Note: Thank you to my lovely reviewers for their encouragement. Thanks to you it's probably no wonder this chapter ended up so long!
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
23: A Chance
"Double the wards."
"Yes, darling."
"In fact, triple them."
"Of course."
"Triple them, Remus. I mean it..."
"Yes, darling. I certainly will." As he reached to hang the jacket he held draped in the crook of his arm, Remus Lupin paused to look over at his wife, frowning.
Dora was staring fixatedly out of the window, twisting a handful of bed linen into knots in her lap as she frowned deeply.
He went to relieve her from her attack upon the sheets, reaching to grasp her hands reassuringly in his own.
"It'll be Order Headquarters Mark Two by the time I'm done out there, Dora." he assured her quietly, giving her hands a squeeze. "Nobody's getting into this little fortress of ours without a fight and a half! Relax, darling."
As he straightened up, Dora returned her attention back to the window, still frowning.
"Who d'you think it was?" she wondered, shifting uncomfortably upon the mattress. "Watching me like that..."
"Nobody to worry about, I'm sure."
"Bollocks. Don't do that, Remus. Don't mollycoddle me..."
"Who do you think it was, then? Jeff Fawley, perhaps? Or one of his Squib associates? I think that highly unlikely..."
"Oh?"
"I imagine it was an over-enthusiastic reporter from the Prophet or Witch Weekly or something of the sort. Harmless enough..."
"If I get shot dead in my bed tomorrow, I shall blame you..."
"Oh, come! You know as well as I do, Dora, Jeffrey Fawley has no interest in attacking you whatsoever! He has a respect of sorts for you, for one thing, and for another he has far bigger plans."
Dora sighed heavily, reaching to rake a hand through her hair.
"I know..." she sighed heavily. "I wish I knew more about what those plans are..." Dragging her eyes away from the window, she insisted to her husband: "It wasn't the press, though. I'd know if it was, they wouldn't have been anything like as good at sneaking up on me like that! They were too good...like...like they really knew what they were doing."
"Who else, then?" Remus inquired, sounding vaguely disbelieving, and Dora sighed again and confessed:
"I don't know..."
"Try and sleep a while, darling." Remus suggested, reaching to smooth the sheets atop her lap. "I'll make a start on those wards."
Despite his reassurances, Remus found himself looking over his shoulder some minutes later as he stood in the front garden, wand in hand. He cast his squinting gaze over the trees and bushes, sighed heavily at the thought that it was a sorry state of affairs when one felt the need to look over one's shoulder at his grand old age, before turning his attention back to the house. As he raised his wand and set about muttering a long list of increasingly obscure protective charms, a figure ducked down amongst the foliage beyond the garden fence watched his every move.
As she set the two steaming mugs of coffee down upon the table and dropped back down into her seat, Imogen offered the wizard sat opposite her an uncharacteristically nervous grin.
Phoenix Selwyn mumbled quiet thanks and stared down at his mug in consideration before asking, without looking up at her:
"How was your morning?"
"Oh it's...it was alright..." Imogen decided as she pulled her own mug towards her. "Same as usual...lots of potion ingredients, lots of whispering and giggling from across the room...few cups of tea! How about you? How was yours?"
"Passable, I suppose." Phoenix said, still staring at his mug. "Lot's of paperwork, just the one cup of tea...couple of Howlers from Mr Brown..."
"He's sending you Howlers?!"
"Oh yes, Father's desk has some dreadful scorch marks on it, he'll be quite cross..." Phoenix trailed off with a huff that didn't sound as amused as Imogen suspected he intended, and the wizard reached to rake a weary hand through his hair. The pair lapsed into a distinctly awkward silence. Imogen rather wished he would look up at her, it was unlike him to seem so withdrawn for one thing, and for another she didn't want to have a conversation with his forehead...
"Are you up to much this evening, then?" she tried, and felt quite frustrated when he merely shook his head.
"Not really, no. Just...paperwork. Father's back soon, so..."
"Have to get everything in order!"
"Yes, precisely." At last, Phoenix looked up at her, lips twitching towards a smile and when it lasted but for a second Imogen found herself leaning forward a little.
"Are you alright, Nick? You're very...quiet, see..."
Her observation seemed to jolt a little life back in him.
"Oh, yes!" he said, gripping his mug as he sat a little straighter. "Yes I'm...I'm just...well..." He ducked his head again and took a generous gulp of coffee before clearing his throat. "Tell me why you hate Quidditch!" he requested abruptly, looking up again with a small smile to have finally gotten to grips with the concept of conversation, and the sudden change in him rather took Imogen aback.
"Oh...er..."
"I don't believe you can truly hate it, it doesn't make sense."
"Does anything anyone likes or doesn't like have to always make sense? My Grandad quite likes jazz music and I don't see the sense in that in the slightest..."
Phoenix promptly dissolved into laughter and Imogen felt as if things were finally back to the way they had been, back before Rochelle's existence had thrown a spanner in the works.
"What's wrong with jazz?"
"I wouldn't know, I don't really listen to it. But Nana says it's just noise...not that that makes any sense either, mind you. She likes the Weird Sisters!"
"You don't?"
"I do. But that doesn't mean they're not just noise too!"
Phoenix sniggered into his coffee before taking a slow sip in consideration.
