of the rare occasions she’s decided to stay at her flat for the evening, instead of Grimmauld Place.
It’s just... she didn’t want to outstay her welcome, not when Sirius is making eyes at Athena that she recognises very well; she had her own tall, dark and handsome —
@DerreckHughes — Perhaps, the only way they could truly say goodbye.
The irony of the writer, found speechless, lost for words, at the hands of the same man who had inspired her, encouraged her, guided her when she felt as though there was no way forward.
@DerreckHughes — throughout her entire body, how shockwaves of heat and electricity had awoken every one of her senses...
It’s the same now. She doesn’t think it’ll ever be the same with anybody else.
So, being the devil’s advocate, her lips find his with a hunger, a desperate need... —
@DerreckHughes Though she should cut her losses and leave, (Athena will just have to deal with her unexpected arrival, there’s no time to stop and send an owl), she reaches out, touches his face.
A watery smile curving her lips, she thinks of their first kiss, of how her pulse had thundered —
@DerreckHughes — hands over her thighs, pursing her lips and blinking back the tears betraying her otherwise calm persona.
Leaning down, she presses a kiss to his hair, lingering a little bit longer than necessary.
“Goodbye, Derreck Hughes. Good luck.”
@DerreckHughes — you’d listened and stayed where you were, we could have made this work.
But I can’t, Derreck. I’m not willing to be your second choice. We’re not equals, not anymore.
I’m back to being the silly little girl with a crush on her teacher.”
She stands, then, brushing her —
@DerreckHughes At his final sentence, her lips press together into a thin smile, and she slowly retracts her nimble fingers from his own.
“No.”
A singular word, a minuscule sentence, which somehow manages to hold the weight of the world upon two small letters.
“We can’t. Perhaps, if —