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The Gloaming of the Gods	By : Gracelynn Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 1678 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 8
- 9
- 10
The little brown sparrow rode on the edge of an air
current spanning the deep, murky lochs and long blankets of green until it
finally reached a dark mass of forest. It swooped down and winged along the
tops of the trees before they broke around the heaping old stones of a castle.

The little bird found the man
easily. He was sitting by the side of the still lake, watching the fading sun
paint colors on the sky. He turned his attention to the sparrow as it landed
gently on the ground beside him, and took the proffered piece of greenery from
its beak.

A blade of lemongrass.

The little bird waited until the man
was once more looking at it, then stretched its brown-feathered wings and flew
into the air, over to a large oak tree at the edge of a small clearing. It
circled the trunk three times, and then disappeared into the gloaming.

That night, with the lemongrass
pressed beneath his palm into his bare chest, Albus saw her walking barefoot
through his dreams. She came quietly to his bed and pressed moist lips to for forehead, then walked out across the grounds and disappeared up the oak tree.

~~**~~**~~

Freya was sitting there on a low
branch the next evening, waiting, as Albus approached the clearing. He pressed
his cheek against the arch of one bare foot peeking out below her voluminous
traveling cloak.

�I�ve missed these feet.�

She cupped his jaw line in her hands
and brought his face up to hers. �I have missed this man.�

They rested forehead to forehead,
separate breaths mingling together into warm currents that flowed between them.

�You never told me that you were a
dream-walker.�

The corners of her mouth curved
gently. �You are not the only one who made good use of our time in India.�

�Perhaps I was more focused on the
part of the day when I returned to you.�

�That was the best part.�

Her long fingers combed through his
unbound hair, smoothing and separating the auburn strands.

�I found some gray in there, you
know.�

�How distinguished! And they are
silver, Albus. I can see them now. You must grow your beard longer, too, and
look the part.�

�I�ve kept it cropped so you could
have better access to my neck, my dear. I do like the feel of your lips�and
imagine having to wade through my whiskers to reach it.�

Freya responded by running her mouth
along the side of his neck. She rested her head in the hollow of his collar
bone for long moments.

Albus broke the silence quietly.
�The questions beg to be asked, and yet I cannot give voice to them. I suppose
the time of no boundaries is gone.�

He watched her turn her face away,
and made no move to stop her. �You may have all of me, Albus, which is free to
give.�

�Already there is a space between
us.�

She turned back to him, eyes
shimmering in the fading light. �My father died with peace in his heart. And
Drachus�he is a good man. He is kind and asks very little from me. He is not
you, and that is all there is to say.�

�Not all.� She searched his face,
and he continued, �I am holding another man�s wife. And I cannot think of her
as anything other than mine.� He smiled wryly. �But that is not the case. I
know you, Freya. I know you down to the rhythm of your breathing, sleeping and
awake. I know the weight of every part of your body as it feels in my hands,
and that is not all there is to say.�

She was silent for so long that her
touch on his fingers startled him. She pulled his hand down between them, and
pressed his palm to her belly. Albus closed his eyes against the strangled
breath caught in his throat. His fingers flexed convulsively, and slowly he
became aware that the moisture on them was from the tears running silently down
her face and dropping from her chin.

�Aye,� he finally managed.

�I won�te age again,� she whispered
shakily, �while I am childbearing. I can�t bear to hurt you more than I already
have.�

Her hands moved over his face one
last time, and as they tangled in the ends of hisr shr she kissed him softly on
each eye, then found his lips. The kiss was salty and sweet; fierce and gentle
at once, and entirely too much like goodbye.

~~**~~**~~

�You remind me of Penelope.�

Freya started, and looked up from
her weaving to see Drachus watching her from the hall.

�Not Arachne?� she asked lightly.

He touched the archway with his
hand. �No, Penelope. Weaving all the day, unraveling all her work through the
night. But always waiting and always watching. She might have begun to wonder
if what she was looking for was just a shadow on the wall.�

The wary quiet stretched out until
it became a silence. Freya sat motionless long after the sound of his footsteps
had died away, then picked up pile of wool. She watched the thread pulling,
stretching and coiling on the spinning wheel, and how the deep red of it wound
around the spool, waiting to be woven into the fabric on the loom. She could
almost imagine that it was her heart, flayed open and pulled from her chest. A
tangible trace of love and pain waiting to be shaped into something beyond its
own transient meaning.
- 8
- 9
- 10
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The Gloaming of the Gods