Episode VI: The Single Mother Who's Just Been Spectacularly Kissed
Witch Weekly's 'Modern Romance' series asks anonymous witches and wizards to record a week in their sex lives—with comic, tragic, provocative, and patently revealing results. This week, a former disinherited pureblood attempts to find hope in the future: 45, female, straight, widowed.
DAY ONE
7:01 a.m.: I wake up to the feel of my grandson's fingers tightly gripping my nose. I open my eyes, arching my brow expectantly, and he smiles at me. "Morning," he says insistently, and I'm not sure if he's offering it as a greeting or if he's simply informing me that it's time to wake up. I suspect it's the latter. "Hungry?" I ask him. His smile broadens, his scruffy turquoise hair rippling brilliantly as the sun drips in through the window.
7:30 a.m.: Let's call my little troublemaker Caelum, like the constellation. It feels strange to call him my grandson; not because it makes me feel incredibly old (although it does) but because it saddens me as well. I feel a small (not small—rather immense, actually) twinge of pain each time I remember that I only have the privilege of raising him because his mother, my daughter, was killed three years ago. Each day Caelum grows bigger, cleverer, and more wonderful, and I cherish my time with him, but it's a remarkably conflicting thing to watch. Each day he changes is another day that passes without my daughter—without my son-in-law, who I barely even got a chance to know, and without my husband. Still, I'm glad that if I had to lose them, I didn't lose everything. They're here, my husband's sense of humor and my daughter's clever mischief, in the way that Caelum gives me a look of skepticism, waiting for his omelette. "Hush," I tell him, flipping it in the pan. He promptly gives himself a snout, bleating at me.
8:15 a.m.: Caelum is a messy eater, like my husband was. If anything, actually, my husband was worse; though he always made me laugh, getting sauce on his nose and then rubbing it shamelessly into my cheek. I'll call him Perseus. He and my daughter were thick as thieves, and though I feel terrible admitting this, it's sometimes a very cruel blessing to be raising Caelum on my own. When my daughter was born I was only eighteen, and barely more than a child myself. I worried relentlessly about her development and her health (and whether she was eating sufficient nutrients or if she'd been dressed warmly enough) while Perseus bonded with her over laughter, over joy and freedom and fun. She was never close to me, and I don't blame her. Perseus was always irresistibly charming; I never stood a chance. Caelum, however, seems to find me hilarious. He hands me his banana peel and I graciously accept it, wearing it as a hat. He laughs, turning his hair yellow.
11:15 a.m.: Caelum and I play for a bit and then his godfather, a young man who was close to Caelum's father, walks in through the Floo; I'll call him Leo. He likes to visit with Caelum during his lunch breaks on occasion, and today he's watching Caelum while I take a meeting. "Are you sure you're going to be okay?" I ask Leo, and he looks up, nudging his glasses up on his nose before smiling at me. "Sure we will," he says easily, and Caelum, who has devotedly made a matching scar appear on his forehead, solemnly nods his agreement. "Tell her I say hello," Leo tells me, and I sigh that I will, stepping through the Floo.
11:20 a.m.: It's exceedingly odd returning to Hogwarts; I try not to remember that my daughter and son-in-law died here in the castle and instead recall my life the last time I actually lived here, in what feels like a thousand lifetimes ago. The markers of the love I had with Perseus are everywhere, even with all the time that's passed. The library was where he first kissed me; he told me he loved me in the courtyard. I told him I loved him in his bed—which was also (coincidentally, of course) where we slept together for the first time, and the second time, and for several dozen more times until we gained the confidence to make use of the rest of the castle.
11:21 a.m.: "Ahem," I hear behind me, and break from my reverie. "Hello," I tell the headmistress, whom I'll call Sagitta. She was my Transfiguration professor, and Gryffindor's head of house. "Hello," she says pleasantly, gesturing to the desk.
11:35 a.m.: After a minimal effort at small talk, Sagitta tells me she's asked me here to offer me a job. "You've been monumentally helpful with returning the castle to its former glory," she says, and though I feel 'monumental' is a stretch, I offer a nod. "It's the least I can do," I say, and I don't explain why. I don't have to. She nods. "The problem is that I'm having some staffing shortages," she explains, and gives me quite a list of problems; her Herbology professor is on sabbatical, her History of Magic professor has been dead for a few too many years, and she can no longer afford to split her attention between her Transfiguration students and her duties as Headmistress. I frown. "How can I help?" I ask.
11:45 p.m.: She wants me to teach Transfiguration in her stead, and to say I'm surprised is an understatement. To be asked to teach at all is certainly one thing, but to be asked to step in where she herself once taught is quite another. "You were quite a good student, you know," Sagitta tells me, as unambiguously if she is remarking on the weather, and I accept the compliment for what it is; but my talent (alleged talent, of which I'm not wholly convinced) aside, I have others to think about. I remind Sagitta that I'm raising Caelum in his parents' absence, and she waves a hand, somewhere between reassuring and unfazed. "Professors have lived here with children before," she tells me, "and he would be welcome in the castle, or we could set you up in Hogsmeade—up to you."
12:00 p.m.: I press for logistical details, but in reality, my mind is elsewhere. I cannot imagine living in the castle, but there's a tiny voice in my head that whispers things; things like aren't you tired of living alone with your husband's ghost and can you really stand to depend on others for money for the rest of your life and can you really say no?
12:02 p.m.: I shake myself, telling Sagitta I need to think. She nods. "Take the week," she suggests kindly, and I manage a nod in return, swallowing hard.
12:15 p.m.: We part with a somewhat awkward hug, and then I step through the Floo into my living room. I call for Leo and Caelum, but they don't respond; out of the corner of my eye I see motion from the garden.
12:17 p.m.: Leo is helping Caelum learn to fly on a child's broom we bought a couple of weeks at a shop in Diagon—Leo's idea, of course. He was quite a good Seeker when he was at Hogwarts, and I know it brings him endless pleasure to infect Caelum with his own love of the sport. I was hesitant at first, worried for Caelum's safety, but I know it means something to Leo to be able to share this with his godson. "How was it?" Leo asks me breathlessly, catching sight of my approach.
12:30 p.m.: I tell Leo about Sagitta's offer. He seems excited by the prospect initially, but his expression stiffens slightly at the idea of us moving to Hogwarts. He knows, as do I, that it is unquestionably more difficult to travel to and from the castle from anywhere outside it; entry to the school requires several levels of permissions—especially from the Ministry, which is where he works. "What did you say?" he asks cautiously, but Caelum interrupts, his hair turning violently purple as he insists Leo return to their game.
12:40 p.m.: Leo has set up a bit of an obstacle course in the garden, teaching Caelum what he calls "cornering," and as Caelum excitedly shouts his way through it, Leo seems to have forgotten my news. "We need a quaffle now," he announces, and looks up at me, his eyes bright and hair more unruly than ever. "Could you meet me in Diagon after work this evening?" he asks, and Caelum looks up, his gaze as brilliantly green as Leo's. I hesitate, but Caelum begs. "Please?" Caelum asks me, and I melt. "Fine," I sigh, and Leo gives Caelum a conspiratorial high five.
12:45 p.m.: Leo tells me he'll meet us in Diagon Alley outside the novelties shop his friend owns. I nod; we did the same thing when we got the broom. I feel a thrill of something that's either curdling dread or a prickling of excitement, but Leo doesn't notice. "See you later!" he tells Caelum, and Caelum waves.
2:45 p.m.: I'm tidying up in the kitchen when I receive an owl from my younger sister, whom I'll call Lyra. She wants to have lunch tomorrow, and I quickly agree. We've been on better terms recently, and considering how much of my family I've lost in my life (namely: all of it), having her back is an unexpected gift. From the sound of her note, I suspect something is bothering her, but I don't ask her yet. We've been estranged for more than half our lives; we're still re-learning sisterhood.
3:57 p.m.: Caelum falls asleep in my lap as I read him the Beedle the Bard tales, and while he sleeps my mind wanders to our planned visit this evening. I didn't tell Leo that his friend, the shop owner, ran into me in Diagon shortly after our first meeting. I'll call Leo's friend Pol, as in Pollux, the immortal twin in the Gemini constellation. Pol bumped into me while I was running errands and asked me if I would have dinner with him, which I accepted, thinking the offer friendly enough. He's a charming young man, inordinately funny, and Caelum worships him, though I suspect Caelum's at an age where the lack of one ear is simply too novel to pass up. I suspect, too, that Pol may have more of an interest in me than he should. I remind myself to put a stop to it just as my eyelids start to feel heavy, and I succumb to a nap of my own.
