Simple Circumstance

Chapter 25 – To Fly or Fall

It was the smell of cinnamon that she remembered most. Spicy and sharp, taken in with indescribable greed and let out with the hint of apples stamped onto taste buds. Her fingers were long and arms were bare. Cold feet were anchored in place, and she could feel the coarse texture of a worn oriental rug between her toes. It was an intricate design of red and blue and black, with a vague stain that strangely reminded her of orange juice and pulp. She could scarcely remember.

A beige plush couch with throw pillows of mint green and blue pinstripes was off to the side, and wingback chairs with dark print were in front of a lavish stone wall and fireplace. Cabinets and end tables, knick-knacks and décor picked with a feminine touch, sunlight peeking between lace curtains and open windows—they were all things she knew, but couldn't say. Everything felt hazy, as if she were drifting, light as feather yet lucid and whole. A delirium of warmth that just felt so right.

In a corner of the room, she saw a piano, modest in size and easy to dismiss. It called to her, drew her closer, one step after another, and then she stopped. A loud screech penetrated the veil of calm and she turned in her place. There was an archway there, opening up to what looked to be a kitchen and a back door that led to a garden flooded by sunshine, engraved into her memory of Sunday mornings. She could practically smell the waft of butter and syrup hanging in the air, could glimpse the stalks of sweet pea and bluebell from the muggy glass of the back door.

Again, there was a screech; louder, more abrupt. Wings flapped beside her and she turned to see a large barred owl perched on the open windowsill. Its brown and white plumage gleamed in a healthy sheen underneath the warm rays that thawed the cool room. Dark orbs as black as night stared at her, waiting, scrutinizing—a soulful gaze that paralyzed her as much as it left her breathless.

Ollie.

The owl turned its head, curious, and screeched once more. Something in her smiled. She reached out to stroke the spot on its chest she knew it liked so much.

"Nina."

But they both froze.

Her eyes wandered, narrowing at the archway to see what who was there, but not finding a single trace. She looked to the owl once more and met its dark, piercing gaze. Something flickered, as if remembering a passing rumination, and then it blinked in the same cadence as she did.

A latch came undone and the large door on the farthest wall crept open, leading to a world of vibrant greens and vast blues that smelled of mist and sweet rain. With one last tilt of its head, the owl flapped its wings with a shriek and hopped off the windowsill, kicking up a soft gust around her as it ascended into the air.

The feeling of alarm seemed overwhelming. Morning shine had waned to sleepy dusk. Traces of brown and white began to disappear into the sky-kissed hills and crested peaks. Her stomach coiled. Her footsteps led her forward.

"Nina."

She glanced at the archway, straining to hear the voice that she couldn't distinguish, squinting to see who was so full of warmth and comfort that seemed too good to be true. Something in her had calcified into a feeling of pure indecision, thick and heavy, laced with stinging doubts and pocked with open-ended answers.

"Nina."

The owl's silhouette was nearly gone, a lone star in the fading dark horizon. Light footsteps sunk deeper and deeper, rooting her in her place. Numbness trickled into her toes. Sinking seemed natural, inevitable. And as she did, the cold hard ground gave away like thin ice.

She sank, deeper and deeper, until she reached the dusty rinds of early dusk. Deeper and deeper until the swollen sun had disappeared and stars that glistened and burst were painted onto a canvas of violet and navy. Falling and falling until the speckled stars disappeared into an abysmal silence. Falling until syllables swirled and quivered, and her name rippled in the air like monochrome ribbons.

Then all came to a muted crash. Her heart dropped, air left her lungs, and all was dark. Darker than any oblivion she could ever imagine.

But still, she felt like she was drifting.

— ~ —

Prosana Visus was a horrid potion.

Madam Pomfrey had warned Nina of this fact herself the very first day. It's a powerful beast, the matron told her—as if some devilish fiend was trying to claw its way out with nails and grit. In truth, it wasn't much of a devious little fiend than a dragon snarling with fire and baring its teeth, trying to gnarl its way through tissue and bone from such a small confined space. From the first dose it had Nina curled into a ball, absolutely debilitated.