"What you're trying to suggest, then," he observed once he had set his mug back down upon the table, "is that you have an irrational hatred of Quidditch..."
"It's not irrational in the slightest."
"I see. And what precisely isn't irrational about it?"
Imogen pursed her lips firmly together and frowned at her coffee. Then she asked:
"Do you support the Harpies?"
Phoenix gave a soft snort of disdain.
"Certainly not! They're a joke!"
Despite herself, Imogen's eyes narrowed a little.
"A joke?"
"Yes!"
"You do know we're talking about the Holyhead Harpies and not the Chudley Cannons..."
"Yes, they're both a joke! I'm a Tornadoes man through and through!"
"The Tutshill Tornadoes?"
"The very same."
"But they're bloody awful!"
"They beat seven barrels out of the Harpies last season!"
"Their keeper fell off his broom five minutes into that match!"
"And yet they still won!"
By now, Imogen's mouth had fallen open a little at the sheer audacity of the man sat opposite her. When she merely gaped at him, Phoenix grinned and observed:
"You're a Harpies girl, I assume!"
At such an accusation Imogen promptly shut her mouth and scowled.
"I'm not an anything girl." she informed him bluntly, snatching up her mug.
"But if you had to be?" Phoenix pressed, apparently oblivious that he was headed towards hot water, and Imogen sipped her coffee in reluctant consideration before deciding:
"The Wasps."
"Hm..."
"Dad's supported them since he was six and Nana used to go to see them with her dad so I suppose it'd only be right to follow tradition."
Phoenix shook his head.
"If I were you," he suggested, "I'd support them because the Wasps are the second best team in Britain!"
"After the Tornadoes?"
"Obviously. Support them because of that, not because of tradition. Tradition is overrated, you know..." Phoenix trailed off, expression abruptly forlorn, but Imogen was too busy scowling to notice as she muttered:
"So is Quidditch."
Despite Imogen's hatred of the sport in question, the pair passed an enjoyable lunch hour discussing various Quidditch teams and matches, all whilst managing to steer clear of Phoenix's original question. Overall, despite his initial reluctance, Imogen thought the whole thing had gone rather well and she was quite determined to suggest they do the same the following day, after all they really did seem to get on very well, they even went as far as to admit such a thing on their walk back up Diagon Alley towards work.
Imogen felt as if she were on top of the world as they trooped into reception and headed past the reception desk, where the lingering smell of nail polish made Phoenix sigh heavily.
"Marge..." he began meaningfully, causing the witch in question to jump, slamming a filing cabinet shut as she spun round to face him, plastering a bright smile onto her face. "How many times..."
"A package arrived, Master Selwyn!" Marge announced brightly, neatly manicured fingers tucked behind her back. "I left it on the desk for you in Mr Selwyn's office, it's the one you asked for this morning, I think!"
"Ah," Phoenix said, abandoning his scolding, possibly Imogen suspected because Marge was in fact an entirely lost cause. "Excellent, thank you, Marge. Im, come with me a moment, will you? You could drop the box off to Martin's office when you pass..."
Imogen followed him through the double doors and down the corridor towards the office, a spring in her step, and as he led the way inside and made a beeline for the desk, she let the door swing shut behind her, lips pursed together in consideration as she watched him.
"Well," she said, toying with the hem of her blouse as he squinted down at the label upon the package upon the desk, "that was nice, fun even. We should do it again sometime...if you like!"
Phoenix abandoned his examination of the label to look over at her. His throat bobbed. Then he said:
"Oh..."
Then he offered her a distinctly uncertain smile and decided: "Yes...perhaps..."
Despite herself, Imogen found herself laughing.
"Perhaps?" she said, folding her arms across her chest. "Merlin...!"
"Sorry," he began hurriedly, reaching to scratch awkwardly at the back of his neck. "It's not that I didn't have a nice time with you, Im, I did, I had a lovely time, it's just I...you...we...!" he trailed off, hand at the nape of his neck tugging frustratedly at his hair.
"You made me tea for days and days and I was barely polite to you!" Imogen recalled, utterly perplexed. "I finally relent and we spend a bit of time together and...and then this!"
"I worry, Imogen, that's all..."
"About what? What's so worrying about going out for coffee or...or maybe to dinner or something? What's so massively worrying about something simple like that..."
"There's nothing simple about the way I feel about you!" Phoenix's face had grown flushed and he gave a jump as if he wanted to clamp a hand across his mouth to stop himself speaking only to be entirely too late.
Imogen simply gaped at him. He looked utterly mortified at his admission, hands coming to grip the sides of the box upon the desk. He leant heavily forward, bowing his head as he drew a deep, calming breath.
"The thing is, Immy," he said once he had looked up again, "I know we've not known one another for any real length of time at all, but I do think we get on very well and...and I very much enjoy spending time with you..."
"Well, then..."
"No, let me...let me finish! I like you an awful lot, Imogen! I really do! I could've sat in that cafe all day long just talking to you! But I worry! You worry me! It worries me that I like you so much when you think so badly of me!"
"If I thought that badly of you I'd never had made you that cup of tea or asked you out in the first place." Imogen pointed out impatiently, fidgeting a little, and he shook his head vigorously.
"I saw you." he complained, head bowed again. "I watched the look on your face the day your father came to talk about Shelly. You hated me!"
"For a minute, perhaps! But I didn't want to! And I've thought about it since, of course I have! If I hadn't I wouldn't be here..."
