Always
It was dark. The night had come in full force. There was no stray spark of moonlight. There was no penetrating its sudden, startling depths.
She was cowering. She knew she was cowering. Her back would not – for the life of her – straighten, and she did not care. She could not find even the slightest part of her that cared to even appear remotely strong. Not even for her boy.
He would know. Some day he would know.
In his wide, curious eyes she thought, no, she swore, that she could see some flicker of understanding. There was something more to the situation, he seemed to realise, but he was just a child – if that. No, she could only force a smile, he knows.
Then she turned. He was vile, grotesque. He was nothing but evil, nothing but murderous intent. He was the murderer of her husband. The words that should have been uttered were lost in an error of the past. Quite possibly, the error which now leaves her hands empty. Still, she spoke. She spoke swiftly. Pride was forsaken, though not her sake.
He would be the end of her life. He was a coward that would then turn to rob her infant boy of his. A coward, she almost wanted to burn with hatred for him. Instead, looking his way, standing before her son, all that she could think was that he would need protection. He would need love, kindness, friends…
She felt a swell of pride and a crash of grief. He was meant have friends, and somehow she knew that he would have stand by those weaker, more vulnerable than the average muggle, wizard or witch – just as his father before him.
So the words continued on. Even as he grew weary with her desperation, her defiance. She spoke still. She spoke until there was no more mercy. A further silence arose in the cruel world.
Yet, it was silence. Silence was the key. What remained was love. Love, that would go ever on until the depths of eternity and beyond any doom that could befall. Always.