Quite frankly, they were both rather taken aback by the side-effects, but the matron wasted no time and brewed up a sleeping draught with enough potency to knock out a troll. She reassured Nina once or thrice that only a drop or two would do well enough for her; though by that point, Nina really didn't mind it either way.

Time seemed to pass by too quickly. Very scarcely, she recalled someone helping her up, moving about, eating, drinking, even using the bathroom once or twice. But it all blended together in incomprehensible blocks, large nicks in her string of memories.

The only thing she could recall for sure was drifting in and out of a dense, shifting darkness that was so thick and penetrating that it once made her wonder if she was even existing at all. Until one day—she assumed it was daytime, anyway—there was a sudden stream of white when she awoke.

Most of it came like frost on windowpanes, swept away by blinking eyelids yet rolling back in like morning fog. Little by little, color came back in some form or another. Bleary and unfocused, but still color all the same.

Nina couldn't make out if it was soon after or much later, but more sounds became distinguishable when she was awake. Familiar voices were more prominent in the fray—Fee and Lizzie's most of all.

"It's Wednesday." They always made it a point to tell her the day of the week first whenever they got a chance to speak to her. "Wednesday, third block. Got that, Nina?"

She would nod her head. They would ask her to repeat it, and she always did. "Wednesday. Third block."

They would go on to ask questions to make sure Nina could say who she was, where they were, what House they were in—standard procedure for any potion for the mind, as she overheard Pomfrey once say.

"Who's our Head of House?"

"Professor McGonagall."

"Then who are we?"

"Lizzie. And Fee."

"And who do you fancy again?"

That time it was a question that deviated from the normal list, that much she remembered; and quite honestly, she didn't feel in her right mind to say the answer they all knew. But she replied, without hesitation, "Evie the House-elf."

And before they could utter a question asking why, she held her hands a short distant apart, as if holding something in the palm of her hand, "Because of the chocolate scones and croissants that she makes. You can tell which ones are hers. The ones with powdered-sugar crescent moons. They're very good, you know."

Lizzie muttered something about Nina being off her rocker and called Pomfrey over to ask if her dose of potion was a bit too strong. Nina couldn't help but feel the corners of her lips curl.

Maybe I am, was the last thought that came to mind before she fell to the clutches of slumber once more.

After the third day—because she remembered with precision that it was a Friday that day—the mixture of colors and sound almost convinced Nina that she was better. This wasbetter, though admittedly not in the wholesome sense of the word. But certainly enough to convince her to think she could walk about as she normally could.

Perhaps it was the powerful concoction that didn't seem much different from spirits—or perhaps it was the rush of adrenalin that blinded the pain. Whatever the case, Nina was out of her bed after a few bites of her breakfast of porridge and water.

"Finally up and about on your own?"

Nina shifted her gaze from the swells of white and beige that made her eye sockets tingle. "After all the trouble you and Fee went through to have me walk around the other day, I figured I shouldn't take it for granted and do it myself for once."

"You remember that?"

"Bits and pieces of it." She slipped on her cardigan after checking if it was inside-out and smiled in thanks when she felt Lizzie reach to catch her when she swayed. "I'm kinda getting the hang of feeling my way around. I made it to the courtyard and back last time."

"Yeah, Madam Pomfrey wasn't too thrilled with that one. I've never seen her so fussy before, but she was rather frightening, to be honest." A thought occurred to Lizzie and she glimpsed around cautiously. "Where is Pomfrey, anyway?"

"I heard a few people coming into the infirmary earlier, maybe second or third years. Something about nearly being gobbled up by Sommer Pixies during Care of Magical Creatures. It's nothing too serious, from I could make out. Madam Pomfrey's been busy treating the lot of them in the Hufflepuff basement."

"Sounds like she won't even notice if you're out for a few minutes then, hm?"

Nina smiled in agreement and their arms interlocked as Lizzie led them down the aisle.

"How's Wood?" the caramel-haired teen asked after a while.

"I was going to ask you that myself, actually."

"What, you haven't spoken to him at all this whole week?"

