moondust â—¦ billie

february 2004

Sometimes it was easier not to think, to let his mind go blank and stare at nothing for a while. It was safer than allowing his thoughts wander where he ought not to go. Questions he still wanted answers to, or worse, the constant ache that thrummed inside his chest. It was better to shut everything and everyone out. Phillip tried to bury all of it, the emotions and hurt, the sadness and confusion, all of it, but nothing stayed buried for long. And sooner or later, it was going to drag him down with it.

Standing outside of the common room entrance, Phillip had narrowly avoided potential conversations with classmates returning to the dormitories with a well-placed dirty look; he would only talk to one person tonight. And Phillip knew she'd be back from her Prefect's duties soon, it had been some time since they broke up, but Phillip was still in tune with Billie's schedule. Leaning against the cold stone wall, he could feel the winter chill seeping through tiny cracks in the mortar; it cooled his neck and made him more uncomfortable.

Most of the students had already returned from dinner and free time; the corridor outside of the Ravenclaw entrance was quiet and dimly lit. He squinted toward the silhouette of a person headed in his direction, and as she came into view, glowing in the magical lantern light, Phillip sucked in a breath. They hadn't spoken since January, not even when Winifred had made the mistake of inviting Billie to join them for lunch, and while Phillip had a million things to say, he lost all of them in that second.

Phillip felt broken, like a page torn from a book he'd never finish; hollow. His throat went dry as his hand stuffed into his cloak pocket, absently feeling for the small parcel and the key to the Maidstone house he planned to return.

"Billie?"

@Billie Fay

They’d only been back at school for a month, and Billie couldn’t decide if she felt shocked that so much time had passed since the start of January, or if she felt like it had, in fact, been longer. She’d spent a lot of time in her dorm the past month. She’d skipped some meals here and there, had gone straight to bed at night instead of lingering in the common room. She’d still been studying of course, but it had mostly been alone, and even then… Her assignments, usually handed in a week early were starting to get dropped off on the due date.

For the most part she wanted to be alone. Or, at least if she couldn’t be with who she wanted to be with, then she wanted to be alone. It was difficult to swallow, difficult to think about; she tried her best not to.

The young witch came up to the top of the stairs, and a figure waiting there almost made her jump. "Oh," she said quickly, sounding relieved. The relief didn’t last long, however; it wasn’t just anyone. She’d recognise that tall body, slightly hunched and leaning against the wall, anywh—

Billie.

She went still, feeling an ache in her chest so strong a part of her wanted to turn around and leave. She blinked, thought a lot of things at once, then: "Phillip." It was like the floor had been swept away from under her. Why was he here? Was he waiting for her? She felt a little spark of hope and did her best to stamp it out. She felt guilty that she’d just said goodnight to Killian, even though that feeling didn’t make much sense. She wondered if he knew, if he’d picked tonight on purpose.

Neither of them said anything for a moment, and Billie took another step, coming to a stop a polite distance away from him. Her eyebrows came together slightly, her expression betraying something like concern. “Are you… Okay?” she asked tentatively. If he was waiting for here her — and it was clear to her that he was — then maybe he wasn’t okay. Maybe something was horribly wrong; she couldn’t think of another reason for him to want to speak to her. A part of her was warm to the idea that he might need her, and she felt immediate guilt upon realising it.

Seeing Billie moving toward him had a profound effect on Phillip, shifting uncomfortably as he leaned against the stone wall; space felt like it was closing in. She took every step toward him; the small corridor between the top of the tower stairs and the entry portrait seemed to shrink. It was more like a landing than a hallway, but Phillip certainly didn't feel grounded. His name on her lips sounded foreign and familiar, a distant memory and an open wound.

Phillip had planned this entire conversation out in his head, what he would say, how she would react, and that he absolutely would not, under any circumstances, allow himself to cry. He'd done plenty of that in the last few weeks, but in quiet private places, and even as he reminded himself of the vow, he felt the familiar stinging in his eyes. "Yeah," No. He wasn't, but while sharing emotions with Billie used to be a comfort, now it was a burden. "Are you?" He asked without meaning to and diverted his eyes before they betrayed him. Phillip was a mess; even a stranger could see it. From the dark circles under his eyes to the untied shoelaces. Day-old winkles plagued his uniform shirt; Phillip hadn't even bothered to change after lessons finished today.

