At first, sifting through her memories was like walking through a garden in thick fog. One could see some few inches in front of their nose but had to be weary of walking into a tree if they moved too quickly. Colors and flowers shone brilliantly to the left and to the right, some more eye-catching than others, and Vince traced a mental path back to those he would remove and place in a vase where they could do no more harm. It was just as he had his hands full and was preparing to retreat when he realized there was something more. Something that by contrast made everything he’d gathered as yet look like plain weeds.
Marriage. Love. Blood.
There were voices, faces, figures Vince didn’t recognize. He saw her face and that of another as words were exchanged, words that tinged the memory with so much emotion it almost made him seasick. There was devotion, plain as any echo to that he knew so well; there was desperation too— maybe even hope. But more than that, as the memory went on, there was anguish and devastation.
I want to be loved, I want to be the first thought in someone’s mind the minute he wakes up and I want to feel his arms wrapped so tightly around me that I feel I might burst.
Here was a sentiment Vince could understand in the deepest, most shuttered parts of his own soul.
I want to feel safe and wanted and I want to be someone’s priority—
A sharp shift in Ms. Crawley’s mind then caused the memories to sway a bit and Vince lost his footing.
Someone’s priority… Her voice was like a marble rattling inside his own skull, shaking lose bits and pieces that frayed against their connection.
(
Not exactly in the way you envisioned… whatever the hell that meant? Vince scrunched his nose delicately, fighting back a response. I don’t envision anything, he wanted to growl back. I just want to wake up next to you whenever you’ll allow. It was all he’d ever wanted. A scrap of reassurance, some semblance of - maybe - a routine? Something like Capri had been a start. Little weekends, moments maybe, where he was allowed to take affection for granted, even just bloody once— )
Vince pulled back, slamming the door shut on his own memories before any more of them could dribble out into their shared consciousness. Had he exposed himself on accident? Was it a failing of his own or a sideeffect of that damn curse? The panic made Vince’s heartbeat echo in his brain, pounding so loud he almost didn’t hear Ms. Crawley’s desperate plea for help. All at once the similarities of their situations dawned on him.
With a rush of emotion that was as uncharacteristic of Vincent as it was potentially foolish, the Slytherin sucked in a breath and brushed his thumb against the woman’s cheek where he still held her. Green eyes searched brown for any hint of hesitation, but he’d already made his decision.
Vince reached into his waistcoat and pulled out a tiny glass vial. In his other hand, he held the tip of his wand to the base of the woman’s forehead. Without a word then, he dug through her mind and pulled free every last scrap of anguish he could find. In the end, it took three vials: one for the memories of the dragon attack, and two for the memories of that
boy. That very one who didn’t deserve to linger in her consciousness at all, but the memories of whom Vincent tried to extract primarily the most regretful moments only. (Maybe, too, some of the gentler, sweeter ones. The ones that encouraged such affection and later anguish.) He knew of only one thing as he worked and that was the basest instinct of human nature not to give up the pleasant and only desire to remove the painful. But memories and emotions did not work that way. One could not remove merely sentiment without complete alteration of the mind’s very fabric of being. (And in his present state, Vincent did not trust his own hand in that respect.)
The last of the thin wispy threads dribbled into their vial like water, shimmering and reflecting the desperation that Vince so readily wished to rid himself of, too. He settled the thing on the ground beside the others and brushed Ms. Crawley’s hair from her face.
“There,” he whispered, voice more gentle than he had spoken to anyone in some time.
“Take in a deep breath and count to five.” It would take some few minutes for her brain to fill in the gaps seamlessly. In the meantime, Vincent picked up the three small vials and turned them over in his hand, debating. He wanted to give them to her. They were, as ever, rightfully hers to begin with but—
The door to the room opened and Vince quickly pocketed the vials, green eyes flashing up to the nurse that had just joined them.
“Goodness gracious!” The woman exclaimed, making haste to assist them to the bed. As soon as Ms. Crawley was situated, Vince cleared his throat and made to excuse himself so she could be checked.
“I’ll just… be on my way.” He had some clearing of the mind to do himself.
Unconscious mind, I'm wide awake,
wanna feel one last time —
(Take my pain away. )
![[Image: vincesig.gif]](https://sig.grumpybumpers.com/host/vincesig.gif)
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