"You're just testing me. You want to see if...if I'm better than you think I am! And what if I'm not? What if I'm as...as dreadful as you first imagined?!"
"You won't be. I know you won't..."
"How can you know?!"
Imogen pursed her lips together in consideration, then she wandered slowly forward towards him, eying her boots as she picked her way carefully across the room.
"My dad didn't think much of my last boyfriend." she recalled, shaking her head at the memory. "I used to tell him he was wrong all the time, used to say Jamie was perfect...Nana overheard us arguing once. She told me I was silly to think that the perfect man for me would be perfect in the true sense of the word. She said nobody's perfect in the real world, everybody's got flaws. The trick is to find the person whose flaws you can help them suppress or even overcome and know they can do the same for you. That way neither one of you is perfect but together you might just pull it off every once in a while. So...maybe you're a bit of a coward, but I've a backbone strong enough for the pair of us. And maybe you don't believe you're decent enough for me, but I know you can be wrong. And...and maybe I need someone cautious to...to keep my feet on the ground, maybe I need someone who can...can catch me stumbling out a bathroom at bloody Hexx of all places and...and still be willing to give me a chance when I almost didn't give one to myself. Maybe you're not perfect and I'm not perfect...but maybe one day...if...if we drink enough tea and coffee we might just pretend the pair of us are flawless once in a blue moon..." Imogen came to a halt before the desk and sighed, frowning deeply as she felt her face grow hot in embarrassment at her mumbling. She found herself forced to confess: "Bloody hell, I...I didn't mean for it to come out all so...you know...it's not like we're...I mean I'm only asking you out for bloody coffee, aren't I? I didn't mean to make it sound like some sort of...proposal...! I mean it is, it's a...a proposal for coffee! Ha! So...er..."
She was cut off in an instant when a pair of hands came to press lightly against her shoulders. She looked up just in time to feel his long fingers slip up her neck and before she knew it he was drawing her face across the desk to kiss her firmly upon the lips.
"Thank Merlin you don't hate me..." he mumbled a second later, only to draw back from her, confessing: "Sorry, I...that was a...a bit much for...for just coffee...!"
Imogen found her lips curving uncontrollably into a smile.
"I don't mind." she said, very nearly giggling, and with that he stepped around the desk so that they might stand toe to toe.
"Oh good!" he chuckled, and, free from the confines of the desk between them, she reached to press her hands to his chest, fingers toying with the soft fibres of his jumper.
"Incidentally," he murmured, one hand reaching carefully round her middle, "I'm not sure if anyone's ever pointed this out to you but...you really are awfully beautiful..."
"Awfully beautiful!" Imogen sniggered, slumping forward until her forehead came to rest against his chest. "Has anyone ever pointed out to you that you really are awfully posh?"
"Golly, no!" he responded, and they both dissolved into laughter, only for him to reach to prise her face away from her chest so that he might kiss her again.
He made her blush.
"I don't think posh boys are supposed to kiss like that, Phoenix." she pointed out, and he gave a huff and said:
"Well then, Shelly isn't the only black sheep in the family..."
"I don't mind." she told him again, and once again he said:
"Oh good!"
"I'm not sure I could ever really hate you." she mumbled between kisses. "Even if you're ridiculously posh, like a crap Quidditch team and...and..."
"And?"
"Never mind."
Phoenix frowned, leaning back upon his heels so that he could more easily study her face.
"Let's...just...go slow." he decided, abruptly apprehensive. "Let's take things slowly..."
"Alright then." Imogen agreed, only to reach to hook her hands around his neck, rising up upon her toes to kiss him again.
The knock upon the door a moment later had barely registered with them before the office door had been pushed open and an odd squeaking noise revealed Marge stood in the doorway, her jaw dropped and her face flushed scarlet. As Imogen and Phoenix spun round to face her, the receptionist promptly dropped the pile of files she had been clutching to her chest, before turning to flee back down the corridor.
Imogen was about to snigger when beside her she heard Phoenix mutter darkly:
"What a pair we're going to make!"
By the time Imogen had turned back to face him, she found a box being thrust non-too gently into her arms and he told her: "Get going. Go on."
His blunt dismissal stung. Imogen found herself stumbling a little. She watched in silence as he went to snatch up a sheet of parchment from the desk, free hand tugging to straighten the jumper that she had toyed with mere moments earlier.
"It doesn't matter she saw us, does it?" Imogen began uncertainly. "I mean..."
"I'm due in Bristol in under half an hour."
"Nick...?"
"I won't be back until tomorrow, so..."
"Are you embarrassed by us?!" Imogen cried, grip upon the box tightening, and he spun around to look at her, eyes as wide as snitches.
"What?"
"I said are you embarrassed? Are you worried what people are going to say?!"
There was something undeniably nervous about his laugh as he made a beeline for the door, pausing to press a hand to her elbow.
"Imogen Lupin," he said, shaking his head. "How in Merlin's name could I possibly be embarrassed about you?" He leant to press a brief kiss to her cheek, before turning on his heel to head for the door. As he disappeared out into the corridor, stepping over the fallen paperwork she heard him decide: "Terrified? Yes. Embarrassed? Never...MARGE! FOR MERLIN'S SAKE COME AND CLEAR THIS MESS UP!"
