Disclaimer: I own nothing.
A/N: Written for the Running Competition at the Hogwarts Online Forum. The prompts that needed to be used were, "The hands of time tick against us," muscles, tears, blood, sweat, and victory.
Easy
The words are on the tip of her tongue. Dennis, I'm pregnant.
Gabrielle doesn't chance a victory on anyone else's shoulders - she's always been fiercely independent, leaning on no one so that no one could bring her down. She'd counted on spending the rest of her life like that, with no promises, no ties. And maybe, these last two years, there's always been Dennis, but that's different, somehow, than that in a few months, there will be someone who needs her, constantly, solely, who will pull on her dress, whining, "Mummy..."
It scares her, okay? Almost as much as telling Dennis does.
Because what the hell is he going to say? He's older than her, of course, by four years, but that's still a little young to be a father and what if…
What if he leaves?
He's smiling at her, warmly, his eyes puzzled.
Suddenly, she can't do it. "We're done," she chokes out, running out of his apartment and down the stairs before he can catch her. She runs until her muscles ache and sweat drenches her dress, until she trips and falls. Blood begins to seep from the cut on her knee, and it is this tiny imperfection on top of everything else that is wrong that finally makes her break down and sob.
But she gets back up and keeps running, because when the wind whips her face, it's easy to forget, and when she's flying down the sidewalk, it's easy to feel like she can keep running forever and all the problems in her life will be left in the dust.
It's a long month, after that, of avoiding Dennis and his anger, his sadness, his questions, a month of feeling sick, a month of running away.
The only person she tells is Fleur, who becomes nearly the only person Gabrielle talks to, until the day she Apparates to Shell Cottage to find, not her sister, but Molly Weasley alone in the front room, rocking a baby.
Inwardly, she groans - they have nothing in common. Gabrielle is a fashionable, worldly, semi-successful journalist, while Molly is a frumpy, traditional housewife. Gabrielle has never liked her much, and she is fairly sure the feeling is mutual, so she's surprised when Molly greets her with such a warm smile.
"I was looking for Fleur," Gabrielle says, slightly disconcerted.
"She and Bill took the kids over to the Burrow for a family party," Molly says. "But Rose got a little fussy, so I brought her here. It's so soothing." She nods her head out at the ocean. "Like a lullaby. She was asleep within minutes."
Gabrielle eyes the baby. "Whose is she?"
"Ron and Hermione's," Molly says fondly. "She's a good baby, even if she does cry a lot."
Gabrielle winces. A baby that cries a lot doesn't sound like a good baby to her.
"Babies aren't all that bad," Molly says, a little too kindly, knowingly, and suddenly, Gabrielle realizes that somehow or another Molly knows.
Gabrielle's eyes flash with anger, and she opens her mouth to say something about piggy-eyed busybodies, when Molly cuts her off.
"I was just like you."
"You – what?" she asks, confused.
"I was only twenty." Molly sighs. "It was right around the time that the first war started and well… Arthur and I didn't get married until about a month before Bill was born."
"You?" Gabrielle cries, surprised that this woman would ever do anything so dreadful as getting married out of wedlock and wondering how much harder it must have been to be a young, unmarried mother during Voldemort's reign.
Molly smiles wryly. "Yes. Me. You'll be all right, Gabrielle."
Gabrielle thinks about this for a moment, looking down at her stomach, then shakes her head. "I am not ready to be a muzzer. I zought I'd have more time..."
Molly laughs. "The hands of time tick against us. I don't think anyone has ever been ready to be a mother. I wasn't."
Gabrielle is surprised at this revelation, and even more so at the warmth that runs through her because of it, like she isn't alone. There is a long silence, then –
"But you had Arthur." It's a whisper, like she is telling a secret.
Molly looks at her.
"Eet's - Dennis's," she goes on softly. "But I can't - 'e doesn't know. I... couldn't. I just... couldn't. I ran away. It was ze best zing, yes?"
She wants comfort, wants to be told she is right.
"The best thing?" Molly says, softly. "Or the easiest?"
"The best zing," Gabrielle says, suddenly angry. How dare this woman call her a coward? "It - I - " She stops, glaring, then turns on her heels and Disapparates, unable to deny the unmistakable ring of truth in the words.
Dennis comes the next day, and though she's nearly shaking with fear, she lets him in.
He enters, looking at her anxiously. She takes a deep breath.
"I'm pregnant." She closes her eyes.
He nearly knocks her over, picks her up, and spins her around.
"Gabrielle," he says. "Gabrielle! We're going to be parents! A baby…" He reaches out to touch he stomach gently. "Do you reckon it's a boy?"
She can't answer, instead biting her lip hard and turning around so he won't see the tears running down her face.
He lets her lean onto him, and she thinks how good it feels, not to stand alone.