4:35 p.m.: "Mummy," Caelum says, nudging me. I open my eyes, waking. "Nanny," I correct him, not for the first time. He shakes his head. "Mummy," he says again, and I sigh. Of course he doesn't understand, and why would he? I kiss his temple, sweeping his turquoise hair from his forehead. "We're going to be late," he tells me disapprovingly, and I lightly pinch his cheek. "So true," I agree.
5:15 p.m.: We get there a little before Leo arrives, but Pol sees us outside the window and leaps out, waving us in. "What'll it be this time?" he asks, and pulls a chocolate galleon from his cursed ear; Caelum's cheeks instantly break out in freckles as Pol offers him the sweet. "I presume you've been asked to join the English National team by now, have you?" Pol asks very seriously, and Caelum shakes his head. "FOOLS," Pol declares, ushering him into the store and winking at me.
5:30 p.m.: Leo arrives, breathless, just as Pol is tasting Bertie Bott's beans at Caelum's behest. "Sorry I'm late," Leo mutters, shaking his head, "got caught up with something." "No problem," I say, gesturing to where Pol pantomimes the scrubbing of his tongue and Caelum laughs in delight. "Hey, that's enough fooling around," Leo interrupts, feigning sternness. "We need to find you a quaffle." Caelum, instantly reminded of the pivotal task at hand, takes Leo's hand, leading him to the children's quidditch supplies and leaving me behind with Pol. I try to conjure a smile, but it isn't until he flashes me his broad grin that I manage it.
5:45 p.m.: "Sorry you're left with the granny," I say, and Pol shakes his head. "You haven't returned my owls," he commented. "Haven't called, either, and I checked—pretty sure my Floo's working," he jokes. I force myself not to blush, not to be sheepish. "It was a lovely dinner," I say, "but it was just that—dinner."
5:47 p.m.: Pol steps closer and I swallow heavily, nearly tripping over a set of enchanted wooden ducks that quack their way across the floor. He says my name in a low voice, his brown eyes settling on mine. "Am I really so terrible?" he asks me, and it's a devastating question, because he is not. He's charming and funny and clever, and he's really rather handsome and oh, so young—and therein lies the terror.
5:50 p.m.: "Is it my ear?" he asks, gesturing to the side of his head. "Is it because I'll never be able to wear glasses?" he bemoans. I try to hold in a laugh, and only partially succeed. "Tell me," he warns, resting his arm on the wall behind me, "or I'll be forced to give you my full list of ear-related puns."
5:52 p.m.: Laughter leaves my lips in a heavy sigh. "Can't you see why not?" I ask him, gesturing to myself, to the twenty years between us and the heartbreaks in our pasts, and to where my grandson was—my grandson, I remind myself, whom I have a duty to raise without distraction. Pol simply shrugs. "I see the cleverest woman I've ever met," he tells me, "and the most wickedly funny, too. Who has the most brilliant laugh," he adds, stepping closer to me, "and whose dress I'd like to—"
5:56 p.m.: "Mummy," Caelum interrupts, and Pol and I leap apart. "Nan," I attempt to correct him, but he's having none of it. He tells me about something else that he wants, some ball or stick or something, and Leo asks Pol if he has any in the back. Pol, looking devilishly knavish, turns to me. "I don't have any bats in stock," he begins, and I frown, processing the word bats, "but I could get one. Perhaps I could bring it for you when it arrives?" he asks, glancing innocently at me. Leo's brow furrows slightly, but Caelum is elated. "Fine," I relent. "Brilliant!" Pol says, winking at Caelum. I know I've made the right choice when the boy turns neon pink with excitement. "Spoiled," I inform Caelum lamentingly, but he merely takes my hand, leaning his head against my leg.
6:15 p.m.: Eventually I make excuses for us to leave, ushering Caelum out, and Leo turns to me. "About the Hogwarts offer," he begins, and I remind him I haven't made a decision. "I know," he assures me, "but before you go—if you go," he qualifies, and I nod, "there's something I'd like to do." He asks me if he can introduce someone to Caelum, and I'm a bit bemused, but I agree. "Saturday?" Leo asks. I nod; I trust his judgment. He looks relieved.
7:00 p.m.: Caelum and I have a quiet night at home, as we often do. It's a quiet life, I know, but hopefully a happy one; Caelum certainly seems happy enough, chatting endlessly about Leo's quidditch plans.
8:00 p.m.: By the time I get Caelum to bed, I'm met with a sudden surge of energy. Part of me wishes I could have a glass of wine with an adult, and then I remember I'm seeing my sister tomorrow. That will be nice.
9:30 p.m.: I get into bed with a book but my mind wanders, and I end up thinking of Perseus. I gave up everything for him, my family and status and wealth, and I never once regretted it. Sometimes, though, on nights like these, I'm angry with him. "You left me," I tell him, speaking into the empty air. He could have just registered as a muggle-born—it might have been okay—but he left me instead; we both knew he wasn't coming back. "I love you," he said to me when he left, as warm and brilliant as always, even as we both knew what he was saying was goodbye.
9:57 p.m.: I hate that he stood for his principles; I needed him. I wanted him to stay. I lost everything once, rebuilt a new life from scratch, and then lost it all again; but I know in my heart the worst of it started with losing him.
10:01 p.m.: "I love you," I whisper to the empty room, and then I gradually slip into sleep.
DAY TWO
6:59 a.m.: "I'm hungry," says Caelum. I give him a squeeze and he touches my face, his hair briefly taking on my own light brown tint. "Mummy," he says, hoping to cajole me, and I sigh. "You're impossible," I tell him.
11:15 a.m.: I'm struggling with his hair, which he unrepentantly makes stand on end as I try to smooth it down. I remind him we're going to have lunch with Lyra, who's rather conservative, and who will be alarmed by the sight of the indigo spikes he has chosen for the day. "How about brown," I suggest, and he makes a face. "Or black," I attempt, like Leo's, and he shakes his head, turning his hair a coppery shade of red. "Or that," I sigh, recognizing that he's adapted Pol's loose waves. "She'll love that."
12:00 p.m.: "My goodness," Lyra remarks, glancing down at Caelum as we step through the Floo. "What's this?" she asks, her pale brow furrowing. "My fault," I explain, shrugging, "I told him you wouldn't like blue." Lyra bends down, tapping Caelum's nose. "Give me green," she suggests, "like my gown." Caelum blinks for a moment, and then his hair is a bright, ebullient emerald. "Better," Lyra pronounces, looking pleased.
12:15 p.m.: Caelum is quick to run off to play with a house elf, and I join Lyra in the garden. "What's new?" she asks, and I tell her about Sagitta's offer. "It's not a bad idea," Lyra comments carefully, sipping her cup of tea. I nod. "The idea of making a living is rather a necessity," I admit, and she pauses, her pale brow creasing. "Did we not give you enough?" she asks, and though the question might be uncouth coming from another woman, I know Lyra is simply being practical. I tell her I don't wish to rely on her generosity; neither that, nor on what my husband, daughter, and son-in-law left behind. I want all of that to be for Caelum. "Besides," I add, "don't you have reparations to pay the Ministry? I don't want to be a burden." Lyra conspicuously changes the subject. "We're fine," she says, and comments blithely on the state of her gardenias.
12:35 p.m.: "Are you seeing anyone?" Lyra asks casually, and I promptly cough up a lung's worth of Earl Grey. "My, my," she comments, giving me a devilish smirk from our childhood, and I shake my head, protesting. "I went on one dinner," I say, "and it's nothing. He's young." Her lips quirk up. "I see no reason to discount the benefits of youth," she says, with suspicious ease. I arch a brow, questioning, and she waves a hand. "Not every marriage is like yours," she tells me. She looks a bit disillusioned by the statement, but for her sake, I try not to dwell.