Imogen adjusted her grip upon the box, baffled, before sighing heavily and following his lead towards the door.
"I'm impressed." Timothy Winters confessed from where he sat at the kitchen table, midway through his morning cup of tea. "It's not nine o'clock yet!"
"Auntie Cleo's going to be home by half ten." his niece informed him from where she stood in the kitchen doorway, shoes on and coat donned. "I thought I'd surprise her and tidy the house up a bit before she gets back."
Do you see this, Robin?" Timothy asked his son beside him, nose buried in a book as he sat hunched over a bowl of Cheerios. "Take note, won't you?"
Robin made a vague noise under his breath and turned to a new page.
"Can you drive me over on your way to work?" Pandora asked, only for Timothy to lean to kick the chair opposite him out from under the table.
"Sit and have some breakfast first, Sweetheart." he instructed, reaching to snatch up a slice of toast in demonstration, and Robin seemed to become abruptly aware of the world around him enough to point out:
"Yes, don't forget you're eating for two now!"
As she shuffled towards the table, Pandora shot her cousin a frown, and Timothy promptly informed the boy:
"Either put that book down and attempt decent conversation or don't say anything at all, Robin."
"What? It's what people say, isn't it? Eating for two..." Robin let the book fall to his lap so that he could offer his father a wide-eyed look to wonder: "Unless it's twins...that'd be eating for three!"
"Robin." Timothy scolded lightly, rolling his eyes a little as Pandora felt her cheeks flush.
"Twins run in the family, you know Pan. Are there any on your dad's side? Imagine...!"
"I'd rather not." Pandora muttered, adding a mumbled: "No offence, Uncle Tim."
Timothy gave an amused huff and reached to snatch the book from Robin's lap, eying the cover for inspiration to change the subject.
"What's this you're reading? The Real Blackbeard. Pirates, hm? I thought we were only interested in space travel and the occasional zombie apocalypse..."
Pandora managed a half-decent breakfast. Her visit from Imogen two nights previously and a day spent with her mother and Auntie Natalie watching girly films yesterday had lifted her spirits somewhat, though she had still yet to see her father and her grandmother's name was still mud. It was a somewhat disappointing prospect to be packed off back to Cleo's house, but with Teddy still away so much Carrie insisted that staying with Cleo was a more sensible option, for Carrie could walk over and visit whilst Imogen was at work. It would at least, Pandora supposed, give her a break from Robin's persistent staring, which was beginning to get on her nerves.
It's so good of Cleo to have her, she had heard Auntie Natalie comment the previous afternoon whilst she and Carrie prepared lunch, and Carrie had agreed: Yes, Cleo's been an absolute saint.
Saint Cleopatra, persistently grumpy, bossy and somewhat erratic in her affections towards Pandora, had been tipsy most evenings and downright drunk on others. She dragged Pandora out to work at unfathomable hours of the morning, with the help of a couple of paracetamol tablets and ample amounts of coffee. She was a bad cook, Pandora had eaten beans on toast more times than she could count, and the entire arrangement was not in the least bit ideal.
But despite all this, Pandora had realised, her mother and aunt were right. Cleo was doing her best, had never once suggested that Pandora should not be staying at her house and Pandora was certain that Hell would freeze over before this would change.
And Pandora wanted Cleo to realise that she was grateful, and giving the house a good tidy before Cleo arrived home seemed a reasonable declaration of gratitude.
Even if the house was an absolute mess.
Cleo Clancy had never been terribly tidy. Unlike Carrie, who habitually kept her home near on spotless, Cleo preferred her house to look lived in.
Chaotic was, Pandora suspected, a more appropriate adjective, but despite this everything in Cleo's house had it's place and she kept everything in its place. Organised chaos, Cleo had insisted over a third glassful of wine a few days previously, was in fact not actual chaos at all, and Pandora had to admit that nobody could ever accuse Cleo of being disorganised. It seemed to Pandora that Cleo's house was simply so crammed full of bits and bobs and other things that it being spotless was an entirely foreign and all together futile concept.
But the house did seem to be more chaotic than when Pandora had first arrived. She had wondered for a while if it was simply because she had disruptive whatever careful balance and routine Cleo had that kept true chaos at bay, but she was beginning to suspect...other factors...
Pandora knew that at some point she was going to have to tell her mother about Auntie Cleo's drinking habits.
She suspected Cleo knew it too.
She also suspected that Carrie already knew precisely what was going on.
The only thing Pandora didn't know was why Carrie had yet to say anything.
If your mum was here, Cleo had pointed out one evening as she sat squinting at the bottle she had just uncorked, she'd have poured this lot down the sink!
I could do that, Pandora had said, but Cleo had merely laughed loudly and Pandora hadn't a clue what was funny.
Pandora hoped Uncle Timothy didn't spot the unusually large number of empty bottles in the recycling box beside the curb as she climbed out of the car that morning.
"Got the key?" he asked as she turned to snatch up her bag.
"Yes, it's here..." Pandora dug around in her pocket before extracting the object in question, dangling it in front of him in demonstration, and he smiled and told her:
"In you go, then! Give Auntie Natalie a ring if Cleo doesn't show up before lunch, alright? She can fix you something."
"I know how to use a toaster, Uncle Tim." Pandora pointed out, and she winced a little when he offered her a raised eyebrow and observed:
"You shall need to know an awful lot more than that when the time comes, Sweetheart!"
