Everything Is Eclipsed by the Shape of Destiny

“Everett!” she screamed into the night, glaring at the window in hopes that it would force her brother to appear. “Fucking shit,” she hissed angrily to herself. “Everett, you better wake the fuck up already . . . I – I need to talk to you! It’s important.”

She stood with her arms folded across her chest for a few seconds, impatiently waiting for the lights in his apartment to turn on or for him to buzz her in, neither happened within the one minute time frame that she had wanted it to happen in so she did the only thing she could do, she leant forwards and picked up a rock from the grass.

The rock was small, perfect for chucking at a window to get someone’s attention and had anyone else been throwing said rock, there wouldn’t have been a need to worry, but Emerson wasn’t just anyone, she was a shifter that was unnaturally strong and the small rock in her hand zoomed towards the window, shattering it upon contact and causing such a ruckus, that the lights in the neighboring apartments were turned on and their inhabitants peered through the windows, curious to see who was disrupting their sleep.

Had Emerson been sober, she would have apologized for the noise, but she wasn’t sober. She hadn’t been sober since the movie night with Tonks ended and she excused herself from the house, claiming that she had to grab some stuff from her home in America. Emerson didn’t end up visiting her family home. Instead, she ended up in some rundown bar in the magical district of Guadalajara where the tequila flowed like water and the Mariachi sang of lost love.

In that bar she had remained for well over two hours. She had pounded shot after shot, scaring the elderly men that had spent their entire lives drinking and had never seen a person drink as much as her. They had told her to stop, warning her that if she continued drinking as she was, she wasn’t going to see morning. To that, Emerson simply laughed and poured herself another, drowning her sorrow in Tequila Herradura, the most delicious of all tequilas.

She bought and drank an entire bottle on her own and was a quarter of the way through with the other when the bartender took it from her, claiming that he would not play a part in her suicide. His words angered Emerson and she grew so violent that she had to be thrown out of the bar by five wizards. She fell, face first into the street, colliding against the muddied ground with such a force that her nose broke, but that fixed itself and she was soon stumbling through the magical section of Guadalajara.

Emerson planned on getting a hotel room where she could safely pass out until morning, but when she saw two twins running through the hotel lobby, she found herself missing Everett and apparated to Egypt. She miraculously ended up in front of the right apartment complex but had splinched herself, part of the skin on her abdomen was missing.

That should’ve been enough to stop her from screaming, but Emerson was determined to speak to Everett so she ignored the pain and began screaming for him and after the window had been broken, after the neighbors had stared at her as they would a wild animal, Everett finally threw his curtains open and poked his head outside.

“Who the fuck’s out there?” he spoke, his sleep filled eyes struggling to focus in the darkness.

“Bout time you woke up!” shouted Emerson, completely ignoring his question. “I’ve been waiting out here for like ever.”

“Emerson? Is that you?”

“Course it’s me! Who else would show up here at these hours?” she rubbed her eyes, wiping away some of the mud. “So are you gonna let me in or what? Cuz I'm getting tired of standing out here.”

“Go to the entry and I’ll buzz you in.”

“Not gonna work, you need to get me.”

“Shit faced again,” he muttered to himself. He could smell the tequila all the way from his place on the window and judging from its potency, he knew that his sister had gone overboard. “Be right down.”

Everett shut the curtains. He cursed softly to himself as he looked around the floor for the shirt he’d taken off only a little while ago. He found his shirt beside his guitar and once he’d slipped it on, he grabbed his keys and walked out the door, making sure to lock it behind him. His tired eyes were heavy with sleep as he made his way through the building, but they weren’t just heavy with sleep, they were heavy with worry.

From day one, Everett knew that Bill marrying Fleur was going to destroy Emerson and send her spiraling towards the drink. She may not have believed him then, but his fear had become a reality that she could not ignore. And he knew he was going to have to talk to her about it. He knew that she was going to argue that she was alright, that the drinking wasn’t out of control but Everett would have to stand his ground in order to save his sister from herself.