12:45 p.m.: I tell Lyra the boy in question is a tragically infantile twenty-five years old, and she, to my discomfort, laughs. "That's a man," she tells me, unfazed. "A man who fought a war, and if he wants you—" "But aren't I responsible for holding him to better choices than a woman he has no future with?" I demand, and immediately feel lost and selfish and sad, watching her hesitate to answer. "I already had love," I remind her, thinking of Perseus, but Lyra shakes her head. "Your husband loved you, didn't he?" she prompts. "Wouldn't he want you to still have love without him?"
12:55 p.m.: The question lingers in my mind. If it were me, I'd want Perseus to long for me, to miss me and treasure me and honor me in my absence, but he was always a better person than I am. I picture his easy laughter, his kind heart, and I'm quite certain he'd wish the opposite for me; he'd want me to be happy, even at the cost of his own memory.
1:01 p.m.: "Did you want to discuss something?" I ask Lyra, realizing I've been staring helplessly into space. She hesitates, her gaze darting towards the house behind me. "No," she pronounces after a moment, shrugging. She reaches over, covering my fingers with hers. "Having you here is rewarding enough," she says, and I note the cumbersome weight of her diamond ring resting atop my finger. It's impossibly heavy; I wonder if she bears it with ease, or if it weighs on her, too.
1:17 p.m.: After a while Caelum appears, and Lyra pulls him into her lap. "Oh, careful," I warn her, noting he appears to have something sticky on his fingers—but despite the finery of her clothes and jewels, Lyra doesn't seem to mind. I remember, then, that Lyra has raised a son of her own, and as far as I can see her son is far closer to her than my daughter ever was to me. I realize with sadness that I missed witnessing my younger sister's venture into motherhood, and wonder how things might have been different if we'd raised our children together. "Mummy," Caelum says, reaching for me, and Lyra looks up, surprised. "Nan," I correct him, feeling my cheeks flush, but he climbs into my lap without comment.
1:35 p.m.: "You're effectively his mother, you know," Lyra remarks quietly, as Caelum and one of the elves run off to provoke a nearby peacock. "You don't need to correct him," she adds, but I shake my head. "I feel as though I'm robbing my daughter of the title," I confess, and Lyra gives me a sorrowful glance. "Don't make him live your tragedy," she murmurs, and though the words certainly resonate, I feel as if they are more for her than they are for me.
2:01 p.m.: I step out to the bathroom and when I return, Lyra is sitting on the living room floor with Caelum. "I wonder," she ventures gently, tilting her head, "would you do me a favor?" Caelum nods solemnly. "Could you do blond hair?" she asks, gesturing, "like mine?" Caelum thinks for a moment, and then his hair is a pale, silvery blond, and Lyra smiles beatifically. "You remind me of my son when he was a boy," she tells him, stroking his hair back. "You're good to your Mummy, aren't you?" "I think so," Caelum replies, the tips of his hair turning faintly turquoise again. Lyra kisses the top of his head, and from afar, my heart melts.
2:39 p.m.: As we get ready to leave, Lyra looks saddened. "Why don't you come visit us this weekend?" I suggest, as Caelum sleepily buries his head in my skirts. She hesitates, and then nods. "That sounds nice," she agrees, and we embrace as Caelum releases a loud, unrestrained yawn.
4:01 p.m.: When Caelum awakens from his nap, I show him the drawing that Leo sent via owl while he was sleeping. It's a crude little sketch of Caelum on a broom—in Gryffindor colors; which, frankly, we'll see about—but Leo's enchanted the drawing to fly, and Caelum croons with delight.
8:30 p.m.: The rest of our evening passes in relative normality. When Caelum asks for a story I tell him the usual one: in which a wolf and an enchantress bravely defend a castle from an evil beast. "What do you think about living in a castle?" I ask him, and tell him about the magic staircases, the grand library, the ghosts and the students and the feasts. He seems excited for a moment, and then he frowns. "Will Leo come?" he asks, and I hesitate. "Or Pol?" he asks hopefully. "Just us," I say, and he considers this information. "Okay," he says, but I can see the enthusiasm is gone. I kiss his cheek. "Nothing to worry about now," I assure him, tucking him in.
9:30 p.m.: After Caelum goes to bed, I can't help thinking about Pol's open invitation. Is it wrong to admit that the prospect of sex itself worries me as much as it lures me? I've only been with one man, and Perseus had only been with me, and perhaps the sex was mundane. How would I possibly manage to keep Pol's interest, even if I were to entertain it?
9:45 p.m.: I permit myself half a glass of wine and then, feeling bold, I strip down to my underwear, looking at myself in the full-length glass. After Perseus died, I cut my hair; it's blunt and sitting at my shoulders, and I'm relieved that—to me, at least—I don't much resemble the person I was when I was his wife. Lyra and I aged well, both looking far younger than we are; but even so, it's in our eyes, I think. There's a ghostly sadness in them that gives us away.
10:15 p.m.: I'm laying back on the bed when I think of Perseus; of his touch, specifically. Of the way he made love to me; always equally rapturous, whether it had been five stolen minutes or hours to ourselves.
10:35 p.m.: Is it wrong that I want to be touched?
10:37 p.m.: "I love you," I say to Perseus, closing my eyes, but predictably, there's no response.
10:55 p.m.: Is it wrong that I want Pol to touch me?
DAY THREE
8:05 a.m.: This morning, the prospect of having an entire battalion of elves to do the cooking sounds deeply tempting. I again toy with the idea of the Hogwarts job, but am interrupted by Leo's head in the fire. "Good morning," he says to Caelum, who preens with excitement. "Thought I'd tell you that Pol's coming by with your new things today," he says, and Caelum looks up at me with a grin. "See you later?" Leo prompts, and Caelum trills his enthusiasm, promptly leaping up to find his broom.
12:35 p.m.: Children are always exhausting, but there's nothing quite like the exhaustion of chasing a levitating child. I'm winded within minutes, grateful I at least managed to maintain some sort of decent shape despite my ongoing struggle to catch him. "FASTER, MUMMY," Caelum roars as I slow him up, charming his broom to a reasonable speed. "Nan," I pant, but he's not listening, instead kicking his legs and turning to me with a pout. "TOO SLOW," he declares.
6:45 p.m.: By the time Leo walks through the Floo, I'm too exhausted to even be made anxious by Pol's appearance beside him. "Well?" Leo prompts, holding out the ball and the bat, and Caelum takes off running, dragging Leo behind him.
6:50 p.m.: "So," Pol says, once we're alone. "So," I agree. "Should I leave?" he asks me, stepping closer. I hesitate. "Only if you want to," I tell him. He smiles. "I don't," he says.
6:55 p.m.: He inches closer while he pretends at innocent small talk, and by the time his gaze drops tentatively to my mouth, I'm shaking my head. "We can't," I say, and rather than say any of the many, many obvious reasons why not, I blurt out that I'm considering moving to Hogwarts. "I need the job," I say, which is only half true; what I need is to get away from him, to catch my breath, to regain my sanity long enough to push him away. He blinks, startled. "I can give you a job," he says.
7:06 p.m.: I'm about to protest that I don't need just any job—I'm not a charity case, after all—when Pol goes on to inform me he's been looking for someone to help out at his shop; it's too much work alone, and he's been considering either more employees or a new managing partner. I barely manage to supply Caelum's name in gut-wrenching opposition (an internal drop of sorts that feels, suspiciously, like fear) but Pol assures me that's not a problem. "You'd be welcome to bring him in everyday," he says, and just my luck, Caelum reappears in time to hear Pol's offer. "Mummy!" Caelum declares. "Can we?"
7:10 p.m.: I sigh. "Dad works in Diagon, too," Caelum informs me, hoping this information will convince me. I blink. "What?" I say, astounded, but by the time I recover, Caelum has distracted Pol with something else, so I turn to Leo. "Does he call you—" "Yes," Leo confirms, looking torn. "I told him not to," he adds guiltily, "but—" "No, no," I assure him, "it's fine."
7:30 p.m.: It's not fine. Is it fine? What is fine under these circumstances?
8:01 p.m.: It's time for bed, so I tell Caelum to say goodnight to Pol. "Is Mummy going to work for you?" he asks Pol, and they both glance up at me, expectant. "How about a trial run?" Pol suggests lightly. "I could use some help in the store tomorrow," he adds, "if you're available." I hesitate, but by the look on Caelum's face, I see no way out of it. "Okay," I agree, "tomorrow, then." Caelum freckles with excitement, and Leo laughs, leading him to bed as Pol turns, stepping through the Floo.
