You Don't Know You

Mairen was not angry or confused anymore. She was tired and convinced that her view of the happenings two weeks ago was entirely accurate. Instead of being angry with him, she was simply unable to stand another day of waiting for him. Another day of wondering if he had been cruel or chivalrous. On the one hand, he could have been trying to leave her without sending her away. He could’ve been giving her somewhere to stay. But on the other, more probable side, he had just left to see how long she would stay. To keep from having to ever explain, either.

The rational side of her knew that the latter was less likely than the chivalrous thing. But then, neither quite seemed like the man she knew. But how well did she really know him? They had only met a little over five months ago. It sometimes took a lifetime to know someone as well as she should have known her husband. It didn’t seem likely that she would get that chance anymore, though.

One last glance around what used to be their room but was now merely a room, and Mairen let her gaze fall to the bag she had packed. She had spent the past three days going through the flat and debating whether or not she should leave things where they were or not. Surely if she were leaving she should take things with her, right? Not all of the things she called hers were truly things that belonged to her, though. Many things had been bought by him, and not her, and such things were not packed into boxes with her very own personal items. No, indeed, those were left for him to choose what to do with, if he ever returned.

How much does your life weigh?

She had heard that question before, but never thought to actually question it. The things in this flat didn’t matter as much as the people she wanted to carry along with her. Those were the things that made up the heavy weight on her shoulders. Even though she would leave the flat, Mairen knew she was taking the weight of her husband’s departure with her. Surprisingly, she hadn’t cried in days.

The night before, she had cast a charm on her bag to extend it and leave room for her boxes. Luckily, there was a charm that made the bag equally efficient for carrying without killing her arm. She had given herself the night to change her mind, but come breakfast she just couldn’t wait anymore. See, Mairen’s first instinct had been to go to an airport terminal, and just pick the first place she felt drawn to. But then it registered that in losing what she had with Scorpius, she had a potential for repairing her relationship with someone else. Her father.

So it was to his door that she went, pausing in front of the grand house and wondering how she had ever been impressed with it before. The villa was one that seemed out of place if one realized that they were still in England. The Graves home looked like it was been misplaced, taken from some Mediterranean country and dropped in the countryside of Northeastern England. A frown crossed her face as she realized this could have been her childhood home. Instead, she had gone along with a mother who didn’t want her because she would end up too much like her father. Staying with him hadn’t been an option, though, realistically. He was always touring and wouldn’t be around to take care of her, even if he had wanted to.

She blinked away the memory of Scorpius saying he hoped she had someone to take care of her, forcing her feet forward so she could open the front door. For all she knew, her father wasn’t even there. Mairen set her bag down in the front hall, content to let it settle there until she became brave enough to unpack things. She wasn’t sure she ever would be. Stepping into the main room of the lower level, she glanced around, wondering after the strange items strewn around the place that she was certain did not belong to her father. She understood, though, that it was not possible that he had found someone new. He had never considered actually re-marrying after Mairen’s mum.

She wanted to call out to him, to let her voice echo off the high ceilings of the foyer. The sound would have dissipated before she nodded and accepted the fact that either he was not there, or she would have to search for him. The house was far larger than one man needed, so she started towards the study in an attempt to imagine her father ever sitting behind the desk that room provided. She let out a shocked gasp when she opened the door and actually found the man sitting there. She paused, eyes wide as the door creaked and caught his attention.

His head jerked up in surprise, blinking at her as he tried to accept her being there. “Sophie,” he murmured, standing to walk around the desk and move to greet her.

Dad, you know that nobody calls me that. She wanted to complain, letting her head tilt to the side in a show of exasperation that wasn’t quite real. In truth, she was amazed at the smile that curled itself across Merton’s lips. The gesture didn’t last long, though, when he realized she wasn’t answering. His brow furrowed in concern, stopping in front of her. “Mairen, what’s wrong?”

Her expression must have been one of fear or anxiety, because he didn’t even ask if her mother had sent her. Biting her lip, Mairen brushed past him to search the desk for paper. She didn’t even bother wondering if he knew any bits of the sign language she had been trying to teach herself, instead jotting down an explanation. She glanced up at him mid-sentence hair falling over her shoulder as he stared at her.

