bonfire hearts — rivery au

[Russell Mallory]

4 SEPTEMBER 1973

Hospital Wing
At the start of dinner

The door to the hospital wing cre-e-eaked open. A mess of light brown hair slipped through the gap without looking up, too focused on balancing two napkin-bound halves of a roast beef sandwich in one hand.

The gentle lilt of Nurse Ennes’s voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Drink half of this tonight. It’ll make you feel drowsy...”

He looked up—but the privacy screen between the first two beds partially obscured the patient on bed three. All he caught were the tops of two pale knees, black knee-high socks, and Nurse Ennes sitting at the foot of the bed beside a pair of Mary Jane’s, half-way through an explanation of a melatonin potion.

At the end of it, the Head Nurse turned suddenly, right as he thought to look away.

“Ah! And Nurse Mallory here can keep you company until you’re ready to go up to dinner.”

A hand beckoned him closer, urging him past the anonymity of the barrier to face his first assignment that term. Russell shuffled forward, beef sandwich in-hand.

Blue met hazel.

“Hi.”

[Ignis Fides Rivers]

Sleep itched at the corners of her mind, settling in like a thick blanket that attempted to mute the countless thoughts that wouldn't quiet down. But even sleep hadn't managed to quiet the nagging thoughts – of her parents, of the ocean, of everything that was different and unwelcomely new.

She had gone few days like this, in a state of being inbetween, residing on the periphery of the life that she was supposed to call her own but didn't want to partake in yet. Until someone had mentioned that she'd better go to the Infirmary as she grew more gaunt and still refused any snacks offered to her, to see whether they could help her. At first, she hadn't wanted to go, for surely she was failing if she had to ask for help, but they had insisted until she had dragged her heavy feet towards another still strange part of this even stranger place.

The bed she had instantly been assigned had merely served as an affirmation that she wasn't doing her best, and that it showed.

Quiet save for the few questions that had been asked, her gaze avoiding to meet the Head Nurse's, she accepted the vial that was handed to her. Suspicious of the liquid within, she had doubtfully glanced in the Head Nurse's direction as if to ask her whether she was sure, but had decided against asking it. Instead, she had just compliantly nodded as her gaze fixed on the strange potion again.

“Ah! And Nurse Mallory here can keep you company until you’re ready to go up to dinner.”

Eyes widening in shock to tell the Head Nurse that she didn't need someone else – she still wasn't sure whether she still needed the Head Nurse – a boy shuffled into sight, keeping his safe distance.

“Hi.”

Interchanging her gaze between the Head Nurse and the strange boy, it was after a beat that her gaze finally settled on him.

"H –" 'hoi' died on her lips, and was instantly replaced with a slightly fumbled, "Hey."

The Head Nurse, apparently deciding that her job was done here, rose from where she had been seated on the edge of her bed and left the two twelve year olds to themselves.

"Hey, Mallory." She tried again, assuming she'd used his first name.

[Russell Mallory]

She wasn’t British.

He heard it in the hesitation that split h—ey into two syllables; he heard it in the rounder-than-normal o of Mallory; he saw it in the way she refused to let herself sink into the pressed linens of the infirmary bed, every inch of her coiled and taut and wary.

She wasn’t British, she was something else entirely, something foreign and frightened, and she looked about his age. Nurse Ennes offered no explanation—no name, no age, no explicit ailment—perhaps believing he had caught the important parts from the doorway, or perhaps believing him sharp enough to figure it out for himself. He usually was sharp enough for that, but something about the scene he had walked in on had thrown him.

A tentative smile flickered, “That’s actually my last name.”

He rounded the end of her bed and claimed the empty one to her left.

“Nurse Mallory’s what they call me in here. My real name’s Russ—Russell.”

He seemed to remember the sandwich he held in his hands then. Instinctively, he extended one half to her in a wordless offering.

“Beef.”

[Ignis Fides Rivers]

"Oh." Her mouth snapped shut as her gaze flit from the Mallory-boy to the vial in her hand she wasn't sure where to put before taking half of it tonight. She was still holding it up to eye level, her hand still caught midair where she had first accepted it from the Head Nurse. It took her brain a moment to register the odd position before she hurriedly decided on lowering her hand and haphazardly stuff the vial into one of the blue lined robes' pockets.

Now more aware then before of her position, she pushed herself up slightly more upright from where she had been seated on the bed, the pillows fluffed up behind her to form a backseat whilst her legs lay stretched out in front of her. It was only now that she realized, too, she still wore her shoes. It seemed too late now to take them off.

Her gaze flickered to him again, caught by the motion of him stepping around the end of her bed and take the one next to her. As he sat down on the edge of it, she followed suit to mirror her position by finally slinging her legs over the edge of the bed and come face him.

A slight smile, almost apologetic, flit briefly over her features as if she suddenly remembered that it was only decent to do so.

“My real name’s Russ—Russell.”

Her smile gained a little more confidence.

Instinctively, she reached for the half of the sandwich he offered her, turning it slightly in her hand to inspect the toppings of the sandwich at the cutting edge. And though he had told her that 'beef' was one of the ingredients, the suggestion had followed too quickly on his introduction that she couldn't help herself –

"Your name is Russell 'Beef' Mallory?" It came in jest, paired with a slight tilt of her head to gauge his response to the poor joke made.

"Fides." She recomposed herself shortly after, sticking out her free hand in offering to shake his, "Ignis Fides Rivers."