8:05 p.m.: For a minute or so it's quiet in the house except for Leo's voice echoing from Caelum's bedroom, and then the Floo returns to life, Pol's stocky form materializing within it. "Forgot something," he says flatly, and takes me in his arms, pressing his lips to mine.
8:06 p.m.: The breath in my lungs escapes into his mouth, one of his hands sliding through my hair to take hold of it tightly as the other wraps around my waist, pulling my chest against his. He's broader than Perseus, firmer, and I can feel the muscle of his torso even through the fabric of my dress; even through the layers of clothing that still remain between us. My hands, frozen at my sides, rise without warning to pull him closer, tugging at the collar of his shirt. He spins me, pressing me back against the kitchen wall, and slides my hands over my head, pinning them in place as his head drops to slide kisses down my neck, ending with a slow, syrupy pressure against my throat. He releases my arms and they fall slowly, settling around his shoulders, as he looks me in the eye.
8:11 p.m.: "I want you," he whispers to me. I'd cower in fear, I think, or turn and run, if I weren't inescapably trapped between two such immovable objects. "Why?" I ask, and he brushes my hair from my eyes, his gaze skating over my face. "Don't you know?" he asks softly, and I do. I really do.
8:15 p.m.: When Pol and I had dinner together, I could tell right away there was a connection. He made me laugh, and I made him laugh, and since the day I lost my husband I hadn't felt with anyone else the way I did with him. The strangeness of it—the inescapability, really—was the darkness, though; Pol had lost his other half, and so had I. There was a loss to him, a sense of tragedy that felt more tangible to me than anything else, and a depth of understanding of my life—of me—that was wholly unmatched. Much as I hate to say it, even Perseus had had his moments lacking sympathy. Giving up my family had been an easy sacrifice for him to make (understandably, given how poorly my family would have treated him) but I knew instinctively that Pol would understand how I'd never truly recovered from the loss. "I'm so sorry," Pol had murmured, his gaze lingering on the tightened interlacing of my fingers, and he was; and only then did I realize that not one person had ever expressed sympathy quite so beautifully—or, in fact, at all.
8:16 p.m.: He hasn't released me. "If tonight's not the night," he says, "or if this isn't the place, that's fine. But if I'm not the man—" "No," I interrupt him, swallowing hard. "That's not it," I say quietly, and it isn't. He isn't replacing Perseus; he isn't filling a vacancy. But still, it hurts to think I might be ready to put my husband in my past, and Pol's still so young—he has his own life to think about. Part of me knows I shouldn't be in it, even as I fear that's precisely what I want.
8:20 p.m.: Pol nods, tilting my chin up, and kisses me again, slowly. "I'll wait," he tells me, and then he disappears, swallowed up by the emerald flames of the Floo.
8:35 p.m.: "He's asleep," Leo tells me, wandering in from Caelum's bedroom, and frowns. "Everything okay?" he asks.
9:30 p.m.: "Things are not okay," I tell Perseus from my bedroom, and I swear I can hear him laugh.
10:07 p.m.: Things weren't always easy between me and Perseus, despite the passion of our love story; despite the romanticism that Lyra sees, for a long time I struggled with the choice I'd made. "If you'd be happier with someone else," Perseus once told me, his forehead pressed against my hands as he knelt at my feet, "I wouldn't hesitate to step aside." Difficult to believe there was a time I once considered it, but I had, and yet still chosen him. Now what will I choose?
10:10 p.m.: "I love you," I say to Perseus, but tonight more than ever, I'm painfully aware he isn't here.
10:15 p.m.: I fall asleep to Pol's voice in my head.
10:17 p.m.: I'll wait, he says, and in my dreams, I close the distance between us.
DAY FOUR
8:30 a.m.: Pol starts early, but Caelum has been awake since dawn. I stifle a yawn as we take the Floo into his workshop. "Good morning," I attempt, stumbling slightly over the corner of a misplaced workbench, and Pol catches my hand, holding me up. "Isn't it?" he says, grinning.
9:45 a.m.: I find I'm very relieved that his job offer wasn't a ploy in the slightest; Pol genuinely does need quite a bit of work done, and his office is an utter disaster. "Do you mind?" he asks, gesturing vaguely to the pile of special orders and expectant customer owls as Caelum impatiently tugs at his hand, pointing to a set of enchanted mice that seem to be repeatedly crashing into each other. I assure him I have it taken care of, and he and Caelum leave me alone in the office while they run off to take care of business in the shop.
11:30 a.m.: I've never actually had to work much in my life aside from childcare or housekeeping (which were certainly both grueling and rewarding, in equal parts, and in spades) and I find the methodical process I adapt at responding to customers and organizing Pol's business to be quite soothing—in a strange, satisfyingly productive sort of way.
12:15 p.m.: I've made significant progress, settling into a rhythm, when Pol appears in the door and tells me that Leo and Caelum have gone out for lunch. He holds up a couple of boxes of take-away from the Leaky. "Hungry?" he asks, and moves to set them down on the desk before freezing in place. "Wait," he declares, gaping at the empty surface of his desk. "Where's my mess?"
12:27 p.m.: He looks as though he might faint when I tell him it's been taken care of. "If you don't let me kiss you for this," he says solemnly, "I'll cut off my other ear." I feel myself flush. "I expect to be paid with more broadly accepted currency," I remind him primly. He laughs, and then takes my face in his palms, stroking my cheek with his thumb. "You don't understand," he says, and I hold my breath as he launches into a tirade of sorts. He tells me that his brother used to handle this part of the business; that despite what most people believed, they weren't the same and their strengths were distinct, and he has felt lost and helpless and smothered by worries he feels he hasn't been able to share.
12:32 p.m.: "This is an odd seduction," I comment, trying not to get carried away, and he laughs again. "Please let me kiss you," he says. "That will make the subsequent payment exchange so much more questionable," I reply. He closes his eyes, chuckling. "You're funny," he whispers, and his fingers move to brush the line of my jaw as he tilts my chin up towards his.
12:35 p.m.: I don't know how I'm going to be expected to focus after having suffered the feel of Pol's hands on my ribs, my waist, my hips. Part of me wants to stop him, but instead I pull him closer, and before I quite know what I'm doing I've slipped his shirt from his trousers, running my fingers along the bare skin of his torso. I feel his breath catch beneath the pressure of my palms and he swallows hard, the motion of his chest growing burdened against mine, but he doesn't push me; he waits while I explore him. The muscle of his stomach is hard and lined, and in another episode of terrifying want I dig my fingers in, drawing him closer until he's flush against me and I can feel him. All of him.
12:47 p.m.: Pol's hands take on a path of their own and his fingers reach the top of my dress, his thumbs sliding under the neckline to linger on my breasts. He holds his breath, pausing, and then lowers his head, kissing along the line of my décolletage. He peels the fabric back from the silk of my dress and the lace of my bra, sliding his tongue over my nipple. A sigh slips from my lips, and I barely recognize the sound.
12:51 p.m.: He leans me back against the desk and drops lower, his hand sliding under my dress and along my leg. His fingers skate delicately across the skin of my ankle and up to my calf, my knee, my thigh, and then he pauses, looking up at me from one knee. "I don't want to rush you," he says, glancing up at me. I blink, and without warning, the moment is shattered. "The food will get cold," I say, clearing my throat.
1:15 p.m.: We're finishing up lunch when Caelum and Leo come into the office, hand in hand. "Had a good lunch, sweetheart?" I ask Caelum, and he regales me with tales of the Ministry tour that Leo provided. Leo smiles at me, patting Caelum's head. "Thanks for doing this," Leo tells me, and presumably he means permitting the time spent with his godson, not the episode of selfishness I had with Pol. I feel immensely guilty, but manage a nod.
3:45 p.m.: When I finish with the day's owls, I head out to watch Pol and Caelum in the shop. Caelum is sitting atop one of the registers, chatting happily with a customer as Pol rings them up, but he brightens when he spots me approaching. "Mummy, look," Caelum says, showing me a small rectangle that says WANDR across the top. "What's this?" I ask, and he solemnly arches a brow. "For grown-ups," he says gravely. Pol laughs.