When Everett reached the apartment complex’s entrance, he was greeted by an Emerson that was slumped against the wall and a shirt drenched in blood. He threw open the magical door and fell to his knees before her, lifting her shirt to see what had happened and when he saw the missing piece of her stomach, he cringed.

Even for a shifter, being splinched was no walk in the park.

The healing process lasted hours instead of the minutes that most other injuries took. The wound would also have to be cleaned and dressed in order to avoid an infection. Everett had helped Emerson when she got herself splinched on two other occasions, both involving alcohol, he only hoped that this time she would finally learn her lesson.

“You’re the stupidest person I’ve ever met.” He told her as he stared at her skinless abdomen.

“What a lovely way to greet someone ya haven’t seen in ages.” Emerson smiled drunkenly.

“Better wipe that grin off your face.” Everett ordered. “You’re a dumbass for having apparated. Especially since you’ve been splinched twice before! Do you like getting splinched? Do you get off on it?”

“Don’t be such, an ass,” she swatted his hands away.

“The only one being an ass here is you.” his expression hardened further. “You know that when you drink, you shouldn’t apparate. It’s the muggle version of drinking and driving and you know it doesn’t work out, but you still do it.”

“I didn’t come here to get lectured!” she slurred.

“Then why’d you come?”

“Because I needed to talk to you,” she replied, her smile vanishing.

“And you couldn’t talk to me sober?”

“Fuck this,” she moved to stand. “If you’re gonna be such a dick, I'm just gonna go home.”

He caught her arm when her body began to sway. “Emerson.”

“Let me go!” she struggled against him.

“So you can hurt yourself again?” he let out a heavy sigh. “I'm not going to let you run off and get hurt again. You’ve done enough damage to yourself for one night.”

“This pales in comparison to the damage I’ve done.” Emerson muttered under her breath.

“Please don’t tell me you killed someone.”

“Can’t say I have,” she pinched the bridge of her nose, breathing in deeply as she did so. “It’s just other stuff.”

“Bill stuff.” he said knowingly.

Emerson nodded.

“We should go inside then. Can’t talk Bill stuff in public.” He placed her arm around his neck and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer so that most of her weight resided on him. “I’ll clean up your gut when we get inside.”

They reached the apartment with relative ease and once inside, Emerson fell on the couch where she waited to be healed. She looked up at the ceiling, counting the cracks to pass the time, counting cracks to keep her mind off Bill’s words.

“Was going to tell you that this is going to sting, but you already know that.” Everett placed the items on the nearby coffee table and pulled up a chair. “Shall we go the organic route or processed potion route?”

“Organic, always organic,” replied Emerson.

“My guess as well,” Everett pulled out the healing cream that he had made two summers ago.

Before Everett could use the cream, he used a special spell to clean the wound and once he finished, he began to apply a generous amount of cream to her exposed body, making sure that every inch was covered and when he finished, he placed a large pad across her abdomen and then finished by fashioning a hemp based fabric tightly around her waist.

“I’ll never understand why you don’t let me use dittany. It would heal that up in no time.”

“Smells like shit.”

“But it’s a miracle worker.”

The pair lapsed into silence.

One that was only broken when Emerson spoke several minutes later. “Guess it’s time I tell you why I'm here.” She took in a deep breath. “You see, I sort of got in a fight today, not with Bill or anyone but with some Death Eaters. I’d gone to visit the Twins shop with Charlie when we were attacked and we fought, had to retreat though because we were outnumbered and that was some major bullshit, but fuck it, that’s not what’s wrong, what’s wrong is the fact that we went to The Burrow afterwards and Bill walked in when I was cleaning myself up and he . . .”

“He what?” asked Everett.

“He started talking about the time he burned me with candle wax and I punched him in the fact.”

“That was a hilarious night.” He reminisced. “You looked like you were going to cry when you told me what’d gone down.”