"Not that I can recall. Only you and Fee. I'm not even sure if I remember Alex or the twins coming by."

"Makes sense. None of them have break periods until the afternoon. You're usually knocked out cold by then."

"What block period is it now?"

"Third. It's almost done, maybe a minute or two left."

"Friday…" They continued down the corridor and Nina squinted, only to mentally note not to do it anymore after feeling the twinge of pain behind her eyes. "Oliver has Muggle Studies right now."

Lizzie smiled and was ready to make a comment on her friend's confidence in such a fact. But at the last second, she opted out of that option and went for a more direct route instead.

"He's been in the infirmary every night since you've been admitted. Did you know that?"

Nina slowed her pace for a moment, but quickly caught up to her friend in a single stride. "I didn't."

"You wanna hear my take on it?" Nina responded with a little nod, to which Lizzie grinned. "No matter what kind of a person someone may be, no one sits and waits at another person's bedside just because of a passing whimsy. They're there for a reason, good or bad. Kinda makes you wonder what Oliver Wood's reason is, doesn't it?"

Nina smiled vaguely and tugged at her friend's arm to lead them forward.

Another question edged to the tip of Lizzie's tongue but it went unsaid. Yet somehow it projected itself in simple, languid sigh. It nestled deep into the late spring air and hung over their heads like a forecast of possible contemplations and drizzling thoughts.

Nina could make out what the wandering question asked.

Do you know the reason why?

But in her mind it was rather foreign.

In the last few weeks, even before the incident at Potions, Nina couldn't really seem to find the right words to say. But after a while, she gave up trying. It was too technical and calculating trying to find the right fit—too insincere and forced to try to say the right thing. She left it up to her conscience and chance, and that seemed to be enough.

In truth, her relationship with Oliver Wood was never really different. But things had changed; and while she couldn't rightfully say it was the same for Oliver, Nina could feel it in every tug to the chest, every held breath.

Everything from the way they smiled to share a joke; the way their shoulders bumped together as they walked to class; the way they would pause, just for a few moments, for no apparent reason at all. It was sometimes silly, and most times she even thought it was a bit too simple. But there was always a spur that stayed with her when they parted, like a candle amidst logic and reason that tried to extinguish the flame. It would always burn bright and long. Never flinching or flickering, only burning. Warming her bones with the simplest look and accelerating her heart with the slightest graze.

When it's right, Nina finally decided. It'll come when it's right.

Shaking her head slightly to diminish the conclusions, Nina sighed to herself and fixed her gaze to the swells of blues and whites over their heads.

"How's everything been going so far?" she asked.

"With?"

"Mm, you and Fee first."

"Rather well, I think. Fee isn't close to murdering any of the Slytherins, if that was your major concern. Not after that dueling session in DADA earlier this week, that is. Honestly, I think Professor Lupin was doing us all a service for pulling that one out of the blue. For a House that's supposed to be skilled at the Dark Arts, most of them are rubbish at dueling."

"Fee's hand at DADA is terrifying enough for most sane wizards and witches," Nina said lightheartedly.

"Very true," Lizzie replied with an offhanded grin.

"Then what about you? And Alex? Everything alright?"

"I suppose."

The sound of Lizzie's voice made Nina frown. She reached for her friend's elbow and they continued down the corridor at the same easygoing pace.

"I wish you'd give me more credit than that, Liz."

"What do you mean?" Lizzie asked, honestly perplexed.

Nina gripped her friend's arm, though not too tightly or unkindly. More comforting than anything else. "You and Alex. Something's happened, right? Why else would he not be here with you this past week? It's always just you and Fee. You're the only two I remember, anyway."

"He's been busy studying in the library or study halls." Lizzie let out a deep sigh like it was habit. "Any spare time he's had beyond that, he's been with his other friends. Wood and their roommates—you remember them."

"You never really like them," Nina pointed out in thought.

"Only because it always seemed like they were hogging Alex away from me whenever they were around. Sounds rather petty, doesn't it? Almost makes me sound like a five year-old without her toy."

"Not really petty. Lovesick, maybe, but that's well within reason."

