She stares at him. His body is resting next to hers; their clothing is littering the floor. His body has been there for nearly three years now. But he's turned away form her, facing the wall. She reaches out, her hand resting on his shoulder. His body tenses, but he does not move. Tears begin to brim in her eyes, and she opens her mouth to begin. It's a ritual, something that they've done since their wedding, since he promised he would be there with her. She's hoping that one day, one day she'll ask him, and he'll tell her what she wants to hear. And that when he tells her, he means it.
"If things had been different, would you still be here?"
She's sitting up now, pulling the white sheets up over her bare body, looking down at him. She can only see the side of his face. Until he sits up, at least. He looks at her, blue eyes that show no youth. He's not the man of her childhood, and she knows why. He doesn't want to be here. He wants to be with her. He's here because he feels like it's his duty. Blue eyes bore into hers, and she tucks a lock of brown hair behind her ear, waiting. Any minute now, he'll say it, and she'll accept it, knowing it's a lie. They've been through this before. She knows she should stop. She knows she should release her hold on the man looking at her, but she can't bring herself to do it.
"Of course I would be. I love you."
He says it, but she can see it in his eyes. He's lying. And tonight, the lie isn't good enough. She wants the truth, though she knows it will hurt. She wants him to be honest with her. Up until this point, it's been easy to pretend it's true. It's been easy to pretend that he really loves her. It's been easy to pretend that he's not here because he feels like he ought to be. It's been so easy. She makes herself believe it. He plays the part well enough. So does she.
"Liar. Tell me the truth. Just once, tell me."
He looks at her, red hair shining in the moonlight that falls across their bed from the window. It's a full moon. Somewhere, a man or woman or child is being turned into a monster. A creature with the need to feed. A need they can't control. Some of them might be enjoying it, enjoying the pain that it supposed to come with werewolf transformations. Some of them might have taken a potion, and are wolves. Wolves with the minds of men, women, and children. And some might be ashamed. She looks at him as he speaks.
"You don't want to here the truth, love. Just go to bed."
The phrase infuriates her.
"Tell me! Damn it, tell me the truth!"
She is shouting, becoming hysterical. There is a silencing charm on there room. It is still there. Her yelling won't be heard by anyone except the two of them. He looks at her, a sad smile on his face.
"No. If things had been different, I'd be with her. You know that."
Tears well up in her eyes, and this time she is the one to look away. This time she is the one to lie down and turn on her side, staring at the wall. On the other side, a cry issues from the other room. She stands up. Another cry joins the first. Two cries, two individuals. Calling out for her and the man who has just told her that he doesn't love her. That if things had been different, he wouldn't be there at that moment. She reaches for her robe, and he is pulling on his boxers. The charm on the room is removed, and silently they leave the room.
"Shh. Baby it's okay. Mummy's here."
Across the room, he has joined their daughter at her bedside. The child is three, nearly four. She'll be four in two months. They have named her Annica. Her hair is red. Her eyes are blue. Her freckles are highly visible. She looks at the two. Father and daughter. He's holding his little girl, and she says something about a monster. A great white dragon. He's soothing the little girl, and he picks her up, carrying her into the master bedroom. She follows her husband, their son in her arms. She lies down in the bed with him, the two children between them. They bought a large bed just for this purpose, and so that in the beginning, they would not have to touch.
"I love you Daddy."
Tears are brimming in the eyes of the mother as her daughter says it, and as he responds. He loves that little girl. He loves her so much. She had hoped that over time, he would come to love her too. But he hadn't. He is with her because of Annica, and because of Andrew. Annie and Andy. How quaint. The baby falls asleep, and she looks down at him, thinking. Then she looks at Annica, and then at her husband.
"I'm sorry."
She says it without meaning to. He says nothing. He's feigning sleep, and she squeezes her eyes shut as she tries to remember why she had thought it was a good idea. She had been so stupid. As if a two day supply of love potion would really make him love her. She had had it all planned out. He would be infatuated with her, she would convince him to sleep with her. And then, a few months later, she would have the control she wanted.
"You should be."
His voice is soft, so as not to wake the children. But it's also bitter, and she knows that he resents her. It had worked exactly as she had planned it. He hadn't been with that girl when she had turned up at his doorstep with the test results. It was a girl, and it was his. Just as she had hoped, he had married her. No child of his would grow up without a father, whether the child had been conceived while he was unable to think clearly or not.
"I am."
Annica had been born six months later. She was every bit his baby. No one could deny it. That woman hadn't been allowed near him. Or the baby. Or the mother. He had hated her for it. He was there, not for her, but for the baby. She had continued to believe that one day, one day he would come to love her. All thoughts of the other woman would be driven from his head.
"You shouldn't have done it."
They'd feigned a happy marriage. At home, however, he refused to speak to her. He played with Annica, laughed with Annica. Annica was his baby, someone he loved. His wife was just someone he was stuck with. Someone he had married so he could be able to see his daughter. Because she wouldn't have allowed him otherwise.
"I know that now. You can leave if you'd like."
In the beginning, he had refused to have any type of sexual contact. Within a year, however, his resolve was cracking. It wasn't that he wanted her, but that he wanted some type of touch. He wanted a woman's touch. The first time, it wasn't her name he had cried out, but her name. She had been furious, livid.
"No, I can't. They know you. They love you. And I can't take them from you."
Andrew had come by accident. They had forgotten the charm. Three months later, she found that she was pregnant, this time with a boy. Annica was excited, her father wasn't. It was another thing that tied him to her, the woman he had married. He had loved Andrew all the same. He loves him the same way he loves Annica. The same way he loves that woman whose name he still calls in the night.
"They're young. They won't know. They won't remember when they're older. You don't have to tell the truth. I couldn't bear to see them anyway. You didn't want them. They weren't created out of love. Mutual love, at least."
She loves her husband, oh yes. He had never loved her, though. And he never would. It will always be she who held his heart. Not his wife. She hates her for that. She looks at the two sleeping children once more, and then at her husband. She loves him. Oh how she loves him. And she was keeping him prisoner here. She had created his jail the minute she had slipped him the potion and caused the creation of their daughter.
"They love you. I can't take them from you. Go to sleep. Pretend it's real."
She says nothing. She lays there for several minutes. When she is sure her husband is asleep, she stands up. Pillows next to the baby, so he won't roll off of the bed, charmed to stay in place. She looks at the three of them, the three she loves most, and waves her wand. Her things begin to pack themselves silently.
"I can't."
She answers him now, knowing he won't hear. Once her things are packed, she reaches for ink and parchment. When she is finished, she leaves the note attached to the pillows, along with the ring he had given her. She kisses her son, kisses her daughter, and kisses her husband. What would he think in the morning, when he awoke and found the note? What would the children think? She didn't know. She didn't want to know. It was easier to forget.
"Forget."
She raises her wand to her forehead, and thinks hard. Every memory of him, of the children. All of it. It had to go. She knows it could go horribly wrong. But if it doesn't, she'll be free. Maybe she ought to do the children first? No. No. She wants them to remember her, even slightly. But she would not do it here. She would wait until she was gone.
"I love you all."
She opens the bedroom door, and closes it, bags floating behind her. She leaves the house, leaves her children, leaves the man she loved who would never love her. And once she is in London, really in London, she thinks hard. She concentrates, and erases all memories of them from her mind. Lavender Elizabeth Weasley is no more. Lavender Elizabeth Brown is reborn.