“I wasn’t gonna cry, I was crying.” She clarified. “But anyways, let me get back to what I was saying. So we were on that and then I mentioned the time we were in Bruges. And he said,” she winced from the pain emanating through her body. “He basically fucking said that it was my fault we didn’t become exclusive and then he had the nerve to tell me that he sometimes wonders what could have been. Can you believe that shit?”

He was at a loss for what to say.

“I was so fucking pissed. I mean, that’s the sort of thing you tell people before you get married, not after. That’s like making someone undergo a gastric bypass and then inviting them to go to a buffet a few days later, that’s bullshit, nothing but bullshit.”

“Well,” Everett began to speak, his voice timid, “Maybe he didn’t wonder that before . . . maybe it took his getting married for him to realize just how much you meant to him and how big a part of his life you were.”

“But that isn’t rad!” cried a frustrated Emerson. “He should’ve figured that out before, when I still had a chance but –”

“You still have a chance.”

She threw her legs over the couch, sitting up slowly. “Fucker’s married.”

“People get divorced all the time.” Everett countered.

“Not Bill though. He swore to love Fleur for the rest of his life and he’s a man of his word.”

Everett threw his head back, allowing a scoff to rush from his lips. “If he were a man of his word, he wouldn’t have been creeping behind Fleur’s back with you, but he did and he did it because he loves you.”

“As a friend!” the word friend tasted like poison on her lips.

“As a woman,” Everett took her hand in his and held it tightly between his two hands. “He shared your bed for three years. That’s not something that a man does with a fuck buddy. Fuck buddies get old quick like, I know that for a fact, none of mine ever lasted longer than four months, but you guys. Fuck. You guys were doing something different than just fucking. It was your friendship being taken to a new level. It was you two sharing intimate moments together.”

She tilted her head to the side, eyes red from crying. “You make it sound like something beautiful, but it was nothing more than a fuck to Bill and it’s stupid to think otherwise.”

“If it were just a fuck, Bill wouldn’t have brought up the topic of dating in Bruges, if it were just a fuck he wouldn’t have told you that he wonders what could have been, but you’re determined to think that he thinks it was just a fuck. Why do you do that? Why have you always written him off as not being interested?”

Her voice was strained, but her words came out nonetheless, “Because I’ve never been good enough for him. Are you happy now? You glad to know that your twin is nothing more than a pathetic love sick damsel?”

“Damsels are women that sit around and wait to be rescued by some hero. That’s not you. You’re a tough bitch, sure you have your moments of insecurity, but everyone has those every now and then. And most importantly, you’ve put yourself in harms way in order to keep Bill safe, so if anything, you’re the hero.”

“You’re just saying that cuz you want to make me happy.”

“I'm saying it because it’s the truth and because I want you to stop drinking so much.”

“I hadn’t drunk since I left Egypt, but I had to tonight. I couldn’t process what he said without the tequila and one turned into another and before I knew it I was fucked up, but I'm feeling alright. I think some of the blood that left was the one carrying the booze.”

“Being splinched is nothing to joke about!”

Emerson arched her brow. “Everything is something to joke about.”

“Your getting splinched isn’t and especially since it happened because you’re drunk.”

“Blah,” she scrunched her nose at him. “I do my best speaking when I'm drunk, only makes sense that I should apparate better.”

“But you don’t and that’s the problem.” He paused before adding. “And your liver dying is as well.”

“I already told you that this is the first time I’ve drank in ages.”

“Doesn’t matter, what matters is that you drank to drown your sorrows.”

“And that didn’t work out right, did it?”

“So fucking hardheaded,” he muttered. “No wonder you were always on time out when I was playing outside.”

“Whatever.” Emerson pulled off her shirt. “Mind letting me, borrow a shirt? I think Tonks would die if she saw me come home looking like this.”

“Shouldn’t she be sleeping?”

“That’s right. Oh man. I forgot she’d went to bed before I slipped out, but still, can I get at a shirt? This one’s to bloody for my tastes.”

