Perpetua could feel you slipping away. What were once gentle touches, a soft smile, always for him, was becoming a distant memory. You were always perfectly polite with him still, but you’d lost that glow.

And to say Perpetua didn’t like it, was an understatement. He needed you back, craved you like nothing else. He couldn’t let anyone else in the damned Ministry have you, no, that would be simply unacceptable. He thought about freezing you out, simply not talking to you, pushing you away; the way he felt you had to him. Yes, he promised, that is what he’d do.

But that lasted all of a few hours, as the midnight bells toll, his grey and white mismatched eyes flicker miserably. This was a torment. Perpetua couldn’t figure it out; not for the life of him, as to why you’d turned so cold.

That is how he found himself stood outside the thick mahogany door to your quarters, as he runs a hand through his curls, tugging them a little to calm his nerves.

Perpetua knocks, softly, then a little more insistently, his hand sliding down the door, as he waits desperately for any sort of sign. He knew you were in there.

“Please. Open the door. I know you’re in there.” He murmurs softly, trying to keep his voice down, but praying to Satan that you’d heard.