I was in an accident, dad. Before the wedding. My voice may not come back. And I ended up living alone for a while and got tired of it. Decided I’d visit.

It took every ounce of strength within her to not chide him for avoiding the wedding. For not knowing. But it hurt just as much to not explain her situation with Scorpius. As expected, he didn’t even question the fact that she had been alone. Instead, he just frowned at the paper, and then at her. “I’m sorry that happened.” He offered quietly, clearly unable to express whether or not he meant that. “And I’m sorry you were lonely.”

Well, she mused, at least he caught on to part of it. He folded the paper and tucked it in his pocket, as if he would forget the information and need to be told again later. He probably would be, Mairen knew, depending on the substances he found himself using later that day or later that week. She didn’t try to write him anything else, which was lucky, because he was already turning to direct her out of the study and into the main part of the home once more. Reaching out a hand, she tried to catch his attention once more, but merely ended up dropping her hand when he passed out of reach.

“Oi, Viola!” Merton called, giving Mairen a start as she jumped and froze in the doorway. So she hadn’t imagined all those new things in his house? Who was this Viola and why had Mairen never heard of her? Even through her mother? Turning to his daughter, Merton added, “You’ve still got that room of yours if you want it, Sophie. Of course. And I’m sure you’ll like Viola. She’s somewhere around your age, after all.”

Mairen’s jaw fell open, anxiety slamming into her. Her father was not so stupid that he would consider a relationship with someone near her age. No way. But the way he phrased it was so entirely… suggestive of that possibility. He didn’t catch her look, however, and instead turned to lean around the staircase’s banister to look up the curling steps after whoever was in the home.

(OOC: Have to say, I loved your final two paragraphs)

Merton Graves was the celloist for the Weird Sisters, perhaps the most successful wizarding band in the history of music. When Viola had first discovered them they reminded her of the Beatles, success-wise, although there music was a tad more rocker. In spite of that Viola naturally found herself a fan of her music and during the time she worked on her album the singer-songwriter found herself travelling to England on occasions for a writing session with them.

Of course Viola wasn't still in the process of making her own music. She'd wrote and released her entire debute album in France along with all the singles spawned from it. Her music had hit Europe like an earthquake, with France being the epicenter. In spite of that there was still one country that were awaiting the arrival of Viola Roosevelt. Great Britain.

Viola moved to Britain in March and had finalised the British version of her debute album at a slightly earlier date than she would have liked thanks to her manager Rudolphus. Rudolphus and Viola had an unusual relationship, sort of a love-hate. They didn't really get on as friends, in fact they kept their entire relationship professional, but the professional relationship the pair had was strong. You could say part of Viola's success was because of the relationship. She wasn't the type of person to get walked over by her management team, but then didn't over-step the line. Viola had made it very clear from day one that she didn't want to be your average musician controlled by the label, likewise the label had said they wanted a lot of control over her. Opposite attract some may say. Either way the pair had found a balance and it appeared to be working.

Rudolphus was an experienced manager. He'd managed the Weird Sisters for a period of time and it was that relationship that landed Viola in Merton Grave's North-Eastern British mansion. Viola was raised in England up until the age of eight but she no longer had any family members to stay with, a room in the Leaky Cauldron every night would be pricey, which left one alternative. Living with one of the weird sisters.

'Oui?' Viola called, putting on a strong french accent just for fun. Although the witch had attended Beauxbatons and spent her life there from the age of eight in the past eighteen years or so Viola hadn't lost her english accent. It was still there. Of course whenever she was in France Viola spoke french, nobody noticed, but now she had returned to her home soil she was regurgitating it as though it were only yesterday. Nonetheless, Viola did enjoy imitating the french accent at times - it was just the fun kinda of person she was.

Wearing a light flowing dress over a bikini (Viola had been getting ready for a swim on her day off whilst the weather was glorious) the songstress made her way down the elegant staircase, her hand trailing the banister as she did.

'We have a visitor?' Viola asked obviously, with a smile reaching the bottom of the staircase. 'I'm Viola and you must be, Mairen?' The witch guessed, extending a hand to shake whilst giving Merton a quick glance to confirm her suspicion.

