#guess Aisling could hear this on the radio 8D

[elefseija]

HPHM Fictober Day #1: “So Close”

Fandom: Harry Potter: Hogwarts Mystery Prompt: “so close” Pairing: Barnaby Lee x F!MC Aisling Baskerville Genre: fluff, slice of life (somehow) Rating/warnings: general audience, no warnings~ Word Count: 878 A/N: Here I am, starting this new adventure!!! I’ll try to post something day by day, if not I’ll continue anyway into november, I’M SO EXCITED, OKAY. I’m starting already with something little and easy about my ship: with the prompt “so close” inevitably my mind went into Metallica mode and started playing the initial riff of Nothing else matter and the first lines “so close, no matter how far, couldn’t be much more from the heart”. And well, I had to do something. I suggest for everyone to read this while listening to that song!

@hphm-fictober

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The rain mercilessly beat against the windows of the bedroom. No star could be seen through the glass, just dark clouds and fog, in which the dim lights of street lamps reverberated – not a surprise, as the weather in England could be adorably tricky. It looked a bit like home, where the Liffey flows and the not-so-far-away hills are covered by the fog, and the chilly autumnal air sends light shivers through the skin. She did miss a bit her green, wild Ireland: her job as Curse-Breaker for the Ministry had brought her to Cornwall, where she had been staying for weeks.   Aisling followed with a finger the little drops of water that would lazily stream down on the glass; her other hand was busy caressing Skathi, her snowy owl who had recently come back to her with a letter – that, and wet feathers, and quite a sour mood because of her flight through the rain. Skathi would gently nibble at Aisling’s fingers, looking at the girl disapprovingly: “look what I did for you” her bright, golden eyes seem to tell, but she hooted softly nonetheless. «Yes, Skathi, this has been really kind of you» Aisling replied, a shadow of a chuckle in her voice as she patted Skathi’s head once again. The letter she had brought was still lying open on the bed – already read once and twice. She had recognized the one who had sent her the letter just from the first words, black ink on fine parchment, and a handwriting Aisling had learned to recognize since her school days. The Irish knew she was soon going to pick up the letter again and read it for the third time. «He says he misses me, and he can’t wait for me to come back home.» A shy smile was lingering on her lips – she looked just for one second at her reflection on the glass, and then went back to the bed, laying on the mattress (too hard and too uncomfortable for her). And she did it – picked up the letter once again with utmost care (a darker shade of pink would paint her cheeks). “Mo chrói”, she did bite her lower lip, muffling a pleased giggle – my heart, he had called her, using the first gaelic words he had learnt from her. Sweet Barnaby, who never forgot to write her once a week. Gentle Barnaby, who would always ask her how her days were going. Beloved Barnaby, who never failed to tell her he was waiting for her. (Barnaby, who could make her blush even with just two words written on paper.) Yes. She did miss him. Immensely. “Sjöfn is restless, she spends a lot of time sitting by the window and at night she sleeps on your side of the bed. Sometimes she sneaks near my hand and purrs. I think she misses you.”  Aisling rolled on her stomach, resting on her elbows. (“Well, well, look at that traitor of a cat!” she shook her head in amusement.)She kept reading it again – as Barnaby wrote about his days, how he had cured Cloudjumper the Hippogriff who was now well and couldn’t wait to fly again, how the puffskeins would follow him everywhere in the reserve (Aisling could not stop her amused chuckle, this time, as she imagined the scene), how their house seemed empty without her and how he missed her songs and her voice. She slowly turned to her side, again  – a deep sigh escaped her lips as she shifted the letter just a tad between her fingertips. “I feel restless too. These weeks have been the longest of my life. I want (need) to hug you and kiss you. I can’t wait for you to come back to me; your return seems so far. I really, really miss you-” She stopped reading – Aisling just closed her eyes and brought the letter to her chest. She had learned the last words by heart. “You are always in my thoughts. Please, be safe. I love you, and always will.” She did feel it, happiness mixed with nostalgia hitting her heart with soft yet merciless strength and making her feel like a fool, in love; she swore she could almost sense him, his warmth, his arms gently wrapping around her, his hand caressing her back or his fingers running through her messy hair, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against her chest, his soothing voice repeating those very words she had read, the softness of his hair against her fingertips. So close to her. (It frustrated her a bit her imagination could not compare to the sweeter reality.) And she knew, that last night would be so, so long  – with no sleep, no dreams or nightmares, spent counting the hours and the minutes. Not even the sound of the rain could lull her to sleep (in the distance, a thunder rumbled). The port-key would be only at twelve a.m. The muggle radio was still playing – low and soft was the volume, matching the golden light from the fireplace still casting long shadows in the room. If only Aisling had paid attention, she could have heard it, the long guitar riff: “so close, no matter how far - couldn’t be much more from the heart.”