A shirt was grabbed out of the laundry basket that rested beside the couch. The shirt was quickly slipped on and soon, Emerson was trying to stand, but she fell back onto the couch.

“Know what I’ll never understand?” she didn’t wait long enough for Everett to answer. “I don’t get how I can talk and philosophize and shit but not walk. That makes no sense. I mean, if I can’t walk right, I shouldn’t talk right but apparently that’s not the way things go. It’s alright though cuz I can crawl and I’ll just crawl out, apparate home and fall asleep so I can take care of Tonks in the morning.”

She was joking. She had to be joking. That was the only explanation that Everett had for his sister saying that she was going to apparate home after he had spent a significant chunk of time scolding her for having apparated under the influence.

“You’re joking, right?”

“No, I really do have to take care of Tonks in the morning.”

“Not talking about that you goober! I'm talking about you saying that you’re going to apparate.”

Her lips formed an O. “Not joking. I have to get going.”

“Then let me take you.”

“Wish I could, but I can’t let you know where Tonks lives it’s a promise I made.”

“Are you being serious right now?”

She nodded. “They said I can’t tell people outside The Order where certain things are and since

Tonks place is a safe house, I can’t. When this war ends, I’ll take you though, Tonks is rad.”

“If I can’t take you then spend the night here and I’ll set the alarm for the morning.”

“Have to get home.”

“Emery, don’t be unreasonable.”

“I have to get home so be a dear and just don’t worry. I’ll owl you when I get home.”

They bickered back and forth. Everett was determined to keep his sister in one piece, Emerson was set on returning to England, she had made Tonks a promise and she fully intended on keeping it. The argument was a long one and by the end of it, Everett was so annoyed that he told his sister that she better owl him the moment she was in her room, because if she didn’t, he was going to hunt her down and challenge her to a fight in their jaguar forms.

Emerson agreed to his demands and left.

She had fully intended on returning to Tonks place, that had been the plan all along but the moment she closed her eyes, she found herself envisioning Shell Cottage and before she knew what she was doing, she was sent hurling onto the garden in front of Bill and Fleur’s. Her landing was far from graceful, it was loud and informed the inhabitants of Shell Cottage that someone was roaming the premises so they ran out, wands drawn to see what all the noise was about and that was when they saw Emerson lying on the patch of flowers that Fleur had so carefully planted.

“What are you two doing at Tonks’?” inquired Emerson from her place on the ground.

“Zis is not Tonks ‘ome.” Fleur spoke.

“Really?” her eyes landed on Fleur. “Well I fucked up then. I’ll be on my way.”

“Wait,” Bill lowered his wand. “You’re drunk. I can smell the tequila on you.” he shook his head in disapproval. “How can you drink after everything that happened today? Even by your standards that’s reckless. I mean how, could you possibly –” Bill was silenced mid rant.

“Ginger! I didn’t come here to get yelled at. I didn’t mean to come here at all so leave me be cuz I ought to be getting home right about now.”

“Bill, she is drunk, you can not let ‘er go like zis. She will get ‘urt. Marceau is in ze guest room with ze large bed, but ‘e can stay in ze other one and Emerson can stay zere.”

Emerson rolled onto her belly, slowly propping on her knees so she could stand. “Really appreciate it Fleur but I gotta go home.” She managed to get onto her feet and wrapped her left arm around her waist, applying pressure to the gauze.

“Fleur!” an unknown voice rang. “What is going on ‘ere?”

A tall figure appeared at Fleur’s side. His silvery blonde hair shining in the moonlight much like his sisters, his deep blue eyes shone with curiosity and his wand was held tightly in his right hand.

“Zere is no need for your wand.” Fleur told him.

“What was all the noise about zen?” he asked in his thick French accent.

“Ah, Bill’s friend, Emerson apparated ‘ere, look,” Fleur motioned to Emerson whom was struggling to stay standing. “Emerson, zis is my –”

“Emma Figueroa, it ‘as been long since I see you.”