"Look I.." He started, pushing away from the wall before anxiously running his hand through messy hair. It stuck up in front, frazzled and unkempt. Phillip had a whole plan worked out, but it had disappeared when he saw her, and now he was scrambling. "I guess I just wanted to give you this stuff." Phillip dug into the pockets of his faded black uniform cloak and pulled out two items. First was a gift wrapped in light blue paper and tied with ribbon; he'd paid extra to have someone else wrap it nicely. The second was the key to the Maidstone house.

As much as he wanted to explain that he had ordered the present in December to make sure it would arrive on time for her birthday, he couldn't find the words. Phillip felt a desperate need to tell her it didn't mean anything, but of course, it meant a lot.

Yeah, he said. He didn’t look it. A part of her felt a touch disappointed; naturally she punished herself for the feeling (honestly, what an awful thing to feel, she thought), but the idea that he might need something from her didn’t stop being appealing just because she knew it was kind of messed up. Her gaze slid from his face, taking in the rest of him; his shirt was creased, hair messy. He didn’t look like he’d been sleeping, and she felt a pang of something in her chest as she looked at his face again.

Was she okay? She wanted to curl up in herself. Wanted to be safe, somewhere far away from here. But then, of course what she really wanted was to be closer, wasn’t it? Leaving wasn’t an option she could take; it wasn’t even one she wanted to have. “Yes,” she answered automatically, quietly, trying to hide her surprise that he'd asked her at all. Did he really want to know,? Was he really asking? Were his eyes damp, or was that the light? She shook her head slightly, nervous to express too much, or move too much. He wasn’t looking at her, and she wasn’t sure if it was better or worse. “I mean, not… Entirely,” she breathed, trying harder to be honest. She felt like it was all very fragile, like any miniscule action or decision would have a hundred times the impact it usually did.

She wondered suddenly what she looked like through his eyes. She could see that he wasn’t very put together. She could tell he was emotional, the way his gaze slid from hers, leaving her grasping. She reached up to tuck hair behind one ear instinctively, feeling self conscious for the millionth time about her new cut. Did he hate it? Could he see that she was tired, too? Billie had to stop herself from swaying a little as he stood up off of the wall. She’d been working so hard to avoid him that it felt especially wrong for her not to lean away as he came a little closer, like she was crowding him, even just standing here.

Reluctantly, she looked away from his face, her gaze falling on the things in his hands. The key was a key, obviously. She hoped he didn't try to explain; she recognised it straight away. The other thing, however... “What’s this?” she asked.

Phillip hated how desperately he wanted to know how Billie was feeling. As if some part of himself was betraying the other by still caring. He wanted not to care, not about how she was, what she had been doing, or whether or not she liked her new haircut. It wasn't realistic, but the teenager felt like if he could just stop caring, maybe it wouldn't hurt so much every time he saw her. Maybe he wouldn't have felt like he was broken in two just because she was standing close to him. Phillip almost hadn't asked. He was at war with himself, but words escaped him anyway, and Billie answered. "not… Entirely," She had said, and he almost tried to meet her eyes before stopping himself.

The gift and the key were a crutch, a reason to keep moving forward with the conversation, and Phillip needed them. "It's nothing," Phillip answered before sighing and shaking his head. "It is a birthday gift for you." He'd spent two days in Hogsmeade looking for the perfect stationery set to buy for Billie. Irritated by all of the sparkly over-patterned ones and almost giving up hope, Phillip had found this one just in time. It was an unassuming set, light pastel-colored parchment with an etching of a wildflower, like the one he'd given to her at the end of his fifth year, in the corner. Nothing extravagant or flashy. And he had been excited to give them to her. Phillip had ordered the set in advance so that he could include the best part, a wooden seal with her initials on the matrix. What a mistake it was, now that he knew her real name.

Thinking about the matrix and the initials he'd gotten carved onto them, Phillip scoffed. He had been such a fool, but at least the irritation helped him move forward. "I ordered them before... well, before everything, and it seemed like a waste to throw it out." That was true, but Phillip wasn't doing it out of a need to be conscientious. As much as he was pretending it wasn't true, he was using it as an excuse to see her. It was reason to have to talk to her that he could hide behind because, despite everything, Phillip missed her desperately.

She didn’t move right away to take the items, out of some kind of loyalty to her plan to avoid him forever (discomfort?), or perhaps a desire to keep him here a little longer (manipulation, then). She felt nervous and flighty, jittery inside her skin, and most of her feelings — longing or questioning or discomfort — shifted into the same thing, after a while: guilt.

