I've got nothing to say,

It's already too late.

I've got this feeling,

I really should be leaving now.

But I can't believe I'm letting you go.

-"Letting You Go," Gabrielle Aplin

---

August 31, 2007

James' things were packed, had been for days, but he still kept pretending to be busy getting things together whenever he and Elise were both home. Her moods were so hard to read most of the time, and worse, so volatile. He didn't know what to say to her when she was in what he thought was in a good mood, nor did he know what to say when she was feeling low.

James had never been good with emotions. Not with his own (which he carefully pushed under the surface and refused to acknowledge until, every once in a while, they exploded outward all at once) and certainly not with anyone else's. Elise's stoic attitude and disinclination to weepiness had been one of the things that had initially attracted him to her. She was hard, but not unkind.

Recent events, of course, had changed that. So it was a combination of his innate desire to avoid personal conflicts of any kind and his complete inexperience at dealing with an Elise who was anything other than steady, pleasant, and practical that had made him resort to hiding out in the bedroom refolding his socks for the third time while she cooked a dinner for two that they would probably eat in silence.

He was excited to leave, excited to be back at Hogwarts. A new job, a change of pace. And it was a job he'd always wanted, if only in the back of his mind. The Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. He'd been at Hogwarts back when people thought the gig was cursed and no one seemed to last more than a year, but in his fifth year, following the end of the second wizarding war, they'd gotten a steady teacher who'd really turned things around for him. He'd been sparked. And though he'd loved being an auror, he'd always had it in his head that this was the job he'd really like.

He was glad, too, to be nearer to Raigan and Piper who would need all the help they could get now. Though Raigan had kept the house she and Dawson had bought together, he knew she was planning to stay at Hogwarts full-time. It'd be easier, that way, for them to share the job of caring for Piper, and anyway, it was hard travelling with a one year old. Piper required so much stuff.

Most importantly, living at Hogwarts would isolate her from all the memories in that house.

But even as he was making these plans, imagining what his life was going to be, he felt deeply guilty. Worse when he admitted to himself that he was excited to leave. He should have been worrying about Elise, taking care of her. He shouldn't have even put his name in for the position. Probably shouldn't have accepted it when he did, or at least with a stipulation that he would remain in his home, commuting each day to the school. To do so wouldn't have been typical, but it wouldn't have been impossible either.

He shouldn't have left Elise that night.

But as he did every time he had this thought, he pushed it down, deep down, to the very darkest regions of the many things he'd been suppressing for the past month.

He closed the lid on his largest trunk, locking it for probably the twelfth time since it had initially been packed. It was hard to even pretend to be rearranging anything anymore. He decided that, as it was his last night, it would probably be polite to at least attempt to venture out into the living area.

He stuck his hands in his pockets and padded down the hall, automatically avoiding the squeaky floorboards. He passed through the little sitting room, with all the second-hand furniture that Elise had picked out, and their massive jar of beach glass - almost full - sitting on the mantle next to a picture of the two of them at Raigan and Dawson's wedding.

Rounding the corner, he saw Elise, lifting a plate from the counter, one of the old-lady ones with grapes and strawberries and crap all around the lip. James had always thought they were ugly but Elise loved them for some reason. She turned around with the plate just as he entered the kitchen and jumped violently which made James jump too. The plate slipped out of her hands and fell to the ground, shattering all around her feet. Elise stared down at it with her hands still in front of her as though she hadn't let go, and then, as though James had flipped a switch when he entered the room, she sank down to a crouch in the middle of all the broken pieces and began to cry, face in her hands.

James panicked at once. "Elise, it's fine, we can... look-" He pulled out his wand, and waved over the pieces. "Reparo," he said, and they all shot back together, mending seamlessly, but Elise didn't even look up. He flicked his wand again to clean up the rest of the mess, set the plate on the counter and then, slowly, lowered himself down next to her. He reached out a timid hand and let it hover a moment above her shoulder before he placed it down.

"Elise?" he said. Her shoulders shook and her ponytail lolled over to one side, the ends of her hair tickling his hand. James sat back against the counter, stretching his legs out between the island and the wall cabinets. He reached out for her, pulling her next to him. Elise didn't volunteer any explanation for why she had burst into tears, so James didn't ask. He just let her sit there under his arm, and watched the pot on the stove, wondering how many minutes it was supposed to have boiled as opposed to how many it would actually boil for.

Elise only cried a few minutes, but she didn't move for ten more. His shoulder was starting to go numb and he desperately wanted to readjust but he didn't want her to think he wanted her to move even though he kinda did.

Finally she lifted her head, tipping it back to rest against the cabinet. Her eyes fell shut and she took one long, deep breath that he felt shaking. "I think we should be done," she said.

"Be done," he repeated. He estimated that whatever it was she'd been boiling had now cooked long enough to become - depending on its original substance - either a rock or pure liquid.

They were quiet for another couple minutes. "You're leaving anyway," Elise said finally, her voice very quiet.

"Yeah," said James. "Yeah."

Though she didn't say anything else, James got the impression that she was very reluctant to move, like it would finalize something that she both wanted and didn't want. He rubbed his thumb up and down over her upper arm. She took another deep breath and then she shifted forward and stood up, turning off the heat on the stove with a poke from her wand. James remained sitting on the floor.

"Everything's burned," she said.

"It's okay," said James. He wished now that she had not moved. Wished he had said something to her other than nothing.

She wrapped her arms around her stomach, clutching her sides. She had been doing that a lot lately. "I think I'm going to go to bed," she said.

It was only seven, but James just said, "Okay," and pushed himself off the floor. "I'll uhm- I'll clean up."

She nodded, careful not to look him in the eye. She started to go, but James stuck his hands back in his pockets and said, "Elise." She stopped, turning just her head, partway.

"Love you," he said.

She nodded again. "I know," and then after a pause, "Love you too." This time he let her go.

---

But what kind of heart doesn't look back

At the comfortable glow from the porch,

The one I will still call yours?...

Built from all I have torn apart

And my burden to bear

Is a love I can't carry anymore.

-"Breathe Again," Sara Bareilles

---

The next morning when James was ready to go, his things sent ahead of him, Elise followed him over to the fireplace, her arms folded over her stomach again. She wouldn't look at him, and she was frowning, had been all morning.

James didn't know what to say. They looked past each other for thirty seconds before Elise made a jerky move forward. James wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on the top off her head. She turned her face sideways, cheek pressed to his chest. Today her ponytail was sloppy and loose, her hair ballooning out from her head as it tried, bits at a time, to escape the elastic.

She let him kiss her on the forehead, but she still wouldn't look at him. He hesitated before he took a step back to the fireplace, reaching up for the jar of floo powder. He took a handful, but didn't make any other move to leave. He wanted her to look at him. He wanted to see if he could figure out what she had meant by "be done" because he wasn't sure he knew and now, at the last second, he was hoping his inclination was wrong. Maybe he should fight it, he thought. Maybe he should say something. Maybe he should put the floo powder right back, and kiss Elise again, this time on the mouth. Maybe he should say he was sorry.

But James didn't do any of those things. He took another step back, swallowed hard, and said, "Well... bye."

She gave an infinitesimal nod and he cast the floo powder into the fire and was gone.