Disclaimer: Everything you recognize does not belong to me, but to J.K. Rowling. The rest is, however, mine. Story title is from a song by The Veils.
A/N: I was too lazy to get a beta, so if there are any horrid errors in there, let me know. Thanks!

The Tide That Left and Never Came Back


She waits. That’s what she does, and keeps doing, time and time again. If it isn’t waiting for her family to come around and finally accept her – without that Black soul of theirs that they all seem to posses – it’s waiting for her life to start. Or waiting for the answer to the recurring question of when and where it will start.

If life is anything, it’s one big waiting room.


The first time she waited, it was for her older sister to return home from Hogwarts. She was but nine, and had always looked up to her with wide, chocolate brown eyes, curious but respectful. Her sister, not having the most compassionate spirit of all their kindred, never gave her younger sibling the attention she so desperately sought. And so, she would always wait for that too. Wait for the day when she would finally be looked upon as an equal, as someone worthy enough of the attention. She would fight for it, and hope that her struggles would, in the end, actually make a difference.

Of course, she could struggle all she liked, but never would she be looked upon with admiration. Not by her, never by her.

She was eleven when she stopped idolizing her.

She was thirteen when she stopped waiting for her to actually see her.

But everyone says hope is the one, final thing that leaves a human-being, so she stopped hoping – for real this time – when she was seventeen, knowing that her sister had reached her point of no return. And nothing she ever did or said would ever change that fact. She was never taken seriously, after all.


With a failed relationship with her elder sister, she tried her best to be there for her younger one. It was the happiest she’d ever been at that house, teaching the young girl of the magic and wonders of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and telling her tales that would keep them both awake at night.

When she remembers, there is something else in this particular memory that she knows she will forever carry with her: the pale shade of her sister’s eyes in the night, as they glanced up at her with silent admiration and jealousy. The question When can I go, Dromeda, when? rings as loudly in her ears as the day she first heard it.

As they grew up, she would carefully observe her younger sister, wishing and hoping that maybe, just maybe, another future from the usually selected destiny of a pure-blooded witch awaited her. She, who grew to become beautiful in every aspect, deserved much more than they would ever offer her.

She wished and she hoped in vain. Unconsciously, she had always waited for her to be lured into their spinning webs, and she too, just as their older sister, would be in too deep before figuring out which way was up.

And not knowing what else to do, she wept for her.


When she waited the third time, it was for love. It came unexpectedly into her life, but she learned to cherish it wholeheartedly, if anything, because as we all know, it wasn’t something that her family unconditionally gave her. So it wasn’t until that point, rather late by usual standards, that she knew love and the wonder it brought along with it. To be sure, there were quarrels and bickering and tears, but it was worth it.

As she thinks back, she realises she wouldn’t change a second of it and would live through it all again if the chance was ever presented.

He taught her the importance of life – taught her to love, to come back to a place where it was alright for her to dream again. He was her sanctuary; therefore, she would never, ever leave him, unless he wished for it. But since he returned her feelings, and kissed her and held her hand and promised he’d give her all that he could ever offer, she followed him, his direction in life suddenly being her own.

She was disowned, but it didn’t matter. If there was something money couldn’t buy, it was love.


There were two more times in which she waited. The first being when she was pregnant, counting down the weeks to the due date, never having been so thrilled since entering through the gates of Hogwarts for the first time. She would sit on a rocking-chair, sing lullabies and feel the baby kick restlessly against her protruding belly.

Then she came and she was wonderful.

Finally, there was the time she waited for both her husband and daughter who were gone, one trying to flee the horrors of the war, the other fighting to overcome them.

She waits for him to come home, until the day that he won’t.

Had she been waiting for him to return safely? She tries to remember, but can’t recall. Probably, she concludes. Which is why the news came as a shock. She had not dared think the mere thought of him dying, leaving her behind, with no hope whatsoever. In the midst of this, she had not even considered the possibility of her falling, closely trailing behind her father.

She waits for her to come home, until the day she won’t.

Life is but one, big waiting room. The day when she herself can walk beyond its walls cannot come soon enough.

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