Outfit that I didn't know how to describe

Mairen’s eyebrows rose at the French called down from the second level of the house, somehow still amazed that her father managed to get into situations as insane as the one he seemed to be in then. The next thing she knew, a brunette wearing the most strange swimsuit cover she had ever seen came walking down the stairs. The girl, definitely around Mairen’s age, smiled and offered a hand for Merton’s daughter to take.

After only a breath of hesitation, Mairen did so, placing her hand in Viola’s and nodding. She didn’t even bother opening her mouth to make a point. Surely her father would say something? How did he know her anyway?

“Right you are, Viola,” Merton returned, not even bothering to explain Mairen’s silence. She shot him an annoyed look, which seemed to puzzle him for a moment before he sucked in a breath as if realizing the situation called for his intervention. “Oh, yes. Viola, Sophie, here, was in an accident of some kind and cannot speak. She seems to be okay with writing notes, so there’s that.”

Dad… Mairen groaned mentally, closing her eyes and pulling her hand from Viola’s. Clasping her hands behind her back, Mai opened her eyes and stared at the floor.

“Mairen, Viola is a singer – you might have heard of her. Viola Roosevelt? I know her manager, and she needed a place to stay while she’s in the country promoting her music.” Merton smiled at the brunette and Mairen’s heart sank a little.

He was more impressed with this musician than his daughter who was had technically solved a murder. Yes, she had sworn not to say anything, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t figured it out. Mairen couldn’t hold anything against Viola, though. The girl seemed sweet and outgoing, which she herself used to pride herself on. As tempted as she was to collect her bags and head up to her room, she remained. Covering up the disappointment on her face, she turned to look at Viola again and offered the kindest smile she could manage in that moment.

Besides, nothing her father did could be as painful as what her husband had done.

So Mairen had been in an accident and couldn't use her voice. The worst nightmare to any singer, Viola wouldn't know what she would do if it happened to her. She supposed that she'd continue to write songs in between trying to find a cure. If push came to shove the witch would be able to overcome her problem but the British-born French songstress loved to sing just as much as she enjoyed to write, to lose her voice would mean losing a part of her soul.

'I'm so sorry to hear that.' Viola said sincerely, her eyes rounding slightly. 'Have you spoken to anybody about how you can get your voice back? Any healers? Maybe even a muggle doctor?' Viola suggested with a shrug. Then. Her mouth opened slightly allowing the singer to bite her song.

'Sorry, you, you can't speak.' She apologised with uncertainty feeling as though she'd trodden on egg shells already. 'How about I help you take your belongings upstairs?' Viola offered in hope that it would repair her forgetfulness. She'd asked another question but all that was needed was a nod or shake of the head.

Mairen had thought of all those things. Doctors, Healers, everything. But Healers knew it couldn't be fixed, and Muggle doctors didn't have a clue. Turns out they were merely interested in studying her, which scared her almost as much as the idea of Scorpius coming back right after she left and feeling as betrayed as she did.

Though, frankly, she wouldn't have felt as bad about that as she should have.

On the plus side, she supposed, this new problem had led to a multitude of new studies. Sign language, computers, all manner of spells that would write things out for her. It wasn't convenient or anything like that, but it would suffice. It had to, she mused darkly, though she kept her face blank.

Mairen had long since stopped forgetting that opening her mouth would do her no good. In fact, the day after the accident she had learned that lesson quite well, when she attempted to actually say her vows in front of everyone and failed. In some of her darker moments while waiting for Scorpius to come back, she had delved into asking why he left, and often came up with answers that just made her ache inside. The only option that came up every time was her silence. Who like to talk all day without hearing anything back? Unless someone were especially vain, Mairen couldn't picture it, and Scorpius wasn't so bad that he would be that type. But it also begged the question: How long did she really think he would put up with her morning "ritual"? It wasn't fair to him, she knew, but the habit surely hurt her more than it hurt him. Each morning when she tried so desperately to hum her favorite childhood tune, she failed, and he was left to handle her despair.

Failure on any level surely hurt her more than it hurt him.

Realizing that a last question had been asked, Mairen blushed lightly before nodding. She felt a bit guilty about letting the girl help her, considering that she was a guest, but at least Mairen would have the potential of someone being there as she unpacked. Then she wouldn't be allowed to get all depressed, and she wouldn't risk tears falling in the silence of her childhood bedroom. That sounded even more upsetting than unpacking the things that should have belonged at his flat.