"Lovesickness. Maybe that's it." Lizzie smiled vaguely. Another habit left her lips, and along with it was the smile. "I hate this, y'know. I get what Alex is trying to say. NEWTs and apprenticeships—things like that really matter to him right now. I get that. He wants to have a good future ahead of him. I get that too. But somehow I feel really… abandoned. Maybe not in the traditional sense, I mean… he's always been there with me no matter how irritated I get with him. But I can't help but feel like something's missing now. Like… we left something behind some many weeks back and we forgot to pick it up again."

Nina was quiet for that short time, attentive though almost fascinated. But by the end, she felt a sort of hollow feeling. Not an emotional emptiness, but rather a strange sense of loss. As if the missing piece that Lizzie was speaking of somehow managed to break a piece away in Nina herself and disappeared without a trace.

"A feeling like something's changed?"

"It hasn't though. Not that I know of, at least. It just… doesn't feel right. Like something's missing. Or maybe something has changed. Maybe I just haven't noticed it after all this time."

Right then and there, Nina stopped in their trek to give her best friend a hug. It was clumsy and abrupt, but it roused a little laugh from the caramel-haired teen.

Lizzie wasn't by any means sad during her piece; in fact, she was very thoughtful and precise, choosing the exact words that she hoped would make sense. Nina couldn't explain it properly, but listening to Lizzie created a sudden impulse for warmth, for comfort—the same sort of comfort she imagined Lizzie would need right then. And judging from the firm embrace her friend returned, she wasn't far off.

"What was that for?" Lizzie asked, still amused.

"'Cause I thought you needed it." Nina parted from her friend and gave her shoulders a gentle shake. "This doesn't seem like something you can sort out easily on your own, Liz. Alex's really quick when it comes to understanding what goes on in a girl's head on his own, but this sounds like something you need to work out together. Even if you are upset with him right now, I think you both deserve a chance for that much."

With another deep breath taken in, Lizzie nodded her head, which Nina could barely make out the traces of. "I might just do that," she said.

Nina's arm was taken once more and they continue down the halls in a more breathable silence. There was a lightheaded buzz at the brim of her mind, though she couldn't tell if it was the work the potion or her new uplifted mood. She decided to think it was both.

"A chocolate scone sounds good right about now," she couldn't help but say aloud.

Lizzie laughed. "Merlin, you and sweets, I swear. Your little love confession for Evie's scones the other day was all I could think about during breakfast. There was a whole plate of them this morning."

Nina was almost disappointed. "I haven't had those in a while."

"I'll get you one next time then."

Smiles faded at the sound of the bell. It had a loud, piercing tone to it that wouldn't leave Nina's head, even well after it ended. Soon enough, they stepped out from the steady stream of students and stopped to sit at the stone balustrades that surrounded the courtyard. But the heavy hum of chatter in the air didn't help with the sudden throb in Nina's temples.

"You alright, Nina?" Lizzie asked, concerned. She looked her over and murmured, "You look rather pale right now…"

Nina nodded. "I'll be fine. I guess the potions are getting to me now."

"C'mon, I'll take you back to the infirmary."

"It's alright. I can make it on my own once we get up the tower. Snape's class is on the other side of the castle, Liz. You'll be late if you take me all the way to the infirmary."

"Don't be silly. C'mon."

Lizzie held her arm to help her up and they continued back the way they came with particular care in their steps. Nina tried to hurry forward for Lizzie's sake, but her friend remained firm in her steady strides.

"I couldn't care less about Snape's affinity for late Gryffindors," she said with a good-natured pat to Nina's arm. "Even if it is rather eerie at times. But still, my marks in his class are the best in our group. I can handle a…" Her words stalled for a moment before coming out as a dulled grumble. "…grimy Slytherin."

"Lizzie?" But then she heard a familiar voice. Along with the anger seeped within it.

"Powdered moonstone and Lucifer's Light—did it even occur in that mind of yours what it would make?"