“Oh,” she said, relying on the filler word as her concerned frown deepened a little, and became tinged with confusion. She hadn’t expected him to get her anything for her birthday — not that it was entirely unwelcome, or anything, but —

“Oh.” It came out again, more understanding this time. He’d ordered it before. Before. She wondered what he’d say if she described the way her life was split up into these sorts of chapters. He’d probably understand, she thought; his life revolved around befores and afters, too. Before his mother and sister had gotten into that vanishing cabinet. After her. She shook her head slightly, dismissing whatever madness had caused her to compare herself and their breakup to the loss of his family. Undermining their relationship and its impact on him felt wrong, though.

There were too many contradictions.

“I see,” she said, finally pushing herself to close the gap and reach for the gift, and the key. “Thank you,” she said, trying desperately to ignore the way her fingers had just brushed his thumb as she curled her arms to herself. There was some kind of deep, regretful, nostalgic ache building inside of her. The fact that she’d been with Killian minutes ago, feeling comfortable and open and safe, but was now here with Phillip feeling the exact opposite was a juxtaposition that hurt. There was a tenseness in her stomach, a pang at the end of every exhale, things shifting below the surface that felt too powerful to remain so hidden.

She was half a step away again now, and waiting for something — for him to leave, maybe. If all he’d wanted was to give these to her, then shouldn’t he leave? Should she leave? She couldn’t even bring herself to glance towards the common room entrance, though. Her eyes were fixed on him. There was silence for a little too long, and she wondered if he wanted her to go, wanted her to talk, wanted anything from her at all. That ache built and built inside her until she felt like just looking at him was painful. She didn’t look away.

“I cut my hair,” she said quietly, tentatively. It was obvious, but it was the only new thing that had happened to her since they’d spoken. What else could she say? That she’d cried for days? That she hadn’t wanted to come back to school? That she spent an unhealthy amount of time pouring over notes he’d written her, old conversations of theirs that were enshrined in parchment and ink forever? “I, think I hate it,” she said instead.

Waiting for her to accept the items, Phillip felt a new surge of anxiety wash over him. What if she didn't want the gift anymore? Feeling like she had no right to refuse his gift, even though she hadn't done that yet, made his nerves twist into an agitated knot. He was the one who had been lied to for years; he was the one who had a right to be mad. In that brief moment between holding out the parcel and Billie reaching for it, Phillip felt like he was spinning. This was a big mistake; he should have just continued going out of his way to avoid her. At least then, he wouldn't have to find out how much it would hurt when their hands touched.

It was impossible, but somehow, the hole in his chest widened as her fingers brushed against his thumb, and Phillip was unsteady. "You're welcome," He managed, even though he felt like he might fold in on himself and disappear forever into the emptiness in his chest. Phillip took too long staring at her hands, at the delicate hands he had held so many times this summer, before turning to look back at her. He wondered if he should go now. He supposed he had done what he set out to, returning the key and giving her the birthday present, but something kept him rooted here. He couldn't leave yet, even if he wanted to.

"I cut my hair," Phillip's eyebrows pulled together at the sudden and uncharacteristic announcement from Billie. Since Phillip had met her, he had never once heard Billie draw attention to herself in such a way. It caught him off guard, and a breath caught in his lungs. "Oh," He said, peeling his eyes off of her face to look reluctantly at her hair. It wasn't curly like he was used to seeing, but still wispy, and he felt like he knew it would be just as silky as he remembered it; Phillip liked her new hair. He felt guilty at the thought, though, as if thinking something nice was a betrayal too.

"It's shorter," Phillip said quietly because saying anything else was out of the question. He couldn't tell her he liked it, and Phillip wasn't cruel enough to lie and say he didn't, but above all, the wizard refused to say he was sorry that she hated it.

She noticed how his gaze lingered on her hands, and she thought it must be because he didn’t want to look her in the eye. He said Oh, when she mentioned her hair — had he really not noticed? Was this a boy thing? Did he—?

It’s shorter.

He hated it.

“Yes,” she said. A small self-deprecating smile appeared momentarily, in sad agreement with the rest of what he was surely feeling, but not saying. It was only there briefly. “Too short, I think,” she added, with an agreeing nod as her smile faded away, replaced once more with an expression that was a little too intense and emotional for a discussion about hair.