Leading the way over to her bags, she took up the heaviest two, leaving a light one for Viola. The burden of carrying the bag she let the other woman carry would have been more than the two she selected combined, knowing that her boxes were inside. So it was upstairs and to the right that Mairen went, pushing the door open with her foot and shuffling inside to set the bags at the end of her queen-sized bed. At least nothing had changed, she thought gratefully. That meant that - yep. Her things from the great-grandparents on her mum's side were still there.

Mairen knelt in front of the large closet and reached into her bin of Muggle supplies, drawing out the whiteboard she had always been so amused with, and felt proud of herself for remembering. Hopping onto the bed, she curled her feet under her and started writing a note to Viola.

Don't feel bad. I've been like this for months now. I just never expected my dad to find out. Or my mom, actually.

Taking the bag that was left, which felt a lot lighter than Viola had expected which suggested Mairen had been polite and taken the heavier of the lot, Viola followed the woman to her bedroom.

Viola had been in the bedroom before, really it was probably rude to have explored the house but the singer had been curious, was that such a crime? Thankfully it was a crime Viola wouldn't need to get into, Mairen didn't know she'd already been in the bedroom and Viola didn't feel the need to bring it up anyway. That was a thought though, what would she bring up?

If Mairen couldn't talk then how could Viola make her feel comfortable. Viola was chatty. She liked to engage in conversation, heck she used her voice for a living. It was how she related to people, made people believe in the words that left her lips but that could soon become a problem. Sure she could waffle on to Mairen but would that only remind her she couldn't speak? That she could barely communicate back.

Dropping the bag by the edge of the bed Viola peered over Mairen's shoulder. What a genius. Using a whiteboard to communicate, just as the teachers at primary school had used. Viola hadn't know at the time, she was what, eight? But the teachers would talk and write cues on the board so the student could absorb what they were saying even more. The whiteboard may seem alien to your average wizard or witch but Viola was muggleborn.

'What kind of accident were you in, Mairen?' Viola asked conversationally whilst reaching down and extracting a plant from the bag. 'Where do you want this?'

There was a lovely spot on the dresser table for the potted plant, maybe on the windowsill. If it was up to Viola she would have put it straight there so it could get lots of light but this wasn't her room. It was Mairen's, despite the snooping earlier in the week.

How much could Mairen get away with saying? That was the real question at hand. She half wanted to write out the whole story. And maybe she would one day, just so someone else knew the total compilation of all of her issues. Perhaps Viola was one that Mairen could trust with that information.

A tight smile appeared as Viola either avoided the question of why Mairen's parents would never know she couldn't speak, or chose not to ask. Either way, she was oddly grateful. Gesturing to the desk near her back wall, Mairen began erasing her first message so she could put up a new one. The room was oddly familiar, even after years of being away. The long walls were covered by a daybed, with a desk and armoire opposite. The far wall was three long windows and a seat that connected the three of them. Most of her books were stored in the built-in shelving there, and Mairen knew she would end up going through them later just to see what all was left.

I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, really. Mairen wrote, showing it to Viola before continuing. Two people were fighting and they both hit me with hexes at the same time. She hesitated slightly before adding, The day before my wedding.

She turned the board around and sat it upright on her legs where they now dangled off the side of the bed. Pushing her hair back with one hand, Mairen frowned before capping the marker and offering a shrug in Viola's direction. Turning to the bag she had set down, Mairen opened the zip and started pulling out clothes to stick them in the armoire and attached closet in the corner next to her bed.

Mairen had given away her biggest bit of information, in some senses, because as far as she could tell, the Malfoys - rather, the rest of them, considering she was technically one of those now - were after her for Scorpius's leaving. She felt it was a safe bet to assume that Francesca, if no one else, blamed her. And Mairen couldn't quite manage to be angry with Cesca even if the girl really believe it was Mairen's fault. Even the redhead herself assumed it had to be. At least in part.

Her hand came up to tug on the ends of her hair - a habit she had taken to after a few months of wishing her life was different or that she had just not gone to get them lunch that day but instead let Bibby make something. The elf would have loved to, Mairen was sure. But there was that rule about not seeing each other just before the wedding and it had driven her to avoid the department during the break hour so she wouldn't be tempted to walk down and just walk right into his office.

