confines of gravity || aurélie & antoinette
“Maman!” she laughed, wobbling around her family’s bedroom, tiny feet engulfed in her mother’s ruby red heels that she would not be able to fill until numerous years later. The apartment the family lived in was cramped, hardly big enough to call a home; the kitchen could just fit two grown adults, and Aurélie at the age of eight could nearly touch both walls of the bathroom with her arm span. It was as good a home as any, however. They made it their own, and the three of them were happy. Happier than most families, out there inhabiting three story mansions.
Her mother had just finished preparing dinner, and had popped into the bedroom for a peek at her cackling daughter. “Oh, my little princess,” she said with a grin, lips quivering in an attempt not to burst with laughter as Aurélie tottered up to her mom, draped in an old opal necklace that was once her grandmother’s and an evening dress that was a rusty, deep wine color, dragging across the floor. “Do I look pretty, maman?” the girl said, attempting to spin before tripping over the dress’ skirt. Her mother released a guffaw and picked up Aurélie, setting her on the bed. “My little princess. Give maman a moment, and I’ll dress you up in something better,” said her mother. She pulled the ratty, grease-stained apron off her waist and tossed it into the hamper before picking a small, floral dress from the closet. “I was saving it for your birthday, but it won’t hurt to try it on now, non?” Aurélie clapped in delight as her mother slipped off the evening gown, replacing it with a dress that fit perfectly. “And one last touch, to make it perfect.” The woman grabbed a miniscule crystal bottle from the dresser, the sapphire stopper gleaming in the light. She yanked the top off, and turned the bottle upside-down, finger over the opening. Her mother dabbed the perfume behind Aurélie’s ears and then gave a poignant smile. “There. Perfect.”
Sandalwood. Heliotrope. Rose, jasmine, peach. It didn’t even have to be a particularly good day for the scent to have uplifted her spirits; she would have gone the rest of the afternoon bathing in the warmth of a happy memory.
Today was not that day. Aurélie cringed upon the perfume reaching her nose in the crowded hallway; it was gone just as swiftly as it came, lost in the rush of students bustling to their next class. Yet its effect was not so expeditious. The usually sweet fragrance was sour in that moment, time seemed to delay. Passing conversations became murky and distant in her ears. Tunnel vision darkened her sight and she felt her heart beat in her throat.
Aurélie dove into the nearest classroom, slamming the door shut behind her. She collapsed into a seat, gasping for the air that seemed ever so abundant just moments before. It wasn’t helping. The girl more so fell out of the seat than slipped out of it, and lied on the floor. Slowly, the black shadows that had clouded her vision began to recede, and her palms stopped sweating. She thought she might start to become well enough to at least stagger back to the carriage, until she heard the door open. “Oh,” she said, mustering up as much strength as possible and at least raising herself off the floor, not realising tears streaked her face. “Hello! Don’t mind me, I’m just—just practicing—my, um…nonverbal magic.”
She recognized the signs of panic. The all-consuming feeling of being swallowed by the universe. Her observant eye had caught sight of the Beauxbaton’s girl, her happy demeanor suddenly morphing into something she knew quite well. Antoinette had been no stranger to letting your memories envelope a vulnerable mind. Briefly remembering the way her body shook during thunderstorms, how her hands could never stay still and they ached from being curled tightly into her palms. The memories were irreplaceable. They were ancient ghosts haunting her footsteps, staining her skin and rotting her mind. There was no getting rid of them, no matter how hard she scrubbed them away.
Antoinette had recognized the way Aurélie slipped anxiously into the nearest classroom. One that would soon be crawling with impatient First Years looking for a bit of entertainment. Merlin knew she was never a giving person. She would never sacrifice her precious time to help another. But something had sat uncomfortably in the pit of her stomach as students continued to roam the hallways, ignorant to whatever plagued the girl.
Her long legs had carried her gracefully across the large hallway, slender fingers pushing the door open to quietly slip inside. The sight of her had only served to pluck at her memories. When heated tears pricked at the corners of her eyes only to spill over on the tops of her cheeks. Her eyes were unrelenting as she gazed at her, lips pressed together until she had found the right words to say. “Pick yourself up.” Her voice stern, something she did not let slip into her voice often. “Don’t tell me what’s wrong. I don’t really care. And for your sake, I hope you are able to put yourself together and come with me.” She glanced at her dirtied robe, dust and debris clinging to the fabric.
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