meadows of forgotten memories

[TAMMY SILISIA DE'ATH]

xx

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The day was slow, ebbing in and out of Tammy’s perceptions. The day was one to be internalised, analysed then to be allowed to drift off into the meadows of forgotten memories. In all other shorter words: It was a day that was like every other day. Tammy had started off her day with the morning call of her alarm clock, to which she had responded by hitting snooze and turning over to doze for just a few more minutes. This cycle repeated itself a few more times before she had managed to coax her lethargy to lift. As she sat up, she had tried to grasp the fleeting tendrils of her dreams. Unsuccessful in remembering of detail that had once been as vivid as reality she left her inner world behind and begun her new day; her fresh start. She had never, however, understood the meaning of a fresh start. Each day was a cumulative sum of her life and the past always reflected on the future, whether it is a mistake, or the following through of an arrangement made previously. Then the day had begun. As it was a weekend, Tammy was able to forgo the pleasure of working and instead had a day free to her own devices.

One thing about Tammy was that she loved work. Time spent with herself was like a poison, killing her within her own thought. Her over analysis and critical insight on the world often lead her to ask the unanswerable questions, to pull herself apart and generally become overly world weary. Her analytical mind always needed something to do and tended to latch onto rather absurd things and obsess. For this reason alone, Tammy hated weekends. She was often tempted to work overtime and was disappointed to find the hospital was shut on weekends, save for the long term ward and emergencies. As cruel as it sounds, Tammy sometimes longed for that emergency. On days such as this, she wished she were a healer at St Mungos. That way, she could easily work overtime. She shrugged the gyre like thoughts from her mind as she looked around her room. It was not exactly the picture of tidiness, but it was not messy either. Books lay here and there, littering the carpeted floor. Dressed already, Tammy regarded herself in the mirror. There she encountered a sharp expression, one of contemplation and impatience. Her eyes, lined with dark brown eyeliner, seemed to be restless.

One last glance, to check whether she looked acceptable sent her on her way. Today she forwent her guise of muggle transport and apparated to Hogsmeade. Vague memories of past time moved through her mind. It was strange to think of her school years. They were not exactly all joyous memories and often had a darker undertone of her less enlightened years. Angry and afraid were two accurate descriptions of Tammy’s youth. She did not like to speak of it much but enjoyed reminiscing within her own mind. Internalisation was not the healthiest of approaches, as Tammy knew very well, but she had never found the right person to talk to about it. She used to have her old transfiguration professor, who had vanished when the Regime arose. A small empty pit grew and began to take over Tammy’s mundane day. It was a typical weekend reflective emotion. Annoyed with herself, Tammy made her way down to the Three Broomsticks, intent to get rid of the negative emotions that pooled in the pit of her isolation. Not since the Regime had come had she dared to make many friends. She hid behind the name Tanya Pauw; a muggle born that had studied magic in Africa. However, she felt like she was cheating the people she met along the way. Not even all the Rebellion knew her face. It was all too risky for Tammy’s paranoid side.

The doorbell announced Tammy’s entrance into the well lit bustling pub. Her usual warm demeanour had faded slightly, allowing the rugged edge of defensiveness to show. Her movements were covered, veiled by her own uncertainty. She remained in a corner for a moment, indecisiveness curbing her movement. Once within the reach of a crowd, her internal thoughts boiled down to an empty silence as Tammy took in the people around her. Almost robotically, she moved toward the bar. Her lips formed around the words asking for a butter beer, and then once she had received it, she made her way to an empty booth. Slowly, she sat down, facing the direction that gave her the best view of the people in the pub. Absently, she ran her fingers up and down the bottle, her eyes a little pensive. The thought occurred to her again: the day was slow. It was certainly one to be internalised and soon to be forgotten. Sighing, she lifted her drink to her lips, hardly registering the taste or the sensation the drink brought. For once, she was not even bothered to look around the pub, analysing the people within it. She ran her fingers through the blue black hair that belonged to her guise. She still had not quite gotten used to it. However, it seemed a necessary precaution. She knew even her twin would not recognise her. However, the last time she had seen Chloe was when Tammy herself had been in third year.

Of course, she did not really care. Her family meant nothing to her other than a reminder of her past. She cringed slightly, cursing the fact that it had to weekend. The shock of the thought surprised her. She had not thought of her family in years. Perhaps she was finally moving on. The thought seemed nice enough. While the ache in her heart continued, her thoughts melted into each other, leaving Tammy without their inconvenience. She took another sip, trying to allow the sensation to wash over her and emerge her within the moment. Silently, she looked up, glancing over the pub in a faint curiosity. Perhaps there was someone, or something that could make this trip worthwhile.