4:15 p.m.: "It's for dating," Pol explains, as I help him restock one of the shelves. I tentatively moisten my lips, biding my time. "Do you use it?" I ask him, as innocently as possible, and he glances at me for a moment, weighing his response. "I thought I might need it," he admits, "but life is a funny thing, isn't it?" I say nothing, and he gives me a somewhat comforting smile; or rather, he smiles, and I find it comforting. "It's difficult being lonely," he says simply, and then we don't speak for several minutes, quietly replacing Decoy Detonators on the shelf.
5:30 p.m.: Caelum is asleep in my arms when we finally head out for the day. The shop is still open, so Pol continues to work, but he hands me an envelope with a check from Gringotts before we leave. "I wasn't joking," he says, referencing the contents. "I really would like you to work here. As you can see, I'm drowning in inadequacy," he laments, and promises that Caelum is no trouble at all. I hesitate, unsure what to say, but Pol shakes his head. "No rush," he assures me, just as Sagitta did. "Do whatever is right for you."
8:15 p.m.: I would have thought Caelum would be up later given the alteration to his schedule, but the day has clearly exhausted him, and he climbs into bed without argument. "Mummy, are we going to work with Pol?" he asks, rubbing at his eyes. Normally they are light brown and flecked with grey like his father's were, but at the moment they are deeper and darker, like Pol's. "We'll see," I tell him, and he nods, yawning.
8:30 p.m.: I write to Sagitta, asking if I can take Caelum to Hogwarts tomorrow for a couple of hours, and she writes back without delay. 'Of course,' she says, and schedules access through the Floo for the afternoon.
9:05 p.m.: I sit at my desk for a few minutes before sending another owl.
9:15 p.m.: 'You need to consider your future,' I write to Pol. 'I understand being lonely, but wouldn't you be better off with someone your own age? Someone who can give you the things you deserve,' I add. Like youth, I don't say, or a life without tragedy. 'I don't know if I can be what you're looking for.'
9:35 p.m.: 'Can I come over?' he writes back. I hesitate.
10:01 p.m.: I'm pacing in front of the Floo when he enters, holding my letter in his hands. He stands before me for a moment, opening and closing his mouth, and I wait. He steadies himself, taking a breath, and when he looks at me again, I find I am barely managing to stand.
10:04 p.m.: "Three years ago my brother died," he says flatly, "and I stopped caring about what came next—about my future, as you said. I lost my other half," he explains, and swallows, and I feel his pain as fiercely as though it's my own; and perhaps it is, in a way. "The possibility of having anything to look forward to only exists because of you," he tells me, and then he tells me something that makes my heart ache with something both rounder and sharper than sadness, because I feel it just as fully once it leaves his lips.
10:07 p.m.: "My future started again the moment I met you," he tells me.
10:08 p.m.: I don't know what to say, so I say nothing. He steps forward, taking my hand. "If you need time, I will wait," he says again, "but don't fool yourself into thinking I would be better with anyone else, or that you aren't what I'm looking for." He looks down, running his thumb over my knuckles, and gives me a weary, hopeful smile. "Tell me when you're ready," he says, "but be sure to do it loudly, as my hearing is somewhat faulty." I stifle a chuckle, because if I let it out—if I let him bring me joy—I don't think I will be able to stop myself from running to him. He steps towards the Floo, turning over his shoulder, and gives me a last, lingering glance before disappearing through it.
11:24 p.m.: It isn't until well after he leaves that I realize I never said a word.
12:38 a.m.: "Hey kid," Perseus says to me in a dream, "what's new?" I tell him about Pol, about Hogwarts, about the shop, about how Caelum would have adored him and how much it hurts me that he's gone. "Yikes," Perseus says, laughing, and touches his thumb to my lower lip. "Don't suffer for me," he says, "it won't bring me back."
DAY FIVE
6:45 a.m.: This morning I'm awake by the time Caelum makes an appearance in my bedroom. "What are you doing?" he asks, watching me charm things around the room into place. I step back, eyeing my handiwork. "Rearranging," I say. He shrugs, unimpressed.
7:33 a.m.: "Look what I found," I tell him, handing him a picture of his mother from when she was around his age; she had already started wearing her hair in her signature bubble-gum pink, and had given herself a unicorn horn in the center of her forehead while sticking her tongue out at the camera. Caelum stares at it, his fingers floating over the image of her face, and his hair flickers slightly until it's the exact shade as the picture he holds in his hands.
7:35 a.m.: "This is my mother?" he asks, looking up at me. I nod. "You can keep it," I tell him, as he tries to hand it back to me. "I remember her perfectly," I tell him, "so I don't need a picture." He wanders back to his bedroom, still looking at the picture of her, and I fight the urge to be curious what he's done with it; I figure he deserves the privilege of his own space.
10:15 a.m.: After breakfast, Leo calls via the Floo. "Is it still okay if I come spend the day with you tomorrow?" he asks Caelum, who nods enthusiastically. "I'm bringing someone," Leo adds, which is a reminder for my benefit. I'm curious who it will be; I assume Leo has dated several women over the last three years, being as youthful and well-liked as he is, but he's never brought them to meet Caelum. Still, I do him the favor of not asking questions. "See you tomorrow," Leo says with a grin, and tells Caelum to keep practicing on his broom.
11:34 a.m.: This broom is going to kill me. "FASTER, MUMMY!" Caelum shouts again, and I groan, pausing to take a much-needed breath. Suddenly, I recall that Caelum's father was nearly my age, and then I remember that he, too, had reservations about getting involved with my daughter. More than a small part of me wishes he and I could have this moment to lament our winded lungs.
11:49 a.m.: Don't suffer for us, I hear Perseus say, it won't bring us back.
2:00 p.m.: Caelum's eyes are wide as we step through the Floo into Sagitta's office. She smiles at him, and though I know she's quite stern with her students, there's an unmistakable warmth in her eyes when she sees him. I'm certain she recognizes Caelum's parents when she looks at him, and for a moment that knowledge brings me comfort. "Would you like a tour?" Sagitta asks Caelum, and he suffers an episode of shyness but manages a nod. "Well," Sagitta pronounces briskly, "off we go, then."
2:15 p.m.: "This is the Great Hall," Sagitta says, and Caelum looks up at the enchanted night sky, awestruck. I am, too, in a sense, though I'm not looking up; I'm looking across the room to where I first saw Perseus, sitting countless worlds and impossibilities away. I remember where he was, his blond head bent over a book, and I see him there as clearly as if he's present now.
2:20 p.m.: "Mummy," Caelum says, tugging at my skirts, "what's that?" I look up, following the line of his finger. "That's Andromeda," I say, and tell him the story of the princess and the hero who set her free, and how after they defeated a monster, the gods immortalized them in the night sky. Sagitta turns to me, a subtle smile on her lips. "You know your astronomy," she murmurs. "I know my constellations," I reply, though that's not really what I mean. I know my history; I haven't forgotten that for much of my life, I defined myself by what I knew of the stars.
3:15 p.m.: Unsurprisingly, Caelum's favorite part of the tour is the quidditch pitch. I tell Sagitta that Leo's been teaching him to fly, and she looks nearly as excited as Caelum does. "Excellent," she declares crisply, "I can't wait to have him on my team, then." I remind her that she's headmistress, and likely can't have favorites. She gifts me a dubious glance. "I'll do as I please, young lady," she says, sniffing.
4:01 p.m.: By the time we head back to her office, I still haven't decided either way, though Caelum is pleased enough by the prospect of living with ghosts (specifically Gryffindor's ghost, who obligingly swings his partially-severed head back and forth several times to Caelum's fascinated amusement) that he seems at least open to the possibility. "Give me until Monday to decide?" I ask her, and she nods. "Let me know," she agrees.
6:35 p.m.: Dinner is relatively quiet back at home. "Are we moving to Hogwarts?" Caelum asks, and I tell him that depends; we still have to decide. "Can we move the castle closer to Diagon?" he asks hopefully, and I laugh. "I'm afraid not," I say. "Hmph," he replies moodily, picking at his food.