Pandora leant awkwardly back into the car to peck him upon the cheek.
"Bye bye!"
"Don't overdo it!"
"I won't!"
"Good! Say hello to Cleo for me!"
"Yes."
"Bye, then!"
As the car pulled away from the curb, Pandora turned to survey the house determinedly, before heading for the front door.
She cleaned the kitchen from top to bottom, though she skipped over the more murky bottles and jars of goodness knew what that were dotted around the surfaces, hoarding them in a safe corner. She tidied up the sitting room and hoovered the hall before venturing upstairs to deposit various items that she had collected upon the way in Cleo's bedroom where she suspected they belonged. By this time, Pandora was beginning to feel increasingly worn out. She dumped the pile of discarded jumpers, magazines, boxes and other debris upon the bed and gazed down at the sheets somewhat longingly. Haphazardly made, the duvet was already adorned with a half-empty box of tissues, a gardening magazine, a grubby sunhat and what appeared to be an open scrapbook.
Pandora dropped down upon the bed and reached to pull the book towards her. Pasted all over the open pages were a series of photographs, frozen moments stuck with uncharacteristic care upon paper pages.
There were Cleo and Carrie sat upon the edge of a fountain in a grand garden, one school friend or another's wedding, Pandora seemed to remember. Carrie was holding an elegant champagne flute in one hand and Cleo had an arm flung around her best friend's shoulders as they both beamed at the camera.
Cleo was wearing a dress.
She looked...nice...
Pandora stared at the photograph in fascination, attempting to commit every inch of it to memory, just in case such a thing were to never be seen again.
There was a picture of Cleo and her sister Bowie in their parents' kitchen, apparently midway through doing the washing up, another older picture of Cleo sat upon a sofa with her niece Delilah upon her knee. There were pictures of the Clancy family at Christmas, of Pandora and Imogen, an old dog-eared picture of Teddy and Cleo out in a field somewhere, Cleo's face frozen in a shriek as the too-tall teenager struggled to keep her balance perched precariously upon the young wizard's shoulders, armed with a pair of water pistols spraying high up into the air. Birthday parties, trips to the beach, trips nowhere at all in bursts of colour across the page, stuck with care...
...except for a gap in one corner, shiny with old glue and the remnants of paper once stuck down but since torn back up again.
Pandora spotted the victim discarded upon the sheets and she set the book aside and reached to pick it up. The photograph was somewhat crumpled and the girl set it down upon her knee and attempted to smooth the creases.
Pandora recognised the man sat beside Cleo in the photograph, despite it no doubt being older than Pandora was herself. She had known Cleo's on-and-off boyfriend Craig for many years, but the two had been firmly apart since Pandora had been twelve. It seemed odd for Cleo to choose now to rip up old mementos of him...
Weary, Pandora sunk back upon the mattress, her eyes drifting sleepily closed, and as her hand brushed the box of tissues discarded upon the bed she wondered vaguely if Cleo had cried to think of Craig, if she'd felt silly...
And Pandora lay upon the sofa and cried. And he told her she was being silly.
"I'm n...not!" she cried, face grown pink and blotchy, "I'm not silly!"
"I said you're being silly, Sweetheart. I didn't say you were silly."
And he came to sit upon the floor beside the sofa and reached to smooth her hair with his careful hands that despite everything made her feel better.
"I don't love her, Pan." he said softly once her sobbing had subsided. "You know that."
"You said she was...was special!" she complained, very nearly sobbing all over again, but he sniggered and muttered:
"The only special thing about Rovena Luga is the size of her bank balance, Pan! I mean for goodness sake...!"
Pandora reached to clamp her hands over her face with a groan, only to feel him reach and prise them away again.
"Look at me, Sweetheart." he said when she promptly screwed her eyes shut. "Please, just look at me."
She looked at him. She looked at his deep warm eyes and his handsome face and stubbly chin...
And it made her cry.
"You've g...got l...lipstick on your cheek!" she whimpered, and he slumped to bury his face in the crook of her neck with a moan, his silky hair tickling her chin.
"Pan..."
"I...I bet y...you...I bet you shagged her again!"
"Pan, please..."
"I...I bet it was r...right here! Right here on this...this bloody sofa!"
"Pandora..."
"I...I bet y...you had a...a great time, both of you! I bet...I bet you wish...you wish I w...was her!"
"Of course not..."
"I bet you'd n...not want me like...like that!"
She found her hands abruptly pinned to her sides as his face appeared suddenly above her, eyes so piercing that she flinched. Then he sighed heavily and whispered:
"Of course I wouldn't want you like that."
Pandora stared up at him in mute surprise.
She hadn't expected him to agree with her...
His face softened as he released her hands to reach and smooth her hair again, a soft smile tugging at his lips.
"You're much too lovely for a lumpy old sofa like this." he told her, arching an eyebrow. "Much, much too lovely, much too special!"
"We've...been here before..." she pointed out, and her face might've gone yet more pink still to remind him, and he laughed, leaning until their foreheads were pressed together.
"Well that's true. But only because I'm not a prince and I don't own a palace with a great big four poster bed grand or comfortable enough for a girl as lovely and precious as you."
She was grinning, she couldn't seem to help herself and before she knew it he had slipped precariously onto the sofa and drawn her to him, arms tightly around her and his lips pressed to her ear.