But then, Mairen remembered that Viola wasn't from Britain. There was a high chance that the woman wouldn't even know of the Malfoys. Well, not extremely high, but hopefully Mairen could rely on those chances when it came time that she had to tell Viola who she had become.

Viola didn't reply, at least not immediately. Instead she placed the potted plant on the desk against the far wall. It was a good location, again not that location Viola would have chosen but the songstress was willing to let that pass considering the fact if she objected and placed the plant on the windowsill then she'd be being a bully. Mairen couldn't speak. She wouldn't be able to shout her down, not that the position of a potted plant was anything to shout about but right now Viola felt uneasy, unsure on how to act around Mairen.

The day before her wedding day? Those words rang in Viola's ears. She'd spent two years in the tabloids, surrounded by gossip columns, celebrity spills and other nonsense Viola didn't tend to pay much attention to. However, one thing she had learnt was that every story has more to it. Sometimes it has more truth. Occasionally the story published would be full of crap and some journalist was attempting to blackmail or pull some sort of trick card out on the celebratory victim.  

Usually the stories involved one person sleeping with another person. Most often the case they were exaggerations. Viola herself had been caught in a media storm one point regarding this. She'd accepted the hand of another singer when walking down the stairs, which mean't that they had been secretly banging for four months. The next day she was pregnant because she was soon buying a large amount of banana's then the day after that he'd taken a flight to Spain to 'escape the troubles that a miscarriage brought.'

The difference between Viola's experiences and Mairen's is that Viola is a starlet in France who couldn't order a takeaway pizza without the media turning it into a story that involved her falling from a broomstick, injuring her leg and being unable to go out to buy a pizza. Mairen on the other hand was probably reasonably known? Yet in all Viola's time in the spotlight nothing happens coincidentally the day before a wedding.

'Was one of them the groom? The other a something on the side? He didn't want you to get married so tried to see off your fiance?' Viola asked half-jokingly, half-serious. Viola wasn't one for wanting juicy details, in fact she didn't really care if Mairen had been sleeping with hundreds of men, nor did she care the reasons behind any bed-sheet tales. Instead she just said it as it was whenever she could.

Being famous, and being an icon at that, mean't that she was restricted in how she could behave. Her manager, her wonderfully annoying manager, never failed to remind her. When the public eye was on her Viola didn't hold back, she was confident and charismatic still but didn't care what came out of her mouth. Freedom of speech was not something everybody had and Viola knew just as much as Mairen what it felt like not to be able to say whatever you want to. Unfortunately, unlike Viola, Mairen seemed to be forever restricted.

Mairen envied Viola, but not for the reason most people her age probably did. And definitely not for the reason those younger than her undoubtedly did. No, she envied the fact that even with all that must have been thrown her way, Viola still managed to appear bright and reasonably happy. She envied the fact that Viola probably didn't know a life like the one Mairen found herself trapped in.

That's what she felt, after all. That she was trapped. It was the opposite to how most people would use the word, but she was trapped inside herself just as much as she was trapped by the dislike that the Malfoys so obviously held for her. She had been utterly convinced that it was true of all Malfoys bar one, but even he had somehow been upset with her to a point where he couldn't be around anymore. The only question that remained, then, was what had triggered his leaving. Something had to have changed, but she couldn't put her finger on it no matter how hard she tried.

Turning her head at Viola's questions, she managed to find a smile to offer, though she shook her head all the same. Leaning over the bed, she took up the marker and board again, erasing what she had left there.

It was an accident, and I didn't know either of them. Wrong place wrong time, I guess. It's not like I didn't turn around and go through with the wedding anyway. Law and all, though I'm not sure you're dealing with that?

Returning to her bag, Mairen knew full well what she had opened herself up to. The curiosity that would inevitably follow regarding the mysterious absence of the unknown husband. But eventually it would come out, and then the bridge could be crossed sooner and without any real issues. Mairen wouldn't mind that one bit. What she needed was some sense of closure. It wouldn't come without knowing what happened to him, but taking the proper steps towards being able to talk about it would certainly help when the time came. She could only hope that Viola would understand her desire to stay in and keep more or less to herself. It was so unlike her, if Mairen was being honest, to not want to stay up late and chat with whoever would listen. But she hadn't been able to for months and the habit had inevitably started to leave her.