8:04 p.m.: I tell Caelum the story of the wolf and the enchantress again, but this time, he slips the picture of his mother out from under his pillow, and I notice he's placed another one there, too. "Who gave you this one?" I ask, looking at a picture of Caelum's father standing beside Leo's father, both smiling with the particular recklessness of their youths. "The lady in the castle," he says simply, and asks for the story again.
8:35 p.m.: "Goodnight, Mummy," he tells me sleepily, his hands still tightly clutching the pictures. I kiss his forehead and leave as quietly as possible, but the moment I shut the door, I feel an ache that settles heavily in my chest.
8:57 p.m.: I sit down with a glass of wine, considering my options. Either job would be a step forward, but one feels considerably more like reliving the past than giving either Caelum or me any chance at a future.
9:01 p.m.: The moment I realize I'm thinking about the future—my future—something lingers in my mind.
9:05 p.m.: 'I thought about what you said,' I write to Pol.
9:15 p.m.: 'And?' he writes back.
9:25 p.m.: I wait until the bottom of my glass.
9:30 p.m.: 'Can we talk in person?' I ask.
9:45 p.m.: I'm waiting for him when he steps through the Floo. "If you can go slow," I say, letting out a breath and clinging to something I hope is courage, "I think I could be ready."
9:47 p.m.: For a moment Pol stares at me, swallowing heavily, and I force myself to wait, my heart beating itself violently against my chest.
9:48 p.m.: "I can't go slow," he rasps, and then he takes three steps to close the distance between us, capturing my gasp between his lips.
9:51 p.m.: The kiss escalates quickly, becoming a frenzied exploration of him and me and whatever we are together, and whatever we could be. His hips press inescapably against mine until I stumble back, feeling for the sofa behind me, and he puts pressure on my shoulders, setting me back against the cushions. He bends to kiss me again, hungrily, and this time when he sets himself between my legs, I don't want to stop.
9:57 p.m.: The softness of his lips, the reverence of his fingers on my cheek bely the forceful craving in his touch as one hand drops to gather my skirt, tracing the line of my thigh. He presses a kiss to my knee and then up, higher, up to my hips; I writhe under his lips and he carefully, breathlessly, and with tormenting gentleness presses a kiss against my clit, his tongue flicking out to rub against the lace. I moan, stifling it, and he looks up, watching me as he does it again. This time it's harder to bite back the sound of my own desperation; he slides my underwear down my legs with devastating certainty, his fingers lingering on the curve of my inner thigh. He strokes his thumb against the slit of my cunt, languidly kissing his way back up my leg, and I'm frozen, holding my breath; I'm far from inexperienced, but still—it's been years since I've been touched, and my legs tremor almost instantly.
10:15 p.m.: He lays one hand flat, pressing down on my hip, and slides his fingers inside me with the other. "Oh hell," I whisper, and he looks up, his lips twitching upwards, before flicking his tongue over my clit again. This time, without the shield of fabric between his lips and mine, I can't prevent a stuttered groan.
10:21 p.m.: He yanks my hips down on the sofa, burying himself in me, and I cast a hasty silencing spell just in time to stammer some incoherent series of words—his name, some nameless deities, a few stammered bars of yes yes there—and he leans back to gruffly beckon do you like that? and I say never stop, never and when he makes me come, when I shudder out something equal parts longing and anguish and mounting stupefaction and when his lips have risen to mine, I barely notice my hands dropping to his trousers. I scarcely process that I'm tearing open the buttons of his shirt, laying my hands flat against the muscle of his chest, his stomach, his hips. He's strong and firm and steady beneath my fingers and he's fumbling with the fabric of my dress and my placement on the sofa, pulling my skirt up around my waist before setting me on his lap, sliding himself inside me.
10:35 p.m.: I pull him close, my fingers winding tightly in his hair, and his lips are on the tops of my breasts as he rocks me back and forth, up and down, grinding on his cock like we've stolen a moment from time itself and nothing, nothing, nothing matters; nothing but this, his lips on my skin and my nails in his back and the blessed, exalting friction between us. Everything is frantic, chaotic, a rush of craving and traded gasps and moans, and when I let go—when I let my head fall back, knowing my hair is an ungodly mess and his tongue is darting over my exposed breast and dear god, how can he feel like this, how can anything feel like this—I hear his breath hitch, watch his jaw tighten, and know that for all that he's stolen my breath, I've conquered him as well. I come with a dizzying sense of displacement just as he chokes out my name, and after the wash of sensation I feel light, unburdened, satisfied, as he presses his forehead to mine.
11:15 p.m.: For a while I let him hold me; he pulls the fabric of my dress aside and kisses my shoulder, my collarbone, my neck. It feels strangely calming. My nights have been mostly a ritual of mundanity, but he makes me something else entirely; he pays homage to every bare inch of my skin, and it makes me want things I haven't wanted in a long time. Namely, one thing in particular that I can't have: a night without feeling alone.
11:35 p.m.: "You can't stay," I whisper to him as we face each other on the sofa, the fingers of his left hand slowly tracing patterns up and down my thigh. I tell him I'm not ready to explain this to Caelum, and Pol nods slowly, taking my hand and placing a kiss against the curved lines of my palm. "I want you to be clear," he says, "that I want this." I remind him that I come with a child, with responsibilities, with burdens and heartache and loss, and he nods. "I know," he says, "and I want you all the more for that."
11:45 p.m.: "We don't have to be two halves of a whole," he murmurs to me, stroking my cheek. "You are more than a widowed wife, and I'm more than a severed twin. We can be two people who find happiness together."
12:15 a.m.: We make love on the floor, and I wonder how I can feel so strongly; how my heart can still leap after everything I've lost, and persist through all the versions of myself that I have been. I teeter on the brink of fear, but Pol makes cowardice impossible; he holds me so unflinchingly that my reservations drift away on a sigh, buried between his lips.
1:01 a.m.: "If I could hold you," he says, buttoning his shirt up and glancing over at me as I step back into my dress. "If I could stay with you—" "I know," I tell him, letting out a sigh, and I walk forward to rest my hands against his chest before I kiss him. It shouldn't still feel like a novelty, but it does, and he has to tear himself away, dragging his hands from the small of my back.
1:07 a.m.: "Someday?" he asks. "Someday soon," I promise, and he gives me one last charming smile before slipping out through the Floo.
1:34 a.m.: Neither my frantic heart nor my racing thoughts want to help me sleep, so I step out into the garden, looking up at the stars.
1:54 a.m.: "Hey kid," I imagine Perseus saying to me, "what's new?"
1:57 a.m.: "I think I see a way to be happy," I tell him, "but I'm afraid it means having to let go."
1:58 a.m.: "Will you forgive me if I let you go?" I ask fearfully.
2:14 a.m.: Don't suffer for me, I imagine him saying. It won't bring me back.
2:30 a.m.: In truth, though, he says nothing, because he's already gone.
DAY SIX
6:34 a.m.: "Mummy," Caelum whispers loudly, nudging my cheek. My eyes snap open. "Leo's coming today," I realize, and Caelum nods. "Morning," he informs me.
9:14 a.m.: 'Are you around today?' I receive in an owl from my sister Lyra. 'Yes,' I reply, and tell her we can likely do dinner, since Leo will probably watch Caelum for the night. She agrees, and then Caelum and I direct ourselves to the task of baking something for our guests.
1:34 p.m.: The moment Caelum hears the Floo, he grabs his broom and starts running. I sigh, wiping frosting from my forehead, and follow after. "Be gentle," I shout, entering the living room, and then I pause as a second person enters after Leo. "Oh," I say, surprised.
1:36 p.m.: There's a young man in my Floo, which is not what I was expecting. He has a distinctly pureblooded look to him—it's the posture, I think, or the wary look about his eyes—and he's a strange combination of starkly overdressed and unassumingly casual, his pressed white shirt rolled up past his forearms but tucked neatly into a pair of dark trousers. Caelum throws himself into Leo's arms, instantly chattering about his broom; the other man watches from afar, his brow slightly furrowed, as though he is assessing the scene. I get the feeling he's more comfortable observing than being observed, but I step towards him to introduce myself. His voice is a deep, steady thrum of something faintly affected and slightly drawling. "You look surprised," he comments, eyeing me without expression. Leo gives him a warning glance. "What?" the man sniffs, "she does."