"Perhaps I might manage a little better than this, hm?" he whispered, and she could feel him smiling. "Perhaps one day I'll take you home with me, how would you like that, hm? I'll tuck you up in bed beside me and hold you all night long, how does that sound? We can talk and talk until you fall asleep and I won't move a muscle till morning!"
She couldn't seem to stop smiling.
He sighed, then. She could feel his fingers toying absent-mindedly with the hem of her t-shirt, fingertips grazing the flesh beneath as he pressed a kiss atop her head and observed:
"You can be silly sometimes, can't you?"
"Yes." she agreed, feeling entirely ridiculous at her wild temper just minutes earlier, and he shook his head and asked:
"Do you love me, Sweetheart?"
"Yes!"
He smiled at her total lack of hesitation and leant to press a kiss to her nose.
"Well then you're bound to be silly sometimes." he assured her. "Love makes us all silly, you know..."
Pandora was jolted awake by a hefty thump of something heavy being dropped down upon the foot of the bed.
"What the bloody hell have you been up to?" a voice inquired half a second later, apparently assuming she was awake, and Pandora scrambled up into a sitting position to find Cleo stood at the bottom of the bed, busy rifling through a cardboard box that tinkled with the sound of glass jars and bottles.
"Just...tidying up a bit..." Pandora mumbled, wondering why she felt embarrassed, and Cleo paused to shoot her a broad grin that looked bordering on grateful. But then she muttered:
"Not supposed to go slaving away in your condition, you know!"
"I wasn't."
"No? Well I just found you half passed out on my bed and I say otherwise. Budge over, kid! Give me some room..."
Pandora moved her feet out of the way just in time for a large assortment of jars to be deposited haphazardly upon the sheets. As Cleo set about searching briskly through them, the girl asked:
"What're those?"
"Oh all sorts...potions, ointments, concoctions and the like. I need to have a clear out, some of them are going bad."
Pandora shifted forward to frown down at the collection, her nose wrinkling. Somehow Cleo's fake magical potions were a whole lot more unpleasant than some of her own family's real ones. Maybe, she mused, it was simply their lack of magic. If you took magic away then all potions were the same.
Disgusting.
It was at that moment that a bottle by her foot caught Pandora's attention.
The substance inside was a gritty, metallic shade of burnt orange that Pandora recognised almost immediately as that pictured in the photographs Dora had been examining at Auror Headquarters when Pandora had been interviewed...
Surely not, the girl thought, leaning forward to get a closer look. Surely...it just looked similar...
And yet there was something entirely unmistakable about a substance like that, just...something...
Cleo's hand reaching to snatch up the bottle made Pandora jump.
"What's that?" she asked, and Cleo paused, offering her a raised eyebrow.
"It's a volcanic compound."
"A...a compound of what?"
Cleo frowned deeply.
"Oh...this and that..." she brightened a little to recall: "It's from Iceland, you know!"
"Where'd you get it?"
"It was mail order."
"Which magazine?"
Cleo laughed, shaking her head.
"What're you so interested in it for?"
Pandora attempted to shrug, but the movement was distinctly awkward.
"I don't know, I think it's...pretty..."
Cleo laughed far harder, then, and told her:
"There are a whole load of words to describe industrial strength floor cleaner, but pretty isn't one that ever occurred to me..."
"Floor cleaner?!"
"You heard! It's all natural and stuff...I saw it in The Weekly Incantation a couple of months back and thought it sounded good."
"It doesn't sound very...magical..." Pandora ventured as Cleo deposited the bottle back in the box, and the self-proclaimed witch grinned.
"On it's own, no. But they bottle it during full moons, you see, and everybody knows the significance of a night like that!"
"Yes..." Pandora mumbled, and Cleo snatched up a few other bottles and turned to head for the stairs.
Pandora immediately went to snatch up the offending article back out of the box, squinting at the label.
The label said little besides an obscure name written in a foreign language and some warning, also unreadable, accompanied by a series of large warning exclamation marks...
Pandora slipped the bottle into her pocket and scrambled up off the bed.
"Auntie Cleo!" she shouted as she made a beeline for the stairs. "Can I borrow your laptop?!"
There was a great soaring in her chest, a sudden sense of hope, a sudden joy that she had found a clue! She had found it, she was going to make a difference!
She couldn't wait to tell her father all about it at dinner that evening, she thought excitedly. She'd look the magazine Cleo had mentioned up on the Internet, find an address to proudly present to Teddy the minute he got in from work. She'd have to phone home and demand somebody bring her home that evening. Everybody was going to be so impressed!
The Weekly Incantation, Pandora discovered curtesy of an amateurish looking website located via a brief search on Google, was an entirely eccentric publication full of all sorts of nonsensical claims about the magical arts, the likes of which would make any real wizard fall about laughing. The magazine operated out of a tiny one room office in a Bristol suburb. Pandora made a note of the address and the name of the editor. Then she phoned her mother and demanded that she come home for dinner that evening, assuming of course that Teddy would be home. To her mild surprise Carrie informed her that Teddy had finally been given an evening off work.
She told her father all about her discovery in an excited rush that night, her dinner upon the plate before her entirely ignored.
He listened in silence, chewing thoughtfully upon his potatoes and greens, any thoughts he had upon her news conveyed cryptically by a furrowed brow or raised eyebrow above wearily heavy-lidded eyes. When Pandora was finished, he simply said:
"Well."
