Igniting The Flame

The next few days passed quietly. Hope spent time with Newt and avoided Albus, and fortunately for her, he seemed to know she didn't want to speak with him right now. She doubted Newt even had to tell him why. He was too in tune with everyone to not realize she needed space. 

She busied herself exploring more of the castle, learning about Newt's creatures, and breaking out her new paint set. It turned out Hope had a natural talent for painting—or she had been an avid artist in a life she couldn't remember.

Now, in her room, she painted the scenery of a cityscape using the work table that had been provided. While she was careful not to splatter paint everywhere, a couple drops landed here and there, staining the wood beneath. 

The natural ease with which she stroked her paint to the surface of the canvas, knowing when to apply more pressure and when to wet her brush, came so easily that it consumed much of her nights. Instead of missing sleep from a vampire's hunger, she missed rest for inspiration.

She applied the last bit of ochre paint to detail the reflecting water and stepped back to view the scene from afar. Covered in color, from her hair to her shoes, she looked her work over with a sense of approval. It was a nightly cityscape over the water with brilliant hues of oranges and yellows. Fireworks burst into the sky like the city was celebrating something. 

It was a place she knew—a place that felt like home. However, she had yet to learn where it was.

Sighing softly, she sat on her little stool. She lost herself in the city where some streets could be seen hiding little shops that served spicy food, and trumpets filled the air with music that made people drop what they were doing and dance.

Hope imagined herself there, dancing and laughing.

Tears warmed her eyes, and she quickly had to look away to avoid them from cascading down her cheeks. Taking a deep, slow breath, she looked around the room. 

Her room. 

The glowing moon and stars, the fire roaring in the hearth. Albus had created it with her in mind.

A pang of sadness crept through her. She truly did like his company; it felt natural and easy, like with Newt, but different. They were so different, yet she felt at home with them both.

Hope couldn't help but think that maybe she'd overreacted about the wolfsbane in the tea. 

Had it hurt and been a nasty surprise? Yes. 

Did she have definitive proof that Albus had done it? No.

With a sigh, she brushed her hair from her forehead with the back of her hand and removed her smock. Setting it on the table next to her painting, she decided it was time. She would visit him, but what if he didn't want to see her?

Well, best to get that over with now rather than continue wondering if he might be angry at her for ignoring him for the week. Hope would rather know than go to sleep with worry.

The day had gone by, and the stars had emerged. She'd spent the entire day painting without even realizing it.

Walking down the hall, she used quiet footsteps, trying not to wake any paintings as she passed. They snored as she climbed the stairs to the seventh floor and approached the gargoyle. 

Hope hesitated. 

It was late. Albus might be asleep, she thought to herself. Shaking her head, she whispered the password and watched the stairs spiraling up. If he was sleeping, she'd leave and come back tomorrow.

Upon entering his office, Hope realized he was far from asleep despite it being late into the night. She froze on the last step as he looked up from his seat by the fire. He was still dressed in a tailored suit and reading from a book she immediately recognized as Newt's: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.

"Hope?" Albus asked with a curious expression, checking the time. "It's quite late. Is everything alright?"

The courage she'd had walking down the hall deflated. She slowly nodded and then shook her head, unable to respond momentarily. "I'm sorry, you're right. It's late. I should come back later."

"Come," he said, gesturing to the chair across from him to the fire, "have some tea." He paused. "You can check it first if you'd like."

Hope released a shaky sigh and crossed the room, sitting in the chair. Not quite able to meet his gaze. "I just wanted to say that I'm sorry." Her voice came out barely above a whisper. "For overreacting. Leaving before talking. Ignoring and avoiding. It's just…" she started but was cut off as he put a hand in the air.

"Hope," she smiled softly when she finally looked at him with red eyes, "You have nothing to apologize for. You were right to do so."

Bewilderment flooded her, making her blink at him. "I…was rude."

Albus chuckled. "It's self-preservation. That's not rude; that's instinct. Something happened that made you feel unsafe in this room. To be around me." He smiled gently. "You arrived here a month ago after suffering a horrible ordeal. It's okay not to trust right away. Sometimes, what people say we should trust, our instincts tell us differently, and between you and me, I'd rather follow my instincts than what other people say. They don't know my mind as I do, and they don't know yours." 

He leaned back in his chair. "If you're here looking for forgiveness, I have none to give. There was no fault to begin with." Albus paused then. "Well, the fault resides with whoever put wolfsbane in the teapot."

Hope let out a slow, relieved sigh. "So- so you didn't put it in there as some sort of test."

"Certainly not," he frowned with a shake of his head, "Hope, you don't have to believe me when I say this. I don't expect you to, but…" There was a pause as he searched for words. "To the best of my ability, I will never hurt you," his voice dropped to a soft whisper as he leaned closer, "I promise I will do everything in my power to keep you safe."

His blue eyes glittered with sincerity, Hope couldn't help but slowly nod. She wanted to believe him, and maybe in time, she would—just not yet.

Albus' chuckled and Hope glanced up with furrowed brows and a slight pout.

"Have you found a new hobby?" 

Hope furrowed her brows in confusion and looked down at herself, realizing her paint covered her clothing. "I wore a smock, I swear." She grinned at him, relieved to feel that lightness back with being around him. 

He reached forward, stroked off a bit of paint that had crumbled against her cheek, and held his thumb up to show the color he'd taken off. "Am I allowed to see the work of art you very clearly dove into it with heart and soul?"

Laughing, she shook her head. "Absolutely not. Not yet, but I will say I think I've painted before. It's like I knew what to do, and once I started, I couldn't stop."

"Hm, well, then emotion seems to be a trigger for bringing back memories. Keep painting. Maybe you'll find something important."

Hope paused and bit her lip, leaning her head against the back of the chair. "What if…what if I don't want to remember?"

They exchanged silent looks.

"Because of the Grimoire?" Albus asked gently.

Nodding, she stroked her fingers along the ridges of the chair. "What if remembering will only make things worse?" She looked up at him. "You said you've made mistakes. Would not remembering them make things…easier?"

Albus nodded thoughtfully. "They would. It would make my mind much less full of worry and regret. However," he pursed his lips, "If I didn't remember the things I've done—the people I've hurt and the mistakes I've made—I wouldn't know how to avoid those mistakes later. I would rather live with my past than know nothing to prevent chaos for the future."

She let his words sink in. "Okay," she nodded. "Just one more question."

"Go on," he nodded.

"Is it annoying always being right?"

Albus laughed loud and deep.