1:52 p.m.: I'll call him Aries, mostly because it reminds me of Ares, and this young man has a distinctly war-like quality to him, all unsettled and combative. He doesn't quite enjoy chasing after Caelum in the garden, and after a few minutes of play, he sits down beside me. "It can be exhausting," I offer sympathetically. His gaze slides listlessly to mine.
2:14 p.m.: "You were expecting a woman," Aries says, shading his eyes as he watches Leo and Caelum. I open my mouth, but he cuts me off. "No, you were, it's fine," he says curtly, "but I take it that means he doesn't bring people here often." I pause; there's a certainty to his voice that I suspect means there's no need for me to confirm as much. "Why are you here?" I ask him, and he turns his head, considering me.
2:17 p.m.: "I suppose it's that I wondered what he was doing, and he felt the need to explain," Aries says. "I told him I wouldn't be good at this," he adds, glancing down at his hands. For a moment, he loses his facade, and I watch him falter as his gaze drifts towards Leo. "You care about him," I say, gesturing to Leo. "And," I add delicately, "he cares enough to share this with you." Aries blinks. "Shit," he declares, suddenly straightening. "I'm fucking this up, aren't I?" he demands, glowering into nothing. "Language," I tell him, gesturing to Caelum, and Aries sighs. "I'm definitely going to fuck this up," he mutters to himself, but he stands, striding forward to rejoin Leo and Caelum in the garden.
3:23 p.m.: Aries grows on me the more I watch him, and the same seems to be true of Caelum, who slowly grows more enamored. "Faster," Caelum says, gesturing to his broom, and Aries shakes his head. "You can't go faster," Ares explains, "because if something happened to you, all the people who cared about you would sink into a hole of despair and suffering, and that's less likely to happen if you maintain some sort of reasonable speed." "What kind of hole?" Caelum asks him. "A big one," Aries replies without hesitation, "so deep that no one could ever get out."
3:24 p.m.: Caelum looks distraught. "Are you trying to traumatize him?" Leo hisses in Aries' ear. Aries shrugs. "Look, the world is fucked," Aries says, "so the least I can do is be honest."
4:07 p.m.: "Sorry about him," Leo says, gesturing into the garden as he helps me with the dishes. "I knew he was going to be weird, but—" "I don't know," I say, gesturing to where Aries is telling Caelum a story of some kind; something about knights, or kings. Aries seems to like to tell stories; he grows more animated as he talks, his hands motioning wildly, and Caelum's widened eyes take on Aries' brilliant shade of green. "I like him," I say, and I do, because despite his sharpened edges, there's something of a softness to him; a vulnerability that's undeniably appealing. Leo swallows hard. "So do I," he confesses.
4:15 p.m.: I'm about to ask Leo how serious it is with Aries when the Floo roars to life and Lyra appears, her entrance to the kitchen timed perfectly with Aries and Caelum wandering in from the garden. She stumbles to a halt, and across from her, Aries freezes. Beside me, Leo's face turns pale. Caelum, however, releases Aries' hand and wanders over to Lyra, excitedly telling her about a magic sword before tangentially offering her a cookie.
4:18 p.m.: "What's going on?" I ask Leo, as Lyra's gaze consistently slips back to Aries—who, by contrast, looks as though he's been heartily slapped. "Maybe we should leave," Leo says slowly, frowning. "We can take Caelum for the night," he suggests, and adds something about his house elf being available to help; Lyra looks up, startled, to glance first at Leo, and then at Aries. "We?" she asks Aries quietly, and he stares at her for a moment before nodding firmly. "We," he tells her.
4:20 p.m.: Caelum is overjoyed by the prospect, and drags Aries into his bedroom to pack his things. Leo follows slowly, warily, and I notice he gives Lyra a particularly telling glance; something that's part sympathy, part warning. She looks up at me, and I see something in my sister I haven't seen since she was a child; she looks lost, and it stabs at my heart. "Wait in my bedroom," I tell her, and she turns without a word.
4:45 p.m.: Aries looks shaken, but Leo touches the inside of his arm and he lets out a breath, Caelum's hand still in his. "I'll bring him back in the morning," Leo tells me, and I nod, kneeling to speak with Caelum. "You just let me know if you need anything, okay?" I tell him, and Caelum nods, giving me a distracted hug. "Bye Mummy," he says, pulling Aries towards the Floo. "Nan," I call after him, trying again, but he ignores me, and they're about to disappear when Aries pauses, asking Caelum to wait with Leo as he approaches me.
4:48 p.m.: "Whatever happens next," Aries says, "whatever you learn about me, know that I—" He hesitates. "Know that this is real," he says decisively, and glances over his shoulder at Leo. "Or I wouldn't be here," he adds, and I nod. "I sort of figured that out about you already," I tell him. He smirks, but there's a layer of appreciation underneath it. "Well, so much for my unfailing intrigue," he drawls, and then he, Leo, and Caelum leave through the Floo.
4:55 p.m.: When I walk into my bedroom, Lyra is sitting on my bed with her knees pulled into her chest, her expensive shoes discarded on the ground. I sit beside her, stroking her blonde hair, and she turns to look at me with a terrible desperation. "He's my son's best friend," she whispers, and I lean her head against my shoulder. "He's more than that," I say, and she nods slowly, her eyes falling shut. "He's more than that," she confesses.
6:15 p.m.: We go to dinner in Diagon and she tells me the whole story; how her marriage was plagued with infidelity from the start, and that they'd had their better years, but her husband hasn't been the same after time spent Azkaban. She tells me that since she gave up Aries, she's never felt so alone. "Do you love him?" I ask. She looks me dead in the eye. "I loved him enough to let him go, didn't I?" she asks, and I can see how much it has cost her.
6:35 p.m.: I tell her maybe I should do the same with Pol; I feel immeasurably selfish, but she shakes her head, gripping my arm. "It's different," she says firmly. "I'm not free." "So?" I ask, shrugging, because put that way, it seems like a small distinction. "I'm not free to give my heart away," she says, "but you are, and so is he, and that's the only thing that matters."
6:53 p.m.: I tell her I worry I'm giving up Perseus, and she shakes her head again. "People don't just replace people," she says. "We love who we love because of who we were, and what we had. You wouldn't love him now if you hadn't lost everything first," she tells me quietly, referring to Pol, "and perhaps he would have wanted something different if he had not suffered such a loss. But you did, and he did, and how lucky you are now," she sighs. "How lucky you are to have found each other."
7:06 p.m.: I suppose she's right; without Perseus, I might never have found Pol, and so maybe my fears of letting go of my husband have been foolish. I cannot outrun my past, after all; clearly, even after all these years, my past has never left me. I still see the world as if I am looking at the stars.
8:01 p.m.: "Go," she says, as we reach the bottom of our glasses. "Go where?" I ask, as I assumed she would want me to stay with her. She shakes her head sadly. "Go find him," she says, "go be with him. You deserve love," she tells me. "But what about you?" I ask, and she laughs; and then, as if by magic, she re-fastens her remarkable mask, looking regally untouchable. "I'll survive," she says drily, "I always do."
8:32 p.m.: I find Pol in his workshop, his sleeves pushed up as he adjusts the enchantment on a pair of self-tying trainers. He looks up as I enter. "I have to tell you something," I say. He waits, and I eye my hands, uncertain how to proceed.
8:33 p.m.: "I think you are ear-resistible," I venture solemnly.
8:34 p.m.: He stares at me, and then, abruptly, he laughs at an alarming volume, shaking his head as he sets down the shoes. "I think you mean ear-responsible," he says, taking me in his arms.
8:36 p.m.: "Ear-relevant," I murmur. He bends with a chuckle, kissing my neck, and he smells oaky and sweet and inviting and I lower my lips to his ear. "I have all night," I tell him quietly, and he leans away, giving me a long look of something that might be gratitude, though it quickly turns to something more like hunger. "I f-ear it will be quite a long one," he remarks, with a promise that sends a thrill up my spine, and then he apparates us into his flat above the store.