Far too short, she thought. It was barely an inch off of boyish, as Rowen had told her. Despite everything else there was to be despairing about, Billie felt a very specific, deep, sinking feeling knowing that he didn’t like her haircut. She knew she was just being sensitive — that seeing him here, like this, was breaking her heart, and affecting how she was feeling about everything. But she’d been deflecting from the harder feelings for weeks now, and her hair was where she’d poured all of her anxieties. She felt herself tearing up, wishing she had a hat or something. Merlin, she wished she could control herself.

“Sorry,” she said politely, a terse smile appearing briefly as she wiped away the tear that she’d failed to blink away. “I think I should —“

Just then, someone else appeared on the top step. She finally looked away from Phillip, eyes a little round and a little wet as she stared at the third year who was sheepishly slinking up the stairs, clearly heading back to the common room, quite a while after curfew. He hesitated upon seeing that they’d seen him. She knew he’d recognise her as prefect. Billie stared at him for a moment, utterly stunned that their moment had been interrupted. The kid didn’t say anything, just glanced between the two of them nervously like he knew he was about to get in trouble.

“Um, go on, then” Billie said, after a pause. She held her present close to her chest. “Off to bed.” She stepped back as the kid rushed past her with a thankful grin.

There wasn't a lot Phillip could say about Billie's hair without beating himself up. Saying that he liked it, even though he did, felt wrong. They weren't supposed to get along anymore, they had broken up, and they weren't friends anymore. It was such an odd transition. To go from being around someone all the time to being without them entirely. It wasn't as if his thoughts had gotten the message, though, because even though they hadn't spent a minute together since the breakup, Phillip had never stopped thinking about Billie.

Searching for something to say that wouldn't make him feel worthless, Phillip shrugged when she claimed her hair was too short. Even at the height of their relationship, the teenage wizard would probably have been relatively quiet on the subject. He would have said he liked it, that she looked beautiful, but there would not have been a lengthy discussion. Six months ago, that would have been just fine, too, perfectly acceptable and within the range of normal for their relationship. Sometimes they sat together for hours, barely saying anything, and it was peaceful, but now the silence was deafening.

Billie said sorry, and Phillip desperately wished they could go back to talking about her hair as he saw the tear rolling down her cheek. He was supposed to hate everything about her. Billie had lied and broken his heart, she had hurt him, but he couldn't possibly hate her completely. It just wasn't that simple. The wizard opened his mouth to interrupt, but an underclassman beat him to it, and Phillip's glossy eyes darted toward the boy. His face changed in an instant, going from hurt to angry in the time it took the child to reach the landing before the portrait.

When she told the third year to get to bed, it reminded Phillip of the hour. His wizard's watch glowed as he turned his wrist to see the time, he wouldn't be asleep for hours, but that embattled part of him wondered if she was tired."Sorry for what?" He asked abruptly as the portrait closed, and Billie turned back toward him.

Billie kept her gaze down until the young teen had moved past her, and the common room entrance was shut. She’d been a third year when she and Phillip had met. He’d been a prefect, then, so she hadn’t felt so guilty coming back a little after curfew if they were walking together. That student had seemed so young, but he was probably only three or so years younger than she was. Still taller than her though, she noted distantly.

She looked up at him as he spoke, his sentence feeling jarring and out of place. Immediately, it was New Year’s Eve again, the smell of fireworks in the air, smoke lingering on the surface of a still lake. She felt a taste of that panic, and she shook her head slightly, just like she had that night. Small movements. A need to remain contained. Her heart beat faster.

A month of not talking felt like a lifetime to the nearly-sixteen year old. They’d spoken almost every single day for the past year and a half, at least. If not in person, then in letters. In notes. Billie had struggled greatly with her need to constantly check her half of their twin-journal pair, as if his words might suddenly bloom into existence on the pages in front of her, like they had so many times. He didn’t write, of course, but it didn’t stop her anxious need to check that he hadn’t. Sometimes it felt like self-punishment.

A month of no talking, and this was how it felt to be together. Billie wished she could close her eyes and drift back into her mind, turn into nothing much at all, like smoke on still water. But she didn’t, really; If she was wishing for things then what she really wished was that night had never happened. That she could close the small distance between them and fall into his chest instead, feeling substantial and important, wrapped tightly in his arms.

