Standing over the sink, it was like washing the dishes any day.  It was the repetitive, waist high task that she put on the radio to keep her from thinking while she did.  Her mind always traveled when she dipped her hands in the soapy water, the rough sponge underneath her palm as she pressed it against the smooth surface of the white dish. 

Her jewelry sat on the counter, far enough from the sink that there was no threat they would be knocked into the froth.  Sitting, staring at her was her engagement ring.  It was perhaps one of the happiest days of her life, cracking open that fortune cookie, seeing Dree’s face so hopeful – nothing like the cool expectations she encountered during her first proposal.  The second was much better, much more meaningful at this point, and what she really, really wanted.  Another important piece of jewelry, also from Dreogan (seemed to be some of the only jewelry she wore nowadays was also sitting on the counter.  The bangle, her favorite of the set he got for her, was there.  The stylized elephant with its trunk lifted high, lotus flower poised above the proud display.  She remembered that day clearly, the day she had come home…

It had been hard, the transition from being with Tulujow to being in her flat again, seeing her pets, adjusting, being frustrated with no understanding of how she was supposed to work through things at that point.  Akiva was glad it had not ruined their just barely beginning relationship back then or she wouldn’t have been standing here right now, Lady poised near her feet, the cats in the living room (Gordon on the floor, Tabitha atop the back of the couch), and a fire lit in the place, Dree probably on his way home by now.  Dree, she sighed softly, glancing at the bangle again, it truly was her favorite, though she loved all of them. 

Her hands felt so naked without the jewelry that she almost never took off.  Glancing down, checking how much was left, she felt her stomach lurch.  Even after all this time, she could not look at her wrist without the feeling she might vomit pass through her mind.   The ridges of flesh, carved out and scarred so badly in such a cruelly permanent way, they were painful reminders of what she could not remember no matter how hard she tried.

She had not been able to help with the investigation as much as she would have liked to.  They took pictures of her wrist newly branded and inflamed.  It went in a file somewhere, so did her ramblings, her crying, the uselessness that she felt when she reached for a memory and it wasn’t there.  Now though, now, with the Prophet staring up at her, laying on the counter from that morning, Tamis’ face as stoic as ever, the flashing lights of the cameras buzzing around her as they reported on her press release… Akiva could not help but feel a bit of everything all at once.  It was a torrent of emotions she couldn’t put into words.

There were moments where she was so angry, and then moments where she was so sad, then there were the times she was excited that there was progress.  It just… it made her feel so hot inside, but the feelings ran so cold at the same time, it was like putting a piece of glass that had been freshly fired in the fridge – spider cracks crawling through the pane, splintering with sickening creaks cutting through the air.  The sound pounded at the inside of her skull, she didn’t even know how to release the pressure. 

Dropping the plate in the sink, clattering amongst the cutlery that was left for last.  Despite the soap on her hands she reached up and grabbed at the shorter, brown hair tugging at it with frustration.  She closed her eyes, feeling that familiar welling sensation at the corners of her eyes, behind her nose, everything had that pressure.  She could hear Lady running from the kitchen, the sudden sound and flash of movement from her owner probably scaring her.  She stood like that for a few moments, grinding her teeth, trying not to scream.  The suds dripped from her fingers as she slowly opened her eyes and took a tentative step toward he counter, past the jewelry and near the empty kettle.  She reached over and grabbed the Prophet, the article looking at her – mocking her.  Akiva threw it on the floor and took several steps toward the living room.

She stopped in the doorframe, turned around, and looked at it again.  She went to turn back, but couldn’t.  Her brown eyes locked on the newspaper, sprawled about the floor in a messy heap, pages under sticking out – she could see an advertisement for a broom, like nothing else in the world was happening and everything just moved on.  Akiva had done her moving on, but it felt like the wound was fresh, and now everyone knew.  Now everyone saw it, heard it, when they saw her, when they saw it they’d know.  It was liberating and constraining at the same time. 

They had done things, they had killed people, they had hurt others and she couldn’t help.  She felt so helpless, she couldn’t have helped them.  They had taken everything from her.  She rushed forward and went to fix the papers; it would bother her until she did.  Her hands shook as she leaned down, gathering them up, cradling the pages carefully, as though they might bite.  She looked square at the article, square into the face of her friend, the person who had helped her get through her first year at Hogwarts, who had given her just some of the tools to survive without her. 

Her chest tightened and she looked at the words on the page.  They did other things, they killed people.  That rush of emotion came back and Akiva crunched the paper in her hands, pushed it together, her knuckles white as she tried to compress the heavy load into as small a package as she could.  It was the size of a football, all scrunched up, and she breathed heavily as she balanced it in her hands, still kneeling on the kitchen floor. 

She had no idea what to do with it.  She had compressed all this paper, all these things that made her stomach churn and the urge to cry all the more prevalent in her mind.  Here it was, crushed in her hands.  She dropped it on the floor and watched it awkwardly roll for a moment, grasping for her wand in her belt loop.  Clasping her hand around the shaft of her new wand, the wand she had to get because of them, Akiva could not, at this point, hold back her tears. 

Though she did not sob, there was a steady stream of water down her cheeks.  “Incendio,” barely above a whisper passed through her lips.  The spell flew forward and the paper immediately went ablaze, burning quickly and slowly, but surely, dissolving into a pile of black ash – a stain on her floor… The wand fell from her fingers and she rubbed her eyes, trying to pull herself together, though she gasped for air, her hands clasped over her face, glasses fogged with freshly fallen tears.  It felt lighter, somehow.  She felt like she didn’t have to stare at it, though the weight did not fully come off.  People had died, and she had not been able to help.  She had been stripped of that power when they erased her memories…

Breathing in, she reached up to the ledge, pulling herself up off the floor with one hand while the other grabbed her wand, fumbling to put it back in her belt loop.  She leaned over the sink for a moment, both hands poised on the metal, cold under her hands, red from the rush of blood to crunch the paper and the adrenaline of burning what had troubled her so much.  She reached up and rubbed the underside of her eye again, avoiding the direction of the incinerated paper.  Instead, she took a deep breath, stood up straight, and submerged her hands back into the warm water.  There was a plate she needed to finish.