8:45 p.m.: Our unforgivable pun work is halted as he divests me of my dress and I struggle with his trousers, both of us stumbling across the floor amidst the process of shoe removal and supreme unwillingness to waste a moment without the necessity of skin on skin. When we're naked he stops, his fingers digging into my hips, and he stares at me, his eyes traveling the length of my body as I slide a hand against the muscle of his stomach, admiring him. When he draws me back in, kissing me again, it's wilder, and he pins me against the wall without hesitation. "Stop me if it's too much," he grits out, yanking one of my legs over his hip, and I shake my head. "Don't you dare stop," I gasp, and obligingly, he fills me.
8:57 p.m.: He pins my hands against the wall and I feel the loss of my burdens, the blissful vacancy as my histories and futures slip away. The sum of my parts diminishes to nothing more than how the world feels in his arms, and I am left to falter in his grasp.
10:48 p.m.: By the time we fall into in his bed, slick with sweat and still pressed against each other, I want to memorialize him by touch, to be able to recraft him inch by inch from memory. He rolls over me, reigning above me, and I want to immortalize him as a hero; I want to set him up among the stars.
11:37 p.m.: "I don't remember sex ever being like this," he tells me raggedly, his head lolling to the side as he catches his breath. I prop my head up on my elbow, tracing patterns on his chest, and slide my fingers slowly down the contours of his stomach. "Let me remind you," I say, and kiss the places my hands have touched.
1:25 a.m.: For a moment I remember that our lives have been touched by losses, and I want to cling to him, knowing this could end; that it could end sooner than we expect it, sooner than we believe possible, and that perhaps I've already had my love story and might be undeserving of another. But Pol turns to me, that smile on his face, and I feel precisely the opposite of fear; I feel like a woman who has risen countless times facing a man who has learned to put tragedy behind him, and in a moment of tranquility, I see no proof we can't do it again.
1:26 a.m.: Three years ago my husband died, and I stopped thinking about the future. But the moment Pol looks at me, his fingers laced with mine, I feel my future start again.
DAY SEVEN
6:57 a.m.: I wake up to Pol's arms around me, still naked in his bed. I rise to use the bathroom, charming my hair into submission, and when I re-enter his bedroom he's sitting up, propped up against the pillows. He looks at me as though he can't quite believe what he's seeing, and in a similar episode of admiration I pause in the doorway. Light starts to stream through the window, settling itself in panes across his torso; I internalize it, taking a breath of contentment.
7:25 a.m.: I crawl towards him on the bed and then settle myself with my back against his chest, letting his hands travel along my waist before reaching my breasts. He shifts my hair aside, kissing my shoulder, and I slowly start to move against him. "Fuck," he whispers, and slides his hand down my stomach to my clit, the skin of his arms pebbling slightly as I let out a moan. I lean back, reaching behind me to take hold of the back of his head, and pull him close to my lips. "What will you do with me?" I ask him, and his fingers dip inside my cunt, his breath unsteady beside my ear. "Anything you ask," he says hoarsely, and I shift above him, sliding him inside me.
7:56 a.m.: "Breakfast or sex?" he asks me, eyeing the time. There is something to be said for youth; his stamina is admirable, and I am at once pleasantly satiated and desperately craving more. In answer, I pull him into the shower.
8:15 a.m.: "Will you let me into your life?" he asks, kissing the jut of my hips and working his way up, caressing my breasts. "I want the whole thing," he says, "all of it." He asks me not to leave, by which I think he means that he would prefer me not to disappear to Hogwarts; "you don't have to work for me," he assures me, "just please, give me a real chance with you and Caelum."
8:35 a.m.: "You're too young to have a child to worry about," I tell him, and he pauses, glancing up at me. "When will you understand that you're not a burden?" he asks. "Besides," he adds, giving me a look, "I need an heir to my ear-refutible mischief." I laugh, and he gathers me in his arms. "So," he murmurs, kissing my cheek, "what will you do?"
9:15 a.m.: "Hi Mummy," Caelum says when he arrives at home, bursting through the Floo with Leo and Aries behind him. He throws his arms around my knees and instantly starts telling me about a game that Leo taught him, and about something called a DVD. I glance up to see that the other two look deeply exhausted, but contentedly so; Aries' fingers comfortingly brush Leo's knuckles in the quietest, most trivial of motions.
10:35 a.m.: "Please," Leo says to me while Aries and Caelum are out of earshot, "I know you have to do what's right for you, but—" He trails off, and I turn, giving him a hug. "I won't take Caelum away from you," I promise, and tell him I've decided to turn down the Hogwarts job. I also tell him I've decided to work part time for Pol; it's not a permanent arrangement, but for now, we're trying things out. "What specifically are you trying out?" Leo asks, with a rather telling curiosity, and I turn back to the salad I'm making, channeling Lyra's best smirk. "None of your business, young man," I tell him.
1:44 p.m.: After they leave, I ask Caelum what he thought of his night away. He tells me that he likes spending time with Leo and Aries; he mentions that Aries makes Leo laugh, and vice versa. "Dad's funny," he says firmly. "Why do you call us Mum and Dad?" I ask him, wondering if he has a reason, and Caelum shrugs. "You take care of me," he says, and promptly sneezes, accidentally releasing his golden snitch into the house.
4:56 p.m.: Rather than think about the very poignant thing my grandson has just told me, I'm forced to chase a flying gold ball for several hours. By the time I start making dinner, though, I find he's already said it perfectly.
8:04 p.m.: "And so the wolf and the enchantress give their lives to protect the castle," I say with practiced finality, and I realize as I say it that the statement is filled with hope now instead of pain. "So that someday, their son will walk the same halls that they did, and he will know that he was protected and loved by the heroes who fought for his future." Caelum looks down at the pictures of his parents and nods, holding them close to his chest. "Night Mummy," he tells me, closing his eyes. I don't correct him. "I love you," I say, kissing his forehead.
9:15 p.m.: "Hi," Pol says, walking through the Floo, and by now the kiss he gives me is expected but I still feel the thrill of it in my bones, tingling in my chest and buzzing in my head until every inch of me is ignited.
9:47 p.m.: "Have an idea what you'd like to do tonight?" he asks, as I step into my bathtub. "I'm all ears," he adds knowingly, climbing in after me, and I roll my eyes, holding up my glass. "I thought we could have a little wine, a little conversation," I say carefully, toasting him, "and maybe a little—" I trail off, lifting myself to perch on the edge of the tub, and his grin broadens as I pointedly part my legs, leaning back against the wall behind me. "Ear, ear," he murmurs, leaning forward to lick my cunt.
9:50 p.m.: It occurs to me to say he's ear-redeemable, but I gasp instead, tightening my fingers in his hair.
11:55 p.m.: A few minutes after we fall back on the bed, he pulls me closer, resting my head on his chest. He draws his fingers up the side of my arm, contemplating something in silence. "You said you thought about what I said," Pol reminds me, "about the future." "I did," I say, and I have; and because of him, I know things now that I didn't know before.
11:57 p.m.: I know that the future is the boy in the other room, and the man whose arms are wrapped comfortably around my waist. I know, too, that the future is the alarm we've set for the morning, so that he can stay with me tonight. The future is learning a new trade, new trust, finding a new road to travel. The future is new challenges. The future is knowing that I am still the facets of my past—a past incomplete without mentions of both loss and love. But the future is also knowing that I will rise to the occasion, and that when I do, I will not be alone.
11:58 p.m.: The future is uncertain; it isn't written in the stars. But as Pol kisses me, his thumb drawing slowly across my cheek, I know one thing that is unquestionably true.
11:59 p.m.: The future is mine for the taking.
a/n: Dedicated to Tilly90, HiHelloGoodbye, Ninja Midnight! Thanks for reading! Sorry for the gap week; computer problems and personal crises persist. This episode's a bit off-brand, but I had to do right by this character; next week we'll get back to some filth.
Some things I needed to clarify because I am a loon: last chapter the naming theme was opera, so despite there being Shakespeare/historical references, the character names did all come from operas. Similarly, all of the above are constellations, despite there being mythology embedded.
Some new things: for one more day, the original Alpha collaboration with Little Chmura is free on Amazon! The link to that and our newest installment, Rising, can be found on our website: enter (dash) alpha dot com. The art is absolutely breathtaking; please support your local internet artists if you are able! You can also find the first two episodes of my podcast with SallyJAvery, formerly known as DrSallySparrow, at tinyurl dot com backslash ep1-TPIS.
Thanks for reading/listening/sharing!