Grab Thy Hand
Dusk was settling, turning the sky into a swirl of purple, red and orange. The shadows were elongating in the Johnson's garden, strangely, making it even more beautiful.
Behind him, Montague could hear the laughter and conversation in the Johnson's home. It had been Angelina's mother's idea to throw her daughter a party. A sort of "welcome back to the world" get-together.
Three months had gone by since Weasley had gone to Dumbledore. If Angelina had received some closure by now, Montague had not. Whatever anger he'd felt months earlier paled in comparison to the raw emotion burning in his chest, threatening to consume him.
Weasley had not been sent to Azkaban. He'd been given two years in St. Mungo's new psychiatry ward. All because he'd cried in front of the Wizengamot while telling them about his dead brother and fallen friends.
The sentencing had left Montague dumbfounded. Angelina had not looked so surprised.
"It's not fair," he'd said when they were outside the Ministry.
She smiled, amused. A Slytherin talking about fairness! "Life isn't fair, Galen," she'd said quietly and seriously. "It just isn't."
He'd known that all his life, but this once he'd wished it wasn't so.
A rustle from a nearby rosebush brought Montague out of his thoughts. Angelina was not far away. She wore a white dress and was holding a dozen or so blood red roses.
Montague forgot to breathe. He'd remember this moment for as long as he lived. The moment when he'd felt something warm settle beside the anger, calming it and molding it into something new.
->-
This was no reintroduction to the world, Angelina had decided when she'd left the house. This was an introduction to a new world that resembled the old. Everything had changed. She could see it in the way her friends looked at her, with a mix of emotions she couldn't quite comprehend, emotions that distanced her from them. It was the same for them, she knew. She had changed as well, and her eyes betrayed the change, expanding the distance.
She cursed Fred for doing this to her. She could feel it now, the anger she'd been too afraid, too ashamed of feeling. She'd thought if she could bury it the world would remain unchanged. She'd visited the past and saw there was no truth in that. Truth was in an uncertain future, sleepless nights and hours of wondering "What if?".
Then there was Galen. Truth was in him. He comforted her.
He stood at the edge of the garden, staring at her with such intensity that she was momentarily self-conscious. She felt her face grow hot.
Was it too soon for this kind of feeling?
Angelina held her breath. She watched as Montague regained himself a little and extended his hand. She was unsure but she took it.
Present became future and she saw it all for a moment. She forgot most of it when she came back to herself, but she'd seen enough. She tightened her grasp around Montague's fingers.
End.
A/N: Title taken from Chevelle's "Grab Thy Hand" from their Wonder What's Next album.
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