The Houses Competition (or THC) Round 5
Story Type: Drabble (up to 1,000 words)
House: Hufflepuff
Class: Transfiguration
Prompt: Cemetery
Word Count: 960
Disclaimers/triggers: Pregnancy, Mourning/Grief (parental death)
Beta Love: Thanks storyplease and DarylDixon'sGirl1985 for looking over my story.
Melancholia
Fat droplets of precipitation drummed down hard against the ground and the terracotta tiles of the roof. It was as though the weather was a precursor for the day ahead. That morning he had risen from bed, carefully tip-toeing around the bed into the bathroom to complete his ablutions before his wife would rise. He never liked to wake her up on this day before she was well and truly ready.
It was difficult enough to deal with emotional baggage with adequate sleep, let alone without it.
When he returned from the bathroom, she had risen and was sitting up, sleepily rubbing at her eyes with the back of her hand. He stooped down on his way past her to the wardrobe, dropping a kiss to the top of her head before he gathered his clothes for the day. Wordlessly, she moved to the bathroom to relieve herself and wash up. He was dressed upon her return and had laid out some clothes for her.
"You spoil me," she said fondly, reaching up to cup his cheek, allowing her thumb to drift over his cheekbone.
He clutched her hand to his cheek, turning his head slightly so he could nuzzle her palm with his nose and press a kiss to the centre of it. "Coffee?" he offered as she dropped her hand and went to dress.
"Please," she answered, a quiet note of desperation in her voice.
He smiled faintly and a soft chuckle escaped him as he sauntered downstairs to prepare breakfast. In no time at all, they were sitting side-by-side at the small kitchen table, nursing mugs of coffee, and munching on buttered toast while he read the paper. She anxiously fidgeted with the photo she'd laminated at a Muggle printing store. Her nerves were understandable and expected; they always were whenever they made the bi-annual pilgrimage to Ottery St Catchpole.
Following breakfast, he tidied while she readied their coats and sought out the Portkey they'd organised to travel there by; Apparating that great a distance wasn't recommended for her in her present condition, or so her Healer had told them. Bundled in their jackets with a large bunch of sunflowers, the pair clutched the old tire iron between them, waiting for the object to activate at the assigned time. He put his free arm around her just in time to pull her tight to his person as the tugging sensation at his navel began. The Portkey transported them from their home and deposited them in a grove of trees just outside of town.
It was a short hike to their destination, and although the weather forecast for the UK hadn't indicated there would be any rain, they didn't want to run the risk of being unprepared, and had brought an umbrella.
The cemetery looked as it always did; neat but solemn, and without much colour in the surroundings beyond the grass and trees. Not many of the headstones looked as though they had been cleaned or tended to in a while. He contemplated casting a quick spell to rectify this but didn't want to draw any unnecessary attention from other mourners. Upon reaching the resting place they had journeyed to visit, he stood off to the side holding the flowers while his wife tended to the gravesite, casting discreet tidying charms and disposing of the old flowers from their last visit.
Once it was cleaned to her satisfaction, she stood up and unburdened him of the sunflowers, carefully arranging them in the now-empty vase. Positioning the vase and blooms, she nodded in quiet satisfaction.
"Perfect," she whispered softly, as if too hesitant to speak loudly in such a solemn venue.
"I will give you some space," he spoke, reaching for one of her hands to squeeze it.
"Stay!"
Her request caught him by surprise, but he shouldn't have been. Her hormones had been causing her such strife that some days it appeared as though she didn't know which way was up. He nodded, acquiescing easily. He had such a hard time refusing her.
"All right, love," he affirmed vocally, remaining still beside her as they gazed down at the burial place of her parents.
Though her mother had passed on a few short years before she had begun attending Hogwarts, she had lost her father at the end of the war exactly ten years to the day. That she had yet to cry that morning had him baffled, and he wondered just how long it would be before she would break down.
He stood nearby, watching as she lowered herself to sit on the ground, fisting one of her hands into the grass––an anxious habit he'd learned indicated her stress levels. Even though her ordinarily musical voice could not be heard, he had no doubt in his mind whatsoever that she was engaged in a conversation within herself.
Time crept by slowly, and he waited, listening to the sounds of the crickets in the trees, the soft breeze shaking the small branches and leaves, the rustle and crunch of leaves as other visitors trudged through them. In good time, she stood back up beside him, her cheeks now stained with tears. Tucking some of her long blonde locks behind an ear, he lifted a handkerchief from his pocket to dry her eyes.
She gave him a watery smile afterwards, tucking her body close to his and lifting up on her toes to press a kiss to his lips. "Thank you, Severus," she told him in earnest. "Having you with me makes it easier to bear."
Smiling faintly, his hand drifted from her waist, down and around, coming to rest on the soft swell of her belly as he embraced Luna. "Come, love," he intoned. "Let's go home."