'You know that place between sleep and awake? that place where you still remember dreaming?
That's where I'll always love you.
That's where I'll be waiting.'

[Peter Pan]

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"Potter," McGonagall's soft voice interrupted the silence of Dumbledore's office a few days later.

It was the afternoon; an hour or so after Addie's funeral—which didn't really feel like a funeral to him. There was no coffin, no grave, no headstone just yet. The sun had been shining so bright; it was a beautiful day, which didn't seem fitting for the occasion at all. Students and Professors left flowers around a large stone by the Black Lake as a way of honouring her memory; a way of saying goodbye, but he couldn't bring himself to focus on the speeches or prayers.

All he could think about was the scrunched tissues in the palm of his hand, or the way Ginny was trying to muffle her cries into her sleeve beside him, or the way Hermione had linked her shaking arm through his to try and comfort him, or the way Ron's lip was trembling as he stared at the ground.

He folded the moving picture of a smiling Addie back into his pocket and looked up at the Professor through puffy eyes.

"I hate to put this on you so soon," McGonagall continued, her eyes sorrowful as though she was the one about to cry right now, "and we can always keep it at the castle over the summer holidays, but—"

"I'll go through her stuff," he nodded, knowing he wasn't coming back to Hogwarts next year. He managed a tight-lipped smile, but it disappeared as he swallowed the lump in his throat.

"If it's too soon, I can arrange—"

"I can do it. It's okay," he lied twice. In truth, he cannot fathom being able to go through her things; nor is anything okay right now. Harry knew that if he held her gaze, she'd see right through him, so he looked away.

"She loved you a great deal, Potter. I'm sure you know that. The way she looked at you—pardon me," McGonagall said as she choked up a little. Harry glanced up at this and was surprised to see her eyes welling with tears.

She took a breath to keep herself together. Never, in all his years at Hogwarts, had he seen the Head of Gryffindor cry—and yet, now she was, right in front of him. It felt strange; like he was seeing something he shouldn't; someone so strong suddenly becoming so vulnerable. Her voice wavered as she spoke.

"It's the way your mother used to look at your father."

Instantly, he thought of the framed photograph of his parents on his bedside table. Ever since he was young, he'd always liked how fondly they were looking at each other, and how his mum kept looking at his dad with the same happiness even when he wasn't looking back. It warmed him for a moment, thinking that anyone could look at himself with such love in their eyes, let alone Addie.

And for a moment, he forgot she was gone.

"...Last year, with the two of you in my class," she continued. "...I remember looking over, and the two of you were laughing, and for just...just a split moment, I didn't see Harry and Adeline. I saw James and Lily."

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As he reached the dormitory that Addie had shared with Hermione and Ginny, Harry knocked lightly on the door, and almost instantly it opened to the latter red-haired, red-faced girl. Given her blood-shot eyes, and the tissues scrunched in her palm, it was clear he wasn't the only one struggling with the sudden loss of Adeline.

Behind her, Hermione was cross-legged on the carpet, with various clothes neatly folded in different piles around her. Addie's clothes.

"We've got all her things laid out," Ginny spoke quietly, and his gaze moved back to her. "You can pick out anything—we're not gonna throw any of it out, so don't worry if you can't decide just yet." She eyed his face, and added softly, "how're you feeling?"

"Like I've lost everything," he breathed. No other words could describe the utter, hopeless ache in his chest without her. It was like a part of him was missing—like he'd never be whole again. Like in losing her, he'd lost himself. "You?"

"Like I've lost my best friend," she matched his tone, and he looked away as his eyes teared up yet again. Ginny, blinking away her own tears (to no avail), pulled him into a hug—just a quick one, as she wasn't much of a hugger, and rubbed his shoulder before squeezing past him out the door.

"I'll leave you be," Hermione said as she stood, dried tear stains down her cheeks, and embraced him lightly before leaving too. He closed the door behind her, drowning out the ambience of the common room, and looked around.

Her clothes were mainly on the carpet, or in her trunk, and everything else was laid out on her bedspread. Everything from overdue Herbology books to her small chocolate frog card collection to her 'Memory Box' as she liked to call it, which was a cardboard shoebox. The warm room was so still and quiet—it felt odd being in there by himself, even though it wasn't the first time. And even though he knew she wasn't coming back, he half-expected for her to show up as though nothing had happened. It was like his head hadn't processed that she was gone, because he knew the doorknob wasn't going to turn, and he knew she wasn't going to walk into the room, and yet he still hoped she would. The heart longs for unreachable things, after all.

