I own nothing. JK Rowling came up with this world. Title is from an Alex Day song.
"I'm half and half. Me dad's a Muggle; Mam's a witch. Bit of a nasty shock for him when he found out."
-Seamus Finnegan, Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone
You knew this day would come, knew it from the moment you saw the pregnancy test spell turn blue, locked in the bathroom with the wand he didn't know the existence of. Knew it irrevocably the first time you felt your baby kick and knew that someday, his magic would betray your best kept secret.
You wish it could have been different. You love Dermot, fierce and bright with all that's in you to love and more, and you knew there would be a day when you would be reflected in his eyes, distorted like your reflection in the mirror at the Muggle carnival he took you to when you were both teenagers, just fallen in love. A witch. A horror. The mother of his son, and freaks, both of you. The antithesis of what your husband lived and believed, an unbelievable betrayal of his world.
You knew, but you stand proud while you watch him pack his things, the eyes he's given to Seamus never meeting yours, strong workman's hands folding clothes with swift motions, tightening straps, and (you almost cry) tucking in a photograph of the child you made between you when he thinks you've gone from the room.
The first night without him beside you in the too-wide bed, without the light left on in the bath or the toilet seat left up or the cap left off the toothpaste, without Dermot stealing the covers while he sleeps and you having to mold yourself to his body to keep from getting cold, it feels so wrong.
It's not until three sleepless nights later, three days of staying brave for your little boy with Dermot's sandy hair and Dermot's blueblue eyes and Dermot's crooked grin, that you give in to the tears. The hardened shell around your heart melts and cracks into wrenching sobs that rob you of breath, soak his pillow that you're hugging because it still smells like him, leave your nose running and raw and your eyes burning and oh Merlin why can how can anything hurt this much?
Between the sobs that are slowly relinquishing their grip on your ability to breathe, you hear the slap of hesitant little bare feet on the floor, feel when your son pauses in the doorway before pattering over and slipping under the toomany toowide toowarm covers and snuggling against your trembling body. Seamus wraps his arms around your waist, his own baby tears soaking the front of your nightgown and oh, he knows. A child that young shouldn't have to feel this, not ever, but your Seamus wears his heart on his sleeve, always has, and you know Dermot's abandonment hurts his three-year-old heart as much as yours with eighteen years on him. It runs deep.
Dawn finds you cuddled together, your eyes swollen with tears, Seamus' small body curled up in your arms as you hold him tight. His thumb droops halfway out of his open mouth.
Sun slants in past the faded blue curtains, lighting your baby's face, and maybe you've lost half of what's most important to you, but so help you, you're going to live for the other half.
