A/N: The lyrics at the end of this story are from the song "Take It Easy," originally performed by the Eagles. Obviously, they are not mine.
Take It Easy
She wonders, sometimes, if she made a mistake. The thought horrifies the perfectionist part of her, but it also makes another—deeper—part squirm. If she had chosen Sev, had clung to him despite the rising dark, what might have been? Could she have changed him, seduced him away from the shadow? Could she have saved him?
She rubs her swollen belly; that tiny wrinkle materializes above her brow. Guiltily, she lets the thought slip to the surface of her mind for a moment, inky black and repulsive. She never really tried. She tugged half-heartedly, mincing about at the edge of the treacherous waters, but she could've leapt in after him, dragged him back and proved she really meant it. It was her or the Dark.
She'd been too busy trying to puzzle out the enigma that was James Potter to notice Sev was sliding away from her, teased by the promises of power. She'd lost him to the one thing that could ever rival her for his affections, all because she'd been too self-absorbed to pay attention. She still curses herself for that, in the darker corners of her mind where joy can't seem to bloom.
She realized early on that Sev needed her, perhaps before he knew himself. He needed her to anchor him to the light, keep the shadow from dragging him under. She'd failed him when he was at his weakest—he'd caught on to her perplexing fascination with James, and that had been the beginning of the end.
Albus says it's not her fault, but though she loves the old man, she doesn't quite trust him when he gets that strange glitter in his eyes. By now she's realized that even Dumbledore is not what he appears to be, but she's careful not to delve too deeply—sometimes it's better to turn a blind eye.
But isn't that what had ruined Severus? Those who saw him foundering averted their gazes, decided not to dirty their hands for a lost cause. But he wasn't lost…at least until she let him down.
A headache throbs in her temples, matching the cadence of her endlessly-whirling thoughts. She's a bit nauseous, come to think of it, and she knows that it isn't entirely due to the morning sickness. Damn it all! She could throttle James for insisting she quit work already! She has far too much time to think, to walk a circular road that wheels deeper and deeper into the despair that threatens to overwhelm her.
At least it's not just her. Sirius and Remus dropped by yesterday, and the tightness round their eyes contradicted their hollow jokes. Everyone's staving off the panic now, and James knows it. (He never meets her eyes when she whispers the least of her fears in the night and he says it's just hormones. But he holds her close, and that's enough for now.)
But soon it won't be enough. The hand tightens on her stomach, and she feels the baby kick. She smiles a little, and the haze of worry recedes ever-so-slightly.
Still, her conscience is vicious. It won't allow her more than a moment's peace. But it isn't, she argues with herself, as if I don't love James! I do! More than anything in the world! It's just that, well, she loved Sev first, if differently. She can't help but feel that by choosing James she sealed his fate, doomed him to the monstrous existence he chose.
No. He chose. It isn't her fault. She wants to sigh, but doesn't, even though the house is empty. Sometimes it feels like she's being watched, even when she's alone. James says she's gone nutters like the rest of them at last, and laughs at her, ruffling her hair, but others seem to share her paranoia. (Like poor Peter—he looked positively awful last week, all shaky and twitching at the slightest provocation.)
The baby kicks again, more insistently this time, as if to warn her away from her thoughts. "You're right, darling," she says, "Mummy's being silly." But she still can't shake the vague anxiety, so she puts her hands to work. She tries to lose herself in folding the laundry, washing the dishes, organizing the cupboards—all done in the Muggle fashion, though she keeps her wand no more than a finger's twitch away.
Even without magic, it takes less time than it ought, so she's standing in the middle of the kitchen, arms crossed, fingers of her right hand tapping at her left arm, when the door opens. For an instant she freezes, plummets into the frigid panic she's warded off successfully all morning.
He's singing to her—horribly off key, but with feeling—as he strolls into the kitchen. In his hands is a bouquet of (wilted) flowers, and on his face the devilish grin she finds so captivating. He sees the look of terror on her face before it disappears, and he stops mid-verse. In three strides he's by her side, embracing her and stroking her hair.
"I'm sorry, Lils, I didn't think…I'll warn you next time, promise!" The fervor in his voice melts the ice that grips her heart, and she relaxes into his arms.
"That's alright, love," she murmurs, consoling him now. It's always devastated him to cause her the slightest grief, and his concern has doubled since they found out about the child. As irksome as it may be to a woman as independent as she is, she can't help but love him for it.
He buries his face in her hair and tightens his hold on her. Her dark thoughts evaporate like morning dew, banished at least until sunset.
She recalls the words he sang and stifles a laugh when she realizes they're from a Muggle song.
"Take it easy
Take it easy
Don't let the sound of your own wheels
Make you crazy
Come on baby
Don't say maybe
I gotta know if your sweet love
Is gonna save me"