Harry gently grabbed the shoebox and sat down on the carpet, his back against her bed's frame. As soon as he opened it, he was hit with nostalgia from the very start of that school year, when she'd had the most adorable, fond smile lining her lips as she looked through the stack of pictures beside him. Addie had been so immersed in the captured moments that she didn't even notice his gaze lingering on her face as he fell further in love with her.

In the midst of little things she'd saved over the years, neatly packed into the box, he slid her favourite photo from the top of the pile, and couldn't help but smile at the memory of giving her a piggy-back ride out of pouring rain. Her arms were around his neck, and he'd been holding up her legs on either side of him as they ran from the open courtyard to a spot undercover. She'd been laughing so hard in that moment; wet hair sticking to her face, beads of water trailing over her freckled cheeks, and it was the hardest they'd ever laughed together once they were undercover, and she was back on her feet.

What the picture didn't show, but what he remembered so vividly about that day, was what happened after it was taken. That amidst the storm and the plummeting rain, with their uniforms soaked and hair dripping, she had leaned over and taken off his glasses, as the lenses were coated in raindrops, and dried them for him with a simple flick of her finger. And it was the first time he had the urge to kiss her.

He wished he'd gotten the courage to admit his feelings a lot earlier than he did. Because although that snowy night back in December was so perfect, like a movie in his head—snowflakes in her hair, cheeks and nose rosy from the cold, the way her laughter rang through the quiet night as she slipped on the icy ground, the way her eyes softened right before he kissed her—, and although he didn't know he felt that way about her until only a couple months prior to admitting it, this urge to kiss her first happened in fifth year. Harry couldn't help but wonder how things may have turned out if he'd realised sooner that no, Adeline is not just a friend if you want to kiss her. Maybe things would have been different.

Maybe they would've had more time together.

He looked up from the photo and was brought from the past to the aching present. The light was warm as it streamed in through the window, igniting dust particles floating placidly in the air, casting a golden glow on the deep crimson furniture. On his left, resting on the carpet, basking in the sunlight, was a folded sweater.

His quidditch sweater, to be specific.

Harry picked it up. The fabric was warm in his hands from the summer light, and it seemed so strange to think she'd been wearing it not even a week ago. It felt like she'd been gone for so long already.

He held the sweater closer, and his chest swelled with all sorts of pain as he caught the scent of lavender lingering on its wool. Her scent. The same lavender of her perfume. And suddenly he was brought back to the library, where he couldn't look away from her in the dim light, her back against the bookshelf. He was brought back to every time they fell asleep together, his face close to her neck, to every time she sat next to him, and he entwined their fingers, to every time she was close enough to touch. He was brought back to her, her, her.

He breathed her scent in again, and again, to even just pretend she was still there. To pretend she was coming back. To establish that no, she isn't gone; she's right here, in my arms.

How cruel it is, that one scent has the ability to trigger such an abundance of memories. How terribly, terribly cruel. If it was not so cruel, tears wouldn't be running down his cheeks right now. He wouldn't be clutching the sweater, its fabric muffling his sobs, trying to breathe her in. He wouldn't be trying to capture that lingering piece of her between the interwoven threads before it fades away and he has nothing left of her.

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Adeline stirred, and woke to a cold, hard floor beneath her.

For a moment, she kept her eyes shut; lost in the temporary, blissful ignorance between sleep and wakefulness. And then the memories came rushing back like a punch to the stomach—the hospital wing doors exploding open, the loud cackle of Bellatrix Lestrange, the red light shooting from her wand—and Addie gasped for breath and jerked awake completely.

Looking around desperately, searching for anything familiar, anything that may indicate her safety, all that met her gaze was black, wooden floorboards and cold, white light streaming in through the towering old windows. No, no, no. Her heart dropped with every second at the unfamiliar place. Large portraits of people she didn't recognise decorated the tall walls with ornate gold frames bordering their edges, and sturdy, bulky columns stretched all the way from the floor to the ceiling around the room—seemingly only for appearance, rather than structural support.

She tried to move, though felt shaky and numb like when trying to run in a dream—and whether this was a result of her sickness or a spell or both, she didn't know.

"I was beginning to think you were never going to wake," a voice said, breaking the silence, and chills ran down her spine.