"Get off your bleeding high horse, Wood. I never said—"

"She's blind." Lizzie tried to call out his name, but neither of them heard her. Nina furrowed her brows. The bleary swells of black and grey she saw in the masses made it impossible to make out what was going on. "Whatever you're trying to pass off as regret or remorse can get shoved up your own arse for all I care. We don't need to hear it after all the shit you've pulled."

"I don't give a flying fuck what a self-entitled prick like you thinks," Flint countered heatedly. It simmered down for a moment as he went on, gruffly, "Just… answer my question."

But the Gryffindor Captain sounded more irritated. Angry. "I have every fucking reason to end this little game of yours, you goddamn—"

"Wood."

The air around them thickened. Nina squinted again despite the pain in her sockets as she tried as hard as she could to finally see. But there was only blurs of black and grey and tan and blue—none of it comprehensible other than school robes and stone and pale Scottish skies.

Lizzie frowned, watching as the Captains' expressions either paled or became, genuinely, troubled. With one last undecipherable glare directed to the cobblestone ground, Flint brushed past the Gryffindors and continued across the courtyard. Lizzie's stern look didn't dropped until he finally disappeared from her line of sight.

"You're lucky we came along," she pointed out. "Even though you've been keen on avoiding Flint all week, it was only a matter of time before it all erupted somehow. Not too ugly this time, from the looks of it."

"What the hell are you are two doing?" His voice had a harsh firmness to it that they both recognized as his Captain-like demeanor. He faced Lizzie, especially, as if she was the one behind it all. "She shouldn't be up and out like this, you know that."

"Oliver," Nina called out again. The warning in her voice was more prominent that time.

Lizzie didn't particularly like the tone he used, or the implications he hinted at. But Wood was angry, and she understood why. She could hardly blame him for it, anyway. With that in mind, her cool look formed into an apologetic one—a ruse to ease his wrath, somewhat. If it were anyone else or any other occasion, she might've given a smack to the face of the poor soul who irked her.

"Just figured that some sunlight and circulation would do some good. It's not that big of a deal." Lizzie placed Nina's hand on the Captain's arm and gave them both a solid pat. "Take Nina back for me, Wood. You're on your break period now, aren't you? I gotta get going to Potions."

Nina nodded her head slowly. Oliver couldn't hide his vague glower, no matter how hard he tried. Nonetheless, he watched the caramel-haired teen hurry down the corridor. And for a split second, he was almost convinced he saw a sort of grin on her face before she turned the corner.

Fuckin' hell…

Oliver was very tired by that point. This, Nina could tell from the sigh she heard.

"Owl."

He exhaled curtly. "He's not going anywhere near you."

"Who?"

"You know who. Flint. You can't be alone with him. I don't trust him. I'll tell Pomfrey if I have to. Someone'll stay with you until you get better. After that, Alex and the twins can walk you to class when I can't. Even Fee and Lizzie or Katie and the girls."

Despite the surprise that engulfed her, Nina gave a quiet laugh. "Isn't that being a bit too overcautious for a person like Marcus Flint?"

"I don't care," he muttered. "As long as you're not by yourself."

Oliver sounded far off, even with him right in front of her. Nina stared up at him and slowly, vaguely, could somewhat make out the lines of his jaw, the shape of his nose. They were close enough for her to reach out and touch, and as she did, with her palms against his brusque cheeks that felt warm to the touch, she found that his eyes were more distinct. She could recognize that deep brown shade anywhere.

"You're worrying too much," she told him with a small smile.

Oliver wasn't caught off-guard realizing close Nina was to him or how soft her hands felt. Instead he was more surprised at how earnestly she stared up at him. As if she could take in every miniscule detail that she was seeing and recite it without fail right at that moment. But the fleeting thought vanished like a tide and what rolled in next was a surge of pent-up irritation.

"I don't trust him," he told her one last time.

"Do you trust me?"

"With the stunt you're pulling right now, I'm starting to wonder if I should," Oliver said with frown. But he couldn't tell if she could see that one or not. "What are you doing out of the infirmary? What about your potions?"