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tag ;; carter, open
words;; 1017
notes ;; Eep

[CARTER ASHLEY HAMPTON]

Go away, she pleaded. Please go away. What little power she possessed in her body went into the efforts of not grasping the sides of her head to cover her ears. She instead bit down on her lower lip—so hard that it extracted a slight amount of blood. She could taste it in her mouth, and she immediately felt sick to her stomach. She should have been used to the taste of blood, having made it a habit of biting down on her lip, but she was not. She had trouble stomaching the taste or even the thought of the taste of blood. She shifted in her seat and nearly fell off its edge as she did so. She was sitting too close to the edge of her seat. She looked around. No one was looking at her. That was a good thing.

A torrential downpour. That was what had Carter Hampton in a tizzy. The rain was falling from the sky like snow down the side of a mountain in an avalanche. She hated thunderstorms, especially the kind that consisted of thunder and lightning. Another clasp of thunder erupted somewhere in the sky. Her body jerked and came in contact with the floor. She looked around. Now people were looking at her. That was a bad thing. An embarrassing moment. She had a lot of those. She should have been used to it, but she was not. Her cheeks flushed red as she pulled herself back into the seat. Maybe she would learn not to sit so close to its edge.

Brown eyes wandered around the pub. No familiar faces. She listened intently. No familiar voices. She released a barely audible sigh and tousled her hair with her left hand. The action was so natural and fluid, a nervous habit. She cleared her throat and saw the tender. A hand went in the air to signal him over to her. He came and she ordered a warm cup of tea. His response to her order was a curious expression. Why was she ordering a warm cup of tea when she could be ordering a firewhiskey? She was already clumsy. Being drunk and clumsy was just not a good combination. And she could not hold her alcohol well. Good thing she did not like the taste of alcohol. Like blood, the taste of alcohol made her sick to her stomach.

The tender retrieved her cup of warm tea and set it down on the table in front of her. He stood there for a few moments as Carter began digging through her purse for a few sickles. When she finally managed to find them, the tender scoffed and counted them in his hand, removing a few strands of hair in the process. He looked at her with a raised brow and closed his hand around the sickles. She gave him a curious expression and looked into her cup of tea. He remained standing there.

“You’re one of those tea leaf-reading people, aren’t you?” he asked in his harsh tone. She looked at him with wide eyes and shook her head fervently. Did she really look like a Seer or someone gifted in tessomancy, “the art of reading tea leaves”? A broad grin appeared on her face and the corners of her eyes wrinkled behind her glasses. He nodded his head and made some sort of grumble before walking off in the direction whence he came. She watched as he walked away and then turned her attention to the door. The bell had sounded and someone entered. She watched as the young woman walked gracefully into the pub and found a seat.

Carter wished she was graceful. Watching the woman walk so fluidly into the pub and sit down in a sophisticated manner made her realize her own clumsy actions. She let her mind wander back to early when she had entered the pub. The rain had started to pick up shortly after she left Hogwarts and started walking to the village. Just as she reached the gate separating the two, the rain had started to fall from the sky in heavy clumps. Hurriedly, she made her way towards the nearest building, which happened to be The Three Broomsticks. It was always warm in there and it had no problems with a leaky roof like some of the other buildings did. As she turned the knob on the door, a gust of wind threw open the door and sent her flying into the pub and onto the floor. The pub got quiet. Heads turned audibly. Carter could feel all eyes on her. She breathed nervously. The tender had come over and forced the door shut but had not offered to help her up. That was probably the most embarrassing part of it, second to the fall over face first on the floor. She blinked, and everything that was happening in the pub now came back into view. She looked around and then gazed into her cup. Her tea was gone already; apparently she had been drinking it while she sat there thinking about what had happened earlier that morning.

The woman pushed her seat back from the table and stood to her feet. She took the empty cup in her hands and wandered over to the bar. She stood there in her fitted clothes and heeled shoes and waited for the bartender to notice her. When he finally did, she offered her cup across the bar and requested more tea. The tender made some comment under his breath about how she would have to pee later. She asked him what he was talking about and he muttered a “don’t worry about it” under his breath. She decided that was probably best and walked back over to her seat with her newly refilled cup. She placed her cup on the table and lowered herself into her seat. Her eyes danced around the pub, looking for no one in particular. Just looking.