Still on the floor, Adeline spun around, and her weak gaze met the face of Voldemort sitting lazily on a dark throne, surrounded by cloaked, masked figures. Bellatrix wasn't there, nor Greyback, but the Malfoy family was. Draco's face was cold and emotionless, though as Voldemort stood abruptly and slowly stepped toward Addie, the boy sucked in a breath, and a twitch of fear flashed across his features, if only for a second.

She tried backing away as he approached, but her limbs only felt more heavy and weak on the floorboards as he waved his wand at her; promoting her exhaustion with a spell.

"You are just like your mother," he sauntered around her like a vulture to its prey; the black of his long cloak contrasting against the pale, alienness of his skin. Addie found her voice despite the fear clawing at her insides, because at this point, what did she have to lose?

"Don't compare me to her," she spat, surprised by the strength in her tone. "She was cruel."

"I made her that way..." Voldemort said, twirling his wand in his fingers. He marvelled at this accomplishment; proud of his past self, and what he did to their young family. "Maya Young...was once a normal mother, and you were once a normal baby before I took you. Hid you. She was tortured into insanity. By myself, and her own guilt. Tell me, daughter, how do you break a person?"

Addie didn't answer. Rage, a kind of rage she'd never felt before, bubbled in her veins. Her mother was made that way. She was once normal and capable of love, but he stripped it away from her. She could have had a childhood full of love the way every child should have. She could have grown up the way a child is meant to grow up—free of dark magic; of abuse.

"DRACO!" Voldemort suddenly bellowed, his voice echoing through the room, looking to the blond boy who suppressed his flinch. "Tell me...how do you break a person?"

"...I—"

"You use...the things they love...against them..." he said and began laughing. The death eaters joined in on his chuckle, their laughs beginning as a low thrum and soon ascending to loud cackles and taunts. Addie's brow furrowed; nothing was even remotely funny, yet they were laughing as though it was. "Not only have I taken my weapon back, but Harry Potter has lost the girl which he loves most!" he made a sound of disgust and the death eaters echoed him.

"He hasn't lost me," Addie spoke, and they all fell silent. Voldemort turned to her as though he'd forgotten she was there. "They'll be looking for me right now. It's only a matter of time before—"

"Ah," he said, stepping closer. She leaned back, away from him, as he kneeled beside her. "You see...a little bird told me that everyone...thinks...you're...dead," the death eaters started laughing again.

Voldemort's eyes flickered down to the collar of her shirt, and before she could figure out what he was looking at, he grabbed her heart locket and yanked it, breaking its thin gold chain. Pain swelled in her chest, mixing with the anger.

"Don't—" she said, her voice wavering as he stood, and moved away from her reach.

He opened the locket and, blaring his teeth, suddenly bellowed an outraged, "AGH--!" and threw it across the room, where it landed by Draco's shoes. "Harry Potter thinks you're dead," he seethed, and her blood boiled with every word. "They all think you're dead...NO ONE IS COMING FOR YOU!"

Once more, the death eaters joined in with his laughter, their chorus of voices rising to a crescendo—which broke as she bit down on her tongue and stood, ignoring the blinding pain in her head as she flicked her hand harshly at his throne. It barrelled towards him through the air, but he only just noticed it in time to raise his wand and divert its path, sending it crashing through a nearby window.

She winced as her head throbbed harder than ever before, holding her ground despite every desire to collapse and fade into unconsciousness once more. He stepped towards her, any amusement from before now gone from his monstrous face, but she didn't back away and stared back into his alien eyes with the same coldness. The death eaters were silent now.

"You look...just like your mother..." he said, and she glared at him. "You both have the same eyes...and the hands..." Voldemort grabbed her palm, bringing it to his eye level, but she pulled it out of his grip.

"Don't touch me—"

"But that rage..." he continued, "...your mother didn't wear that anger...not before her insanity."

"You're right," Addie spoke, and he narrowed his eyes. "This rage is the one thing I get from my father."

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a/n:

this is not the ending of this book!! coming soon is 'ruinations' which will take place during deathly hallows.

let me know what u thought of the epilogue and 'angels' in general, and what you think might happen!!

also in case you didn't pick it, the photo that harry has in his pocket of addie smiling is the gif at the top of the chapter of her face claim, amelia zadro :)

thank you all so much for your support <33 and i'll see you very soon...

-g