Chapter 26 Unweaving
Deepest secrets,
Closest fears,
All will come undone, unwoven.
I will not be a liar.
Hannah felt violent sobs wracking her body. She could see Mahmoud hovering worriedly over her, feel Malaika’s arms wrapping around her shoulders comfortingly, but none of it really registered fully in her mind. It was all a blur of the past, of that horrible day, of power and glory. And the white hot fury that she had felt on the day she saw her old schoolmate committing the most disgusting gruesome acts. She closed her eyes and let all the silent tears come out, all the tears her heart had been crying since her decision.
The image of a small, green leaf dancing with her power penetrated her mind and, finally, she realized that she was not afraid. She was not ever going to let anyone change her mind or her decision because deep inside her she still felt the tearing, ripping feeling that came with that power.
“I’m a witch!” she declared through tears and suddenly felt very stupid when all the concerned and comforting voices ceased and the kitchen was thrown into a shocked silence.
Jeremiah laughed out loud. It was a long, echoing laugh that threw all eyes towards him and had Malaika’s eyebrows shooting dangerously into her hairline.
“You’re not a bad person, even in my book,” the boy nodded significantly in time to Emmett’s snort, “Just because you ruined one of Emmett’s precious toys.”
“No, you don’t understand!” she interrupted quickly before she could lose her resolve, “I’m a real witch, with magic, and wands, and everything.”
She actively avoided Mahmoud’s gaze and set her eyes on Jeremiah’s…he would understand. He had done the same bloody thing - if you took the unprecedented power that could save the Wizarding World bit away.
“I don’t know what a bloody toaster even is. Wizards live in their own communities alongside the Muggles but we have Secrecy laws enforced by the Minsitry of Magic to prevent anyone from doing magic in front of Muggles so they wouldn’t know about our existence. And those people, you call them terrorists and gangs, but they’re really Wizards. They hate everyone who hasn’t got magic powers like them…like us. They’ve been trying to take over the Wizarding World for years and now they’re so strong they don’t care about doing it all out in the open where even non-Magic folk can see. Evil, disgusting people, they killed my…”
Hannah’s voice cracked and she clutched at Malaika’s hands for comfort, but suddenly, with a hot feeling in her head, she stood up again and looked Jeremiah straight in the eye.
“And I had the power to fix it all, to fight them and defeat them once and for all. I had a special power unheard of even to the Wizards, great, glorious power that I don’t even need this for!” she tossed the wand on the ground and watched it roll for a few seconds.
“I had that power and I ran away! I ran away and I will never, ever, do magic again. And do you know why?”
A short silence followed as she looked into eyes that now mirrored her own determination and rage.
“Because I was happy, bloody dancing, twirling around the room effortlessly reveling in my newfound strength and I killed one…small…green…leaf…”
Hannah bit her lip and tried not to think of Mahmoud’s betrayed face. She tried not to think about all the times he had come back from watching another one of those horrors the Death Eaters left behind and begged her to just tell him how he could stop it or at least understand it. The image of his thin form hunched over the sink, heaving the contents of his nearly empty stomach and crying like a child filled her mind and wanted to make it burst, but she uttered her final, unwavering decision before falling to the floor.
“And I’ll never, ever do it again, if the world’s to be destroyed five times over.”
Mahmoud left the flat.
***
He ran like he had never run before, barely aware of the cold biting at him. Barely aware of the first snowflakes falling around him. White on the black, black world.
He didn’t need bloody snow; Mahmoud had finally seen what he’d been waiting for for a long time. The cold, hard truth. He had one last visit to make to make to a green-painted house with beautiful green trees in the garden and beautiful green lights hanging in the sky above.
He had one last piece of advice to listen to.
His feet carried him up the familiar road. He tread quickly through the memory-filled place as if it would light his feet on fire, but before going into the green-painted house he paused for a few seconds, just staring at it and repeated the words he had heard in his memory.
”When you know that you’re looking at someone so strong, no matter how ugly or different they are, no matter what everyone thinks of them and how poor and helpless they seem. When you see someone like that, and they make you want to go with them to the end of the world and back no matter how confusing and full of thorns and spikes the road is. That’s love, Mahmoud…” her voice trailed off into a smile and she was looking back at him as if it was perfectly natural to be spewing a dreamy, romantic speech to your teenage son.
“It’s not about beauty, or acceptance. It’s not about anything that glitters gold in the sunlight, it’s about the smallest light, the weak, defiant one that lights the world when all the other lights go out.”
Now that was copying from Tolkien and she knew it. Hell, she was probably doing it on purpose. Mat tried to stare back with a blank face, but inside he was very perplexed. He really, really shouldn’t be thinking about how bloody poetic his mother’s ‘be good’ speech was.
Mahmoud took one last look at the beautiful lights hanging in the sky, his mouth moving in time with the end of her speech. “That’s love,” he whispered and walked through the door, a long-lost warm feeling fighting with the cold chill that crept up his spine, “You’ll be proud, mum.”
He walked slowly now, relishing every breath he took in there because he knew he would never be able to come back again. He would never have the courage to take this again. “A man isn’t a man because he doesn’t cry,” he repeated the words he had once mocked; “A man is a man because he has the courage to keep his head high with tears coming down his face. Because he feels.”
He walked slowly up the stairs and went to every room, letting his hand pass over small broken toys and his now-bare feet caress the familiar stained carpets lovingly. He stood on the small green one by his bedside and prayed right there in his empty home, warmth dancing around in his tight chest.
Finally, he reached the last room and opened the door. He stood there silently for a few seconds before going to the desk and finding the small box that contained her glittery things. He found it right away, but it took a while to untangle it from the small silvery mass of the chain, locket and various earrings. He held it in the middle of his palm and wondered at the size of it.
Closing his hand around it Mahmoud walked slowly to the bed and allowed himself to collapse onto it one more time. He slept there again that night and when he woke up, even though it was pitch black outside, he thought it was a beautiful spring day and he was fifteen and going to his very first art show.
He walked back slowly, almost reluctantly, and promised himself he would memorize every corner and every shadow and every stain. Walking though the streets without a lamp was very strange to him now and he felt almost frightened, but when he walked past the small antique shop an old wrinkled hand was waved just as usual Mahmoud decided that there was still sense in the world.
He almost ran now and soon he was tearing up the stairs and through the door to the flat, kneeling beside Hannah’s sobbing form. “What are you doing?” his voice cracked and his mind flew back to the argument and the way he had left so abruptly. Could someone have possibly said something to hurt her? None of them would be stupid enough to hold prejudice because of her magic…at least he didn’t think they would.
“I told her you were the last person that would hate her for being as stupid as Jeremiah but the stubborn girl wouldn’t listen!” Emmett offered.
“What?” Mahmoud felt like he was missing some essential part of the logic as he looked at her tear-streaked face.
“How could I hate the strongest person I ever knew for being just that?”
“But I’m a witch!” she screamed, “And you’re…you’re religious and you don’t believe in it and what they’re doing is disgusting and I shouldn’t have pretended to be a…”
“You didn’t pretend to be anything, Hannah, and I don’t bloody care about all that, because that’s not what it’s about. It’s about you choosing not to hurt anything over glory and power and everything you ever knew.”
He gulped and took it out of his pocket with sweaty hands, but that was the end of his bloody romantic trip. Mahmoud’s mouth clamped shut and it wouldn’t open again for several minutes no matter how much he tried. He felt his face get hot and ducked his head, but the small golden ring that he had seen on his mother’s finger on happy spring evenings was lying exposed in his palm.
“I think the poncy artist is trying to propose, Hannah!”
