Spoiler
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Chapter 5: Marco
I sat down at my desk after the stupid thing I had just done: publicly kissed Shana. But was it my fault? No. Annalane had asked for it and I did as she asked. For the whole time, I tried not to look at her, incase I would see tears in her eyes, or her face looking sad.
Don't cry, I'm sorry. I said in her head without looking up at her.
"I'm alright, I asked for it anyway." Was all she replied, mentally. The echo of her voice in my head remained empty and cold. I felt it travel through to my heart; I hated to know that she was sad and that I couldn't do anything about it.
Borg arrived and he stood over my cauldron, holding, in his beak, a sealed letter that I recognized- it was from my father. I felt my blood freeze. Had he discovered what was going on? What was he going to do to me? I didn't want to let my face show how frightened I really was, and I opened it slowly, saying that I didn't want to ruin the envelope so that they wouldn't think that I was being a weak little boy afraid of his father. It read:
Marco, my boy. (It was my mother. Phew!)
Your father and I were just checking how your first few days of 6th year were going. We know your first assessment will soon be coming up and we want you prepared- not doing those silly things to get you expelled again. We will not have any of that or else you're coming straight home. You you understand? That is not a question, young man. So don't nod your head! I mean it! Just look at your OWL results, don't ruin them by getting in trouble, alright?
Next weekend, your father will be metting Professor Chieros so if you want to come home, we will write a short note to your headmaster.
Now, I must go, your father thinks I treat you like a child. The thing is, you are my child so he cannot do anything to change that.
Best wishes,
Mum.
Her letter had a strange tone and mood, as if she felt happier or sweeter. Because she never wrote such nice letters- she barely wrote me any letters. Perhaps it was just a lover's way of thinking. Perhaps something was wrong.
I immediately went to Professor Chieros to ask permission to leave the school just for the weekend. He accepted but said it was to Potentintilum to say the last word.
*
I was the first to arrive at our spot that night. She might not even come, I thought admitting it. She may never speak to me again. During potions class, I had felt guilt flow through my veins, I felt as though I had betrayed her eventhough she had asked me to do it. I didn't feel at ease, and it became worse when I heard footsteps coming towards me. I jumped, half expecting my father or Chieros to come out of the woods. But it was only her. She was crying.
"Oh dear heart, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. I really didn't. I was only trying to do what you said."
"It's Chieros." She said with her head to my chest. "He said it again! How I hate failure, but he said it again!"
"He said you would fail?" I didn't quite understand. We sat down together on the cold ground, holding each other.
"He said I was a filthy...that. And that I was not worthy of my OWL results. I don't know what's wrong with him. He's mean, but he's never been that mean."
That was when I understood. He was meeting with my father and his mood had suddenly changed. It meant something. Something bad of course. That was why my mother had decided to write. But what was happening? All I knew was that it wasn't good. When it comes to my dad, Chieros and 'marcotts', nothing was good.
"Babe, we're not safe." I said to her, holding her tighter than I was before, passing her my concern and fright.
Chapter 6: Annalane
“What?” I looked up at him, shivering slightly with my eyes still swimming with tears.
I was surprised to see tears also making tracks on his face.
“Marco! What’s the matter?”
“I think—“he gulped and looked at me. “I think my father found out about us.”
There. That’s when I felt my whole unstable world fell apart.
“How?”
“Someone’s been following us. I’m sure of it. And they might be in the woods right now.”
The last part was whispered on my hair. I thought hard, moving my eyes around to search for someone coming.
“Oh, Marco!” I burst into tears, and buried my face in his shoulder, heaving with sobs. I didn’t feel sad. I felt numb. I had just watched the one thing that brought me happiness fall apart. And I hated it.
“I know, honey. I know, sweet. Don’t cry. Please don’t, dear heart.” He murmured sweet loving whispers in my ear, and I could feel his tears trickle down my cheek and join mine. My sobs stopped. They didn’t snivel into oblivion. They just stopped because I could hear a voice inside my head that wasn’t my own. It was Marco’s.
Listen, Sweet. You’re in danger. More danger than you realize. My father is meeting Chieros today. That’s bad news. You have to stop coming here. We can’t meet anymore. Not anywhere. They will know. The closest we can come in contact is by telepathy. Do you understand?
He looked down at me, obviously waiting for an answer. But I couldn’t respond. My mind was blank, and the words I tried to will into to his mind wouldn’t come.
Do you understand?
His voice, so sweet and caring, choked with hurt and sadness came back into my mind. I felt mute. I couldn’t even get my head to nod. He looked down at me, his face contorted with pain.
Don’t make this harder than it has to be gorgeous.
It was my nickname that brought me out of my semi-coma. The nickname he had accidently called me, one night when we were working on the project that first brought us together.
It was late. Marco’s eyes had been red from tiredness, and I figured my eyes didn’t look much better.
“It’s so much easier to make this stuff up!” He had burst out, lifting his eyes from the page.
“Spare me accounts of your illegal spell making.” I had spat.
“Gladly. You're just a marcott. You have no idea. Just because your gorgeous—"
His face had turned red. He stood up, and ran out of the library, his bag flapping behind him.
That had been the night I realized I loved him.
Honey, listen! Do you understand?
His voice sounded scared and worried, bringing me back to the fearful present and away from the memories of our past.
Yes, I do. Kiss me. One last time.
I reached up; kissing him, wishing it would stay like that forever.
*