In the Darkness With You

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Part One: In the Dark, I Can Hear Your Heartbeat

Chapter Seven: Bad Day

Most of the time, Thalia doesn't think about the life she'd lived before. It's a defining part of her, certainly, but those experiences she'd survived as the daughter of James and Lily Potter are distant in this life - as though she'd observed, rather than endured them - and it's easier to treat those memories and skills as intrinsic, inherent parts of her identity - like her name, or her age, or her nationality - rather than moments she'd once experienced herself. She is Thalia Black, she is the daughter of Cygnus and Violetta Black, and once upon a time, she was a Gryffindor, was labelled the Chosen One, became a Master Curse Breaker.

Despite the general contentment with the life she's built for herself (dread for the approaching world war notwithstanding) as Thalia Black, however, there are moments wherein Thalia can't help but get caught up in the surrealism of it all. She is her own great-aunt, she is simultaneously 18 and 43 and dead several times over, and on these occasions, as she thinks on it too long and too deeply, it is completely, utterly baffling.

As she ruminates over the matter, dwells on her place in the universe, contemplates her role in the tapestry of life or fate or whatever power has brought her to this time and place, she trudges through her day absently, cast adrift by her thoughts, and it isn't until she's home again that she's drawn out of her own head, courtesy of Marius.

"Dreaming again, Lia?" Marius addresses her. He wears a concerned frown on his face though, and it occurs to Thalia that he hasn't seen her like this since before he'd left their London home behind.

Presumably, he assumed she had grown out of the tendency for her mind to go elsewhere. In fairness, she had for the most part - at least, the occasions have grown far less frequent as she'd settled further into her life as Thalia Black - but she has never been able to escape the spells completely, and Thalia isn't exactly sure she can, or even wants to.

"There's a lot to think about, isn't there?" she counters, a grimace on her face, "I don't like the way things are going in Europe. It's frightening."

Marius frowns. He doesn't wholly believe her, but her concern is justifiable, and to his credit, he doesn't dismiss it outright. It's true, anyway - if not the cause for her present preoccupation - and Thalia tries not to feel guilty for the lie.

"We'll be all right here," Marius assures her, "The American government seems pretty determined to stay out of things, anyway."

"Right," Thalia acknowledges hollowly, and not for the first time, she regrets the burden that is her foreknowledge. Marius seems to sincerely believe what he's just said - or at least, he's very good at faking it - but Thalia knows better, and her heart hurts.

Without anymore words to say, Marius squeezes her shoulder, offers her his best attempt at a comforting smile, and returns his attention to that day's edition of the Ghost. Thalia, meanwhile, meanders into the kitchen to serve herself some leftovers, and tries not to brood over her inability to change what is, at the end of the day, inevitable.

It's not just that terrible things happen to those who meddle with time, though the warning is something Thalia's never been able to forget. It's more that, with international politics, finances, and social values as they are, the world is on a collision course with conflict, and there's no changing that. Not when Thalia's just one person, not when the cause for the increasing tension is more than just Grindelwald and Hitler, not when the foundations of World War II have been - or will be - built on an institution of prejudice, greed, on the unending pursuit of power in its many forms.

"I ran into Barnes on my way up," Marius says conversationally, and in doing so, successfully diverts Thalia from her gloomy thoughts. She glances at him from the dining table, and Marius continues, "He was on his way to class. We talked a bit, and he asked about you."

"What did you say?"

"I told him school has been keeping you busy. Should I have said you've been pining hopelessly for him all week, do you think?"

She scoffs at him, unimpressed, and insists, "I have not."

Marius only laughs, returns to his newspaper once more, and leaves Thalia to her dinner, to the letters that await her, to her thoughts of James Barnes, their date the previous Sunday, and the next they've already planned for the Sunday ahead. Their visit to the bookstore had resulted in a discussion of and regarding notable novels they'd read, and she'd learned that James was rather devoted to Science-Fiction and Thrillers, that he'd read everything Jane Austen had ever published, that he would love to write a novel of his own some day. Thalia had enjoyed it all - the bookstore, the company, the occasional descent into lighthearted debate - and she therefore looks forward to the opportunity to spend some more time with him.

Rather than dwell on James Barnes, however, Thalia turns her attention to her most recent correspondence from Britain. Her parents and eldest brother, Pollux, have foregone writing, but Dorea and Cassiopeia have each written at length, and have enclosed letters for Marius, as well.

"I've hardly spoken to her since I left," Marius says, "I'm surprised she wrote."

Thalia hums her acknowledgement, but her eldest sister's decisions aren't something she spends much time contemplating. Cassiopeia Black follows her own rules, regardless of societal and/or familial dictates, and Thalia stopped attempting to make sense of those rules years ago.

"I suppose it shouldn't surprise me," Marius continues. He traces a finger over Cassiopeia's flowing penmanship, his gaze distant, "She used to go on and on about how family is the most important thing there is."

"That hasn't changed."

"I just didn't think that extended to the disowned family members, too."

"Cassiopeia does what she wants," Thalia replies, "I think she especially enjoys annoying Pollux."

"Yeah, well, he deserves it."

"Of course he does."

Thalia's memories of her brothers together consist of Pollux terrorising Marius with little or no consequence from their pureblood supremacist parents, and her eldest brother has only grown worse with age. He's a cruel, uninhibited bigot, his wife only encourages his vicious excesses, and it's no wonder Walburga turned - or would turn, perhaps - out to be crazy, never mind Pollux's future granddaughter, Bellatrix.

In fact, Thalia's more surprised that the rest of Pollux and Irma's (future) descendants won't turn out just as crazy, but generally, she tries not to think about it. Thoughts of her niece and nephews - who they'd become and who they'd help bring into the world - twists Thalia up inside, leaves her mentally reeling all over again, and it's better for everyone - in particular, Thalia's own mental state - if she just avoids thoughts of them altogether.

Even as she makes no effort to maintain a relationship with the very young, very impressionable Cygnus and Walburga, however, Thalia can't help but wonder if the decision to distance herself from them is one she'll someday regret.

Merlin, but she hopes not.