[TAMMY SILISIA DE'ATH]

xx

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The clouded thoughts lifted just enough for Tammy to hear the rain lashing out against the world. Silently, she let her mind run back along with a roll of thunder, calming beneath the ragged storm’s presence. She remembered her time in Africa where the world was transformed with such glorious storms. The grass, once a dusty golden, had transformed into lush green, spotted everywhere with a variety of colourful wild flowers. It was her favourite time of year, before she had moved back to England, as it had always greatly lifted her spirits. She smiled to herself as I watched the African landscape flash by in her mind. She remembered the brilliant array of colour, contrasted against a brilliant blue sky which harboured large, grey blue cumulous clouds threatening more rain. The earth itself was always utterly saturated by the water and puddles still spotted the ground. The heat always rose astronomically, and soon the water would be gone, if only for a little while until the next rains. Her mind always had a gift of taking her back into a world far away. She meant to return someday, when this all was over.

Suddenly, she felt bad for dragging the world around her into this struggle. It was against her principles to now run off, go live out her life in a world far from this, and leave her supporters stranded without her. She supposed that perhaps the Regime was only trying to do good within the world. It was probably not that bad. She frowned and brushed her thoughts aside. People deserved their free thought, right? Even if it does mean that there is potential for pain and suffering at the hands of the other people around them. Overall, she could somewhat understand the Regime’s motives and empathise with them. Dealing with Aprile, however difficult, had given her a good insight into the Regime. She was not regretting her decision to form the Rebellion really; she was just, reflecting upon its necessity. She sighed and drained her butter beer, and placed the empty bottle on the table in front of her.

She thought of whether to go get a new one, but a sort of reluctance come over her limbs. Filled with lethargy and an unwillingness to be proactive, she tarried moments longer to actually get up to make the move. She looked around the pub, her eyes missing most of the faces. Her heart was not really in it which made it difficult to focus her mind on the plenty of faces that each held their own story. Tammy often romanticised people, imagining their daily lives down to the smallest details. She imagined whether they had family, what kind of job they had, and if they enjoyed life. Her own eyes would search theirs for the smallest of answers. the internal optimist in Tammy always looked for happiness or satisfaction while her punitive side would take pleasure in imagining they were too as miserable as she was sometimes. Somehow, it often made her feel less alone. Tammy, however, knew well enough that the only person in the world that she would ever truly have was herself and that thought discouraged her. It seemed an almost futile effort this life, filled with utter injustices.

Annoyed with herself, Tammy got up to go to the bar. She was not always this pensive and filled with pathos; it was just the whole weekend cadenza. This was the exact reason she hated the empty time filled with nothing but her own thoughts. She sighed and listened once again to the harsh weather. A part of her, the younger fun filled part, wanted to go out into the rain and enjoy the sting of the heavy rain droplets soak her. She closed her eyes for a moment, imagining the prospective of such a letting go of control. It seemed like a nice idea, an innocent, fun idea. Common sense however, disagreed. Lightning was a dangerous business. It was a power that not human could ever hope to contend with. She heard the rain become harder, pounding the earth relentlessly. The pub’s sin was drowned out, over ridden by the large claps of thunder and the sound of falling rain. The voices of the people were quietened to a gentle hum, rising and falling in places and people tried to talk over the noise.

As Tammy made her way to the bar, she recognised a face. Her heart rate sped up a little as she became quite wary of her surroundings. While she could not immediately place the face, she was certain it was a professor that might have once taught her or been at Hogwarts when she was a school child. Tammy had always known all the professors. Her memory was very good when it came to knowing faces. She slowed and took a position a metre or so away from the older woman, considering possibilities. It looked like... Professor Hamington? Ham? Hampton? Yes that was it. Professor Hampton, the History of Magic professor. While Tammy had only attended that class until up to the end of her third year, she was never a prominent presence in the class, choosing rather to keep to herself. Hardly ever making her presence know, the only indication of her existence in class tended to be the work handed in. She doubted herself that the professor would recognise her, as she was only in her class for a year. She heard the barman mutter under his breath and without being able to control her amusement; she let out a trickle of silvery laughter. Quickly, blushing slightly, she shut her mouth and grinned apologetically.
“Sorry,” she muttered to no one in particular. “I just find people’s little remarks amusing.”
She always tended to give unwanted explanations. Occupational hazard she would guess. After all, psychologists do tend to say what they’re thinking most of the time.

“’nother butter beer please,” she said smiling sweetly at the tender, hiding her wry amusement in her eyes.

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tag ;; carter, open
words;; 1006
notes ;;