𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐂𝐊𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐄
chapter twenty-eight; Wise Words Of A Witch
" Do not distance yourself from a loved one because of fear, or worry of what might come. "

  THE FACT THAT Elizabeth Gerard slept, ate, and lingered in a short distance from Hogwarts did not sit well within Salem Gerard. The redhead could live out her days in peace, overall. Laughing with Lily, two spring girls with fire hair that matched the re-birth of nature after a long winter, finding time between classes to sneak a kiss with James, teaching Sirius better strategies for chess— it was all easy.

  But every now and then, when Salem had to stop to breathe or listen in class or she just thought too much, her mother's words haunted her. Elizabeth's very presence, although not in the castle, pulled Salem from her steady stride. Like the woman was the moon, suddenly too close to the sea that was her daughter, sending tsunamis over freshly built homes.

  Salem didn't like it.

  And James would say the same thing, when he saw that familiar look on her face, when he swore he could hear the gears turning in her head.

  "Talk to her, Sal. Letting it go unresolved is bad for everyone."

  But Salem was stubborn. As a mule. She had planted her feet and decided she'd not be going. She wouldn't speak to her mother, because Salem knew Elizabeth wouldn't listen. She may hear her, but she was never one to listen.

  Of course, the only thing that could budge a stubborn red-head was a scarier, smarter, and far more determined witch.

  "Ms. Gerard."

  "Hey, McGonagall."

  The woman stared down at Salem through her thin glasses, eyebrows raised furthering her feline features.

  "Mr. Potter is concerned for your wellbeing."

  "He always is."

  "You know, Salem," McGonagall began, gently claiming the space beside Salem in the window seat, "I've been in love before."

  Salem suddenly perked up, interested in the older witch's history.

  "You were?"

  "Of course, I haven't always been this old."

  The redhead smiled.

  "So? What was his name?"

  "Dougal McGregor was the first boy I loved," The woman sighed out, "He was a muggle-- of course. But we laughed together, we argued, and we saw something in one another that neither of us had seen in anyone else."

  "Where is Mr. McGregor today?"

  "He asked me to marry him and I left."

  "What?" Salem blurted, not seeming to notice the woman dodging her question, "Why would you do that?"

  "Because he was a muggle," McGonagall answered honestly, "And I had seen my parents torn apart because of this very reason. If I'd told him, I'd be breaking our code, and have lost my job at the Ministry."

  "Oh. Well, I suppose that's reasonable."

  "I wasn't happy at the Ministry, so I asked Professor Dumbledore for a job here, at Hogwarts."

  Salem's eyebrows furrowed, watching the woman patiently.

  "Dougal McGregor passed away recently. He and his family were victims of an anti-Muggle attack."

  The redhead felt her heart sink quickly, like a weight in a bottomless ocean.

  "Why. . . are you telling me all of this?"

  "Because sometimes it is the only way to get through to you," McGonagall said, "Do not distance yourself from a loved one because of fear, or worry of what might come. Do not belittle others caring for you. Reaching out."

  "So. . . guess you know about me and James?"

  "I was more so suggesting that you speak with your mother."

  Salem blinked.

  "She is here, Salem. I don't know many wizards mad enough to sneak a muggle into Hogsmeade, nor do I know many muggles willing to hide in secrecy."

  "But, you don't understand—"

  "I've found myself far too involved in your family life," McGonagall cut off lightly, "You did not want Roman Mayes to know you were his daughter, correct?"

  ". . . Correct."

  "And, do you regret speaking with him?"

  "No, not at all."

  "I can't promise speaking with your mother will go perfectly, or that it will fix everything. But, what I can promise, is that if a day comes when the choice to have that conversation is gone, you will regret it."

  Salem bit the inside of her cheek as McGonagall left with a gentle pat on her shoulder. She hadn't spoken with her head of house nearly as much in her seventh year, but this didn't seem to dampen the effect McGonagall had on the teen.

  "Hello."

  "Hi," Salem breathed out, fidgeting with the loose waves hanging heavily from her scalp, "Can you do my hair?"

  Elizabeth Gerard nodded quickly, sending Roman a fleeting look as she shut the door behind Salem. The teen claimed a seat on the worn rug tucked beneath two feet of Roman's sofa, silently ushering her mother to sit upon it.

  And she did.

  Elizabeth accepting two elastics from Salem, crossing her legs beneath her just as Salem had, before lazily raking through the girl's red locks. 

  It had been a ritual long ago. When Salem was all rosy cheeks and toothy smiles. When Elizabeth saw more of herself than Roman, when they were closer and the world didn't feel so big.

  But for the first time in four years, Elizabeth Gerard tucked strands underneath one another to form two neat dutch braids, free of all flyaways.

  "Your hair's gotten so long."

  "I haven't cut it since fourth year," Salem responded quietly, lifting her eyes to watch her father join the living room, "I like it long."

  "It's healthy."

  "Serums, potions, spells. . ."

  "Or, she got my amazing hair genes," Roman boasted, shrinking back when he received small glares from both women.

  "I don't hate you, y'know that?"

  Elizabeth let a breath out at her daughter's meek voice. She tied off one braid, gently pulling pieces to begin the second one.

  "I get really mad sometimes," Salem continued in the soft silence of the flat, "And, I mean, I am mad. Because I think telling me my dad left hurt me more than saved me. And I know that you never meant to hurt me, you just wanted to protect me. But. . . but then we stopped talking every break. You stopped asking about Dottie and I stopped telling you about my classes."

  "It's hard when I can't understand your world— the magical aspect."

  "But that's only half of my world," The redhead frowned, "I'm not all witch all the time. I like to ride my bike around our neighborhood and I get stupid crushes on stupid boys. I'm a teenager. I'm a girl, who pretends like she knows everything about the world and how to survive it, but I still need my mum. I still need my mom to tell me what to do when I get in fights with my friends, and to talk to about my first date. And I need my dad, to show me what a date is supposed to be, and teach me that I don't have to take life so seriously all the time."

  Elizabeth frowned lightly as she secured the second braid, falling silent.

  "Why'd you stop loving me when I was a teenager?"

  "Oh, Salem," Elizabeth let out, feeling her heart ache something terrible, "I never stopped loving you, not a bit, I just. . . I didn't know how to be a good mom. I expected a girl who wanted me to teach her about makeup, and talk to be about boys, but you. . . You wanted to talk about the protests I went to, and steal my eyeliner. You wanted to change the world all by yourself, you wanted to know everything there was to know about magic and your family and why the sky was blue— and you just went and learned it all by yourself. I didn't think you needed me anymore."

  "I'm always going to need you. Both of you."

  "Well," Roman began quietly, "I think I can speak for both of us when I say, we'll always be there, Sal."

  And Salem just smiled because sometimes there weren't any right words to say in a situation. Twenty-six letters cannot be strung together artistically enough to display one's emotion; gratitude, anger, peace— sometimes, and only sometimes, silence is the loudest answer of all.

( AUTHOR'S NOTE. )
getting back to writing this
because I missed Sal oh
so much