"I can take them when I get back. I just wanted to walk around, get some fresh air. Lizzie and Fee think it's good for me. I kinda wanna agree." There was a sudden look of reprimand that appeared across her features. "You know, you shouldn't have scolded Lizzie like you did earlier. I was the one who wanted to get up and walk a little. She was just there to help me."

"Doesn't change the fact that you, of all people, shouldn't be doing it."

"You're being stubborn."

"Aye. I'm stubborn as a bloody mule and growing cotton buds in my ears 'cause I don't listen to a single word people say. But it's nowhere near as stubborn as the girl who won't take her potions to get better just 'cause she wants to stay up past her bedtime."

Nina smiled. Oliver wasn't as angry as before. More vexed, perhaps, but certainly not angry. She considered that a step forward in some form.

"That may be so," she said. "But I am getting better. I can see what's in front of me a little bit. Maybe not clearly, but I can make out the colors and shapes of things. I can walk around, and I can even change my clothes without much help. And, look, I can kinda see you now too. Dark hair, dark eyes." Her fingers traced along his jawbone and he resisted the urge to clench it shut. She blinked and stared him in right in the eye without even knowing. "You didn't shave, did you?"

Oliver felt something in him quiver, like an unsteady footbridge on the verge of shaking loose. It was deep down, a nagging sort conscience that came about as naturally as the arms that wrapped firmly around her waist.

"Stop."

She froze, unsure of what to do. But it only made him want to hold her tighter. "S… Stop what?"

"Everything," he muttered into her shoulder.

Everything was rushing through him all at once—all the anger and frustration and irritation and worry. It was like a dogged pursuit trying to stay calm, trying to stay sane. It was exhausting.

"Just… get better," was all he could manage to say, somewhat pleading, somewhat apologetic, somewhat even mentally spent.

But when he parted slightly from her, he saw that smile again. It was the faint one, with the slight curl of her lips that stamped out the dimple in her left cheek. The one that finally tipped the scale of reason that he resigned to hold out on, even if it were just a little bit longer. It almost didn't seem fair.

He couldn't hold back anymore.

Nina was kept in a silence that was almost unsettling. But then warm lips pressed against hers, light and gentle, a shadow of forewarning that stunned her senses. Hands on her sides pulled her closer, squeezing subconsciously like a held breath. Before she could process it completely, they parted from one another, if only for a moment.

This is a dream.

Her voice was lost and her heart was beating in a loud, unspeakable code.

Gaps in between were closed and warmth claimed her lips once more, chaste and lingering, an uncertainty that left them both still. Her eyes fluttered closed, suddenly afraid of the bleary shades of brown and grey that made her temples throb. Worn wool pressed against her palms were gripped tight. Limbs felt stiff and her lungs were frozen.

It's all a dream.

It was the only explanation that made sense. A passing trick of the mind, a senseless fantasy. A dream.

Her lips parted slightly, returning his kisses with shy naivety. His hand rested on the small of her back, his body pressed hers. Her fingers unfurled, running digits along cotton that hid the taut muscles of his chest as he traced invisible ripples along her spine.

A spark of need stayed alight in her belly, growing in inexplicable urgency with every swift claim to her lips.

Just a dream, she repeated once more in her mind.

And she surrendered—to the bittersweet taste at the tip of her tongue; to the brush of his fingertips that sent shivers to her core; to the smell of soap and fading cologne that numbed her senses; to the thrill that burned in the pit of her stomach and pulsed through her veins.

This is just a dream.

Warm breaths brushed against her face she pulled away, matching her own with every deep intake that didn't seem to be deep enough.

Blurs of deep brown and beige swirled into shapes and directions that made her dizzy. She rested her hands against his chest to keep herself steady and opened her eyes, only to squeeze them shut a second later.

Again, behind those eyelids, Nina saw by a thick, shifting darkness. A perfect darkness that was fluid and alive, moving like it had a mind of its own. It tricked her, made her see stars that spun and monochrome ribbons that rippled in the air. It reminded her of those dreams from the nights before. Falling and drifting and sleeping and waiting.

But it was different that time. Because she realized that time wasn't a dream. And from the very start, when she woke up, she wasn't afraid to fall.

Edited: 10/22/2015