Then he stopped eating.
Upon abandoning his dinner, Pandora had quite expected Teddy to make a beeline for the nearest fireplace, to disappear off to the Ministry with her triumphant news with great haste.
Instead, upon discarding his cutlery upon his plate with a clatter that made both his wife and daughters jump, Pandora's father rose slowly to his feet. He murmured a vague excuse me, darling to nobody in particular, and then he walked slowly out into the kitchen. Pandora heard the back door lock click. The door swung open upon its hinges and Teddy disappeared out into the fading summer light.
Back at the table there was a long pause before Carrie pursed her lips in consideration, finally deciding:
"Eat up before your dinner's stone cold, Pan."
Pandora pushed food around her plate for a while, before excusing herself to the kitchen on the premise of fetching a drink. She stood by the sink and stared through the blinds at the kitchen window, squinting to see out, but could not make out much in the poor light. She was about to give up and return to the table when she heard her Teddy call:
"Pandora?"
Pandora's gaze dropped briefly to the water gushing uselessly from the tap, before consenting to calling back:
"Yes?"
"Come out here a moment."
Obediently Pandora reached to stem the flow of water before making her way to the back door. She slipped out into the garden, pausing upon the back step, the concrete cool against her cotton socks. The garden was a modest one, the small patio took up a good third of the space. Pandora found her father sat upon the bench upon the grass by the garden wall, face bathed in soft lamplight from the solar-powered lights Uncle Thomas had installed some two years earlier as a birthday gift.
Pandora stood upon the step and whilst biting a fingernail she studied her father.
Theodore Lupin had been born to decidedly unconventional parents and yet as a parent himself his daughter thought him to be entirely ordinary. He was the sort of father, Pandora thought, that most teenage girls seemed acquainted with. The sort of father who was often absent thanks to work but managed to maintain strong bonds with his children nevertheless, the sort of father who was at times strict but always loving, the sort of father whose morals and ideals had been made clear to his offspring from the outset and who could be relied upon to uphold them unwaveringly no matter what, because he knew which path to lead his children down so well that he could not possibly ever falter...
But Teddy had been stumbling, these past weeks. He had grown hesitant. Unsure of himself both professionally and personally. Doubtful of himself as a parent. Pandora could see it now, she realised, as he sat upon the garden bench, frowning deeply as if he simply could not make up his mind about something. Pandora wondered if he was going the same way as Nana Dora. The notion made Pandora think she might just cry...
Her father looked up at her. His eyes seemed to focus keenly as if he had found some small resolution amongst his tangled thoughts.
"Pandora," he said, voice soft and yet surprisingly firm. "I want you to tell your grandmother what you've told me at dinner this evening."
Pandora stared at him. She wanted to ask him why he felt such a request necessary, however her continued thoughts of bereft-induced animosity towards her grandparent instead made her tell him:
"I won't." When Teddy frowned a little she added: "I don't see why I should!"
Teddy studied the bushes opposite him for a while and Pandora fidgeted. Eventually the Auror confessed:
"I thought you might say that."
Pandora felt unnerved by his calm, considered talk. She felt rather as if she were about to start a debate with her grandfather, and silently cursed the fact that upon close inspection Teddy and Remus Lupin were more alike than she cared to admit. Realising what she was up against, she launched into her argument before his inspection of the bushes could yield anything earth-shatteringly reasonable.
"You ought go straight to the Ministry and...and tell Ron and all the others! That's what should happen, Dad, there's no use telling Nana Dora, she's no use..."
"She's still the Acting Head of Aurors, Pan." Teddy pointed out, still studying the shrubbery.
"In name, maybe!" Pandora protested. "But what is she really?! I bet she's not look at a Ministry file or...or sent an owl to Headquarters in days or...or weeks!"
"She checks up on us each day, we send her notes." Teddy recalled vaguely, waving a hand, and Pandora began:
"She's only playing, Dad! She's lost her grip on things, Ron's in charge now..."
"What your grandmother does or does not contribute to the Auror Department at present is entirely irrelevant, Pandora." her father interrupted sternly, and Pandora thought he sounded almost ashamed by his mother's increasingly dubious role.
"Then I don't see why I have to go tell her about Cleo or anything else." the girl decided, feeling as if she was winning, only for the notion to be crushed when Teddy insisted:
"You must tell her because she is your grandmother, that's all there is to it."
Pandora leant against the doorframe, folding her arms firmly across her chest.
"You just want us to make up!" she accused, and her father finally stopped staring at the bushes so that he could frown at her.
"Is that such a crime?" he asked, and she wanted to tell him that it certainly was, only she knew full well how ridiculous she would sound.
"Imagine yourself in that bed, Pandora." Teddy said, leaning heavily back upon the bench. "Climb under those blankets...under her skin, and just think."
Pandora slumped back against the doorframe, her eyes drifting wearily shut.