[Russell Mallory]

It was the unexpected lightness that the conversation had been injected with more so than the humor—although that too he appreciated—that drew the exhale, a laugh, from him. His shoulders trembled and his smile shed the last vestiges of insecurity at the tilt of her head.

And then she said her name.

Accent aside, the odd combination of letters tickled an interest that wouldn’t have shown its head if she had said her name was something undeniably English and undeniably boring, something like Elizabeth or Margaret or Susan or Gertrude. But Ignis Fides Rivers was neither of those things, or, well, the name was neither of those things, least of all the latter.

The girl was yet to be seen.

“Fee-des,” he tried, testing the sharp vowels for himself and then sliding his hand into hers. “That’s loads better than Russell Beef Mallory, I'd say.”

He gave her one good shake, and retreated to peel back the napkin from the sliced edge of his sandwich.

“You’re not from Britain, are you.”

It wasn’t a question, that which he had already deduced, and so he tried to state it as evenly as he could; where, then, if not from here.

[Ignis Fides Rivers]

His laugh, a tint of happiness, felt lighter than the shroud that had been laid over her ever since her parents' demise. It wasn't forced like her new guardian's, wasn't tinged with an almost apologetic sympathy like the social workers', it wasn't forced like her family's had been when they'd bid their last farewells and had squeezed her shoulder in an attempt to offer up comfort. But then his laugh, genuine, lighting up his appearance and evicting any awkward tension from the room.

As if it had always been as simple as someone just laughing. Actually laughing.

Her smile grew into a toothy grin, beamed right back at him, swelling a bit with pride for making him laugh at her, this stranger in this even stranger land who spoke in tongues she wasn't too well versed in yet. Her attempt had been decent, at least.

"I like Russell." She interjected, complimenting his name like he did hers, "It's like the dog– the Jack Russell Terrier."

And she liked dogs. Maybe, she would like him, too.

As he started to peel at the napkin around his sandwich, her gaze dropped to the one she held low in her lap and not quite making a move to start eating it.

“You’re not from Britain, are you.”

"Oh," Her gaze remained pointedly at the sandwich, now slightly tilted back as if she was further inspecting it, "No."

A shake of her head, brown hair shaken loose from where it had been tucked behind her ears. Glancing up to him again, she pushed herself: "The Netherlands."

'The Netherlands' sounded so much stranger and so much more distant than 'Nederland' had ever felt.

"You're from around here though, right?"

[Russell Mallory]

The moment the words slipped free from her lips, there was a click—the sound of it all falling into place.

He was staring at a Dutch girl, and she was either a perfectionist, exceedingly on top of even her nighttime appearance, or that was a new lint-less sweater vest and neatly-pressed blue and bronze tie. It looked starchy still, her tie, without the usual wear of a year or two of constant washing and tying.

A million questions jumped to the forefront of his mind then, the most pressing of all why?

Why are you here, he wanted to ask first, but given her presence there—not just at Hogwarts but in the Hospital Wing on such an early night of term—and the potion she held in one hand, he knew better than to force an answer for the obvious. Instead, he swallowed all his prying questions in a honking bite of his sandwich and tried to play it cool.

Keyword: tried to.

But there was no helping the keen way his gaze seemed to delicately flit over each of her features, never lingering on one place for too long as if they—her features, her name, her accent—were something to be taken in and memorized all at once.

“Yeah, kinda,” he said between chews, “I’m from Rye—in England, not Scotland. Down in East Sussex, if you know where that is.”

He swallowed.

“It’s alright if you don’t. I’m from it and even I forget sometimes.”

Russell imagined his tiny, three-bedroom childhood home on Mermaid Street in Rye was nothing like what she had left behind in The Netherlands. She wouldn’t be too impressed by it if she was from one of those bigger Dutch cities with the towering, tightly-packed houses and canalled streets.

“Are you from Amsterdam? That’s the only one I know.”

[Ignis Fides Rivers]

Strangers met with a teenage curiosity – that kind of unveiled one that came with unashamed open-eyed stares, whilst trying to hide it in plain sight with distractions both of them knew did nothing to disguise their interest. As much as she was a stranger to him, he was a stranger to her. And as his gaze lingered on her, hers flit between his features, the curl to his hair, the way he carried himself and the way he wore his uniform – lined with red – and back towards the sandwich, her new skirt, the dangle of her legs off the edge of the bed.

And though she noted the color of his eyes and of his hair, as well as that kind of boyish fill to his features that came with his age, she also noted that he was staying.

Maybe because he was obeying command of the Head Nurse, maybe because he had nowhere else to be. Or maybe, because he didn't mind being around her. Even if he didn't know her yet, even if he had no particular reason for sticking around.

Nevertheless, she felt grateful that he didn't leave her alone just yet. That, for just a moment, she didn't need to get by on her own.

"I don't know where that is." She answered truthfully, her smile hinting towards apologetic. Neither Rye nor East-Sussex rang a bell, the places sounded hollow to her, far-away and far-fetched things of which she couldn't even begin to grasp at a rough feeling for it.

"What's it like?" It was the best consolation she could offer in that moment.

Finally, she lifted up the sandwich to take a small bite from the corner, chewing slow and deliberate on that one place on a sandwich that never got enough filling. Her mouth simply filled itself with the taste of bread as a result of it.

"No, Eindhoven. That's –" She tried to remember her topography lessons when she was younger, "– more in the south."

Eindhoven, with none of its canals and less tightly-packed houses, had been nothing short of average. A town in which life passed by easily and quaintly, where people simply were. But even if it hadn't been much, it is – was – home.