He checked his watch.

Sorry for what?

She blinked away some more wetness in her eyes. Sorry for what? There were so many things. She was sorry for crying in front of him just now. Sorry for imposing. Sorry for lying, and hurting, and having nothing to say — “Sorry for… Keeping you,” she breathed, her gaze dropping again. It was the easiest response to that abrasive tone in his voice, the one she wasn’t sure was actually there or just an echo from more than a month ago. “I should go to bed, shouldn’t I,” she said, her sentence lacking the inflection of a question despite it being one. After a beat, she corrected; “I’m going to go to bed.”

Sorry for... Keeping you," Phillip looked away, clenching his jaw silently in response to her words; he could imagine what she was going to say next, what she had meant to say before the third year had come up the stairs. While Phillip didn't want to be around her right now, forced to find things to say, he also did not want her to leave yet. It was such a contradiction, needing her to go away and stay at the same time. Confused and exhausted, he shrugged. "Yeah, sure," He answered, nodding slowly as his eyes found hers again.

She hadn't opened the gift, and Phillip thought about that too. Did he want her to open it in front of him? What would that mean? When he had picked out the set and made the order for the custom matrix, he had been so excited. Picturing her face when she would eventually open it, he had felt almost giddiness. Phillip had never enjoyed giving gifts. The teenager was the sort to overthink every gift, wanting to pick out something thoughtful but expecting it to be lackluster and unappreciated. He typically stopped himself from finding decent gifts and instead chose something generic from Honeydukes or pretending to have forgotten altogether. Never with Billie, though; he had always tried to find special things for her.

Like the moon necklace, he'd given her last Christmas.

Silently, Phillip's eyes slid off of her face and down her neck, searching for any hint of the silver chain hanging there, but her collar made it impossible to tell. Even if she was still wearing it, Phillip assured himself it wouldn't mean anything. It couldn't. "Uh, yeah..." He trailed off, his eyes falling to the ground and then the hallway, anywhere but her face. Phillip took a step away, turning his back to the wall to let her pass him.

His yeah sure had that same bite, and she winced just a little at the sound of it. She held the key in one hand, her arm wrapped around the other present. Her hand closed a little tighter when he spoke, and she could feel her nails digging into her palm.

Billie glanced up to catch his gaze slide slowly down her face, and down her neck. Suddenly, she had goosebumps, and it was almost as if she felt it physically, like he was actually touching her there. Her skin was tingling. And she knew, somehow, exactly what he was thinking. Distantly, her hand came up to rest by her clavicle, fingertips just resting on the small pendant that was hidden under her clothes. Every time she got out of the shower, she wondered if she should leave the necklace off. Every time she took it off before bed, replaced it in its little box on her bedside table, she considered that it should probably remain there. But every morning, while she dressed, it was the first thing she put on. Her neck felt exposed without it.

She was feeling pretty exposed now.

“Goodnight, Phillip,” she breathed softly, finally releasing a lungful of air she hadn’t realised had been frozen still inside her.

Her vision was blurry as she stepped past him, and she her heartbeat didn’t slow as she stepped into her dorm, or as she changed mechanically into her pyjamas, or as she sat on her bed with the curtains drawn, uncontrollable tears streaming down her cheeks as she unwrapped her birthday present.

Billie's hand moved to her neck, and Phillip sunk. Had she noticed him looking? Did Billie know what he was thinking? Was she wearing the necklace? Suddenly the question consumed him, and all of his thoughts swirled around it like it was the center of the universe. If she was wearing it, did that mean she still cared? He fell into his curiosity, wondering whether he would feel relief or anger if she had decided to stop wearing it.

"Goodnight, Phillip," Her voice broke through the endless chatter in Phillip's mind, and he breathed deeply, nodding silently. Even if he had something worth saying, Phillip wouldn't have stopped her. He couldn't forgive her; he couldn't forget, so what was the use in prolonging the inevitable. It was the end; the wizard doubted he would find another reason to talk to her or that he'd let himself even if he did. Billie moved past him, and he caught the faint scent of the soap he knew she had made by hand; fresh flowers mixed with some herb he'd never heard of. The smell filling him with memories, reminders of all the things they had shared and now lost, and his eyes burned again

Staring anywhere to keep from watching Billie as she walked away, Phillip clenched his jaw so tightly to hold himself together. The corridor was empty now, and Phillip could relate.

/end