"Your grandmother has never been one to age, Pan. She's led an active, healthy life, she's been fortunate enough not to suffer from any long term ailments up until now, and she married your grandfather, a man not only a number of years her senior, but also a man who's spend a significant portion of their lives together in very poor health indeed. She's always been the healthy one. The young one. Being with your grandfather only exacerbates her view of her place in life. She's never felt old because your grandfather is always older! Perhaps her back plays up once in a while these days but what's that really compared to a werewolf after full moon? And Grandad won't let her forget her age, either! He'd tell her all the time when I was a child, I can remember! He'd say she looked like Spring of a morning and then he'd sigh at the sight of her and say he looked like Autumn beside her! He'd say what luck it was I had at least one parent young enough to fool around and teach me to ride my first broomstick! He'd say she listened to music far too modern for him! Merlin, catch him in a mood grim enough and he'd bemoan he'd cradle-snatched her and was morally damned forever after! Pandora, your grandmother doesn't know how to age, how to grow old, how to...to get sick and find you're too old to truly recover! Nobody's ever suggested to her that such a thing, such an inevitable fact of life, could possibly happen to her! And it has dawned on her, I am sure, that all this is happening to her whether she can comprehend it or not! It's as if her life is spiralling out of control! And I have faith that she will overcome this, I am certain that she can pull herself together somehow, because when push comes to shove she is a realist to the bone! But it is a struggle, Pandora! It is a great struggle and a great pain! And if you think you can hold her despair against her like this and think she deserves it, you are deeply, deeply wrong!"
"She said I was...I was just a Squib!" Pandora complained, face contorting furiously at the memory, and her father sighed again.
"Don't let's quibble over semantics, Sweetheart." he insisted wearily. "You know full well that wasn't what she meant..."
"It was a cheap shot! Pulling the...the Squib card just because...because she knew I was right and she was wrong! She couldn't just admit to being in the wrong!"
"What use would that have been? It would only have humiliated her further, Pan, and she can't be crushed much more, she'll break! Besides, she regretted it the moment she opened her mouth and you know it."
"Grandad's barely talking to her either." Pandora pointed out, as if this somehow justified her own stance on the situation, and her father gave a huff.
"Nonsense!" he grumbled, folding his arms across his chest, and Pandora insisted:
"It's true! Immy told me..."
"Pandora, please."
Pandora consented to opening her eyes. She found her father's gaze immediately pinning her to the spot.
"I'm not saying what Nana did was right." Teddy said very slowly, as if each syllable were weighed down with sheer desire to be heard. "And I'm not saying she can be entirely excused for saying what she did. But try and understand what's going on in that mind of hers, Sweetheart. Remember that she is your grandmother. Remember all that she has done for you over the years! And how she has loved you unwaveringly since you were a mere twinkle in my eye! I suggest you think very long and hard about whether or not you can forget all that after one foolish incident like this! It's entirely unreasonable, Pandora. Just give her a chance."
"She's not...not the same, Dad!" Pandora complained miserably, feeling tears begin to prickle at er eyes. "She's not like my Nana!"
"Give her a chance." her father repeated firmly, rising carefully to his feet. "Give her a chance and she might just surprise you."
Pandora sighed heavily and tugged pensively at a stray strand of hair.
"I'll even skive off work first thing tomorrow morning and take you to see her myself!" Teddy suggested, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. "How about it?"
Pandora looked up at him again. He looked so dreadfully tired, she thought miserably, there were dark rings about his eyes as if they had sunken into his face, he was in need of a good shave and his shoulders seemed to slump naturally. She wondered how many shifts he had done without a break, how many raids there had been, how many early mornings and how many late nights...
Arguing with him seemed entirely heartless.
"Suppose..." she found herself mumbling, and quite hating herself for it, and he smiled then and told her:
"That's a relief, Sweetheart."
By the morning Pandora had decided that this whole infuriating situation was entirely Nana Dora's fault. After all, it was Dora who had Teddy working to such a gruelling schedule, Dora who had left him so weary, and Pandora had only agreed to visit her grandparents' house because she felt sorry for him.
She certainly didn't feel much like giving her grandmother a chance for redemption in the slightest by the time she and Teddy had stepped out of the fireplace into her grandparents' sitting room.
They found Remus sat at the little table in the corner, pouring over figures in a thick, battered looking volume that Pandora recognised as her grandparents' meticulously kept record of their accounts. Remus abandoned his study immediately, however, in order to greet his granddaughter with a firm hug.
"Goodness!" the werewolf murmured, gripping her tightly. "Your nana shall be pleased! She's been hoping you'd come over, you know! Are you staying, Ted? Perhaps we'll have a cup of tea..."
No sooner had Remus disappeared into the kitchen, Teddy had given his daughter a firm nudge towards the master bedroom and murmured:
"Go on, just give it a try."
Pandora shuffled obediently towards the door, feet like lead. She allowed herself a moment to scowl at the door handle, before reaching to open the door and step inside.
She found Dora sat up in bed, looking remarkably less sickly than before. Though still pale, there were definite blotches of colour in the frail witch's cheeks and when she looked up from the newspaper she was examining Pandora felt as if there was something more familiar about her gaze, something...focused...
Dora abandoned the newspaper upon her lap and struggled to sit a little straighter, dark eyes brightening.
"Pandora!"
The girl watched what was undeniably joy bloom upon the witch's face and felt somewhat affronted by it.
"Dad made me come." she informed her grandmother frankly, folding her arms firmly across her chest as the door swung shut behind her.
Dora's smile faltered ever so slightly, but she said:
"Well I'm glad he did!" When Pandora merely gazed at her in stoney silence, the Auror swallowed a lump in her throat and tried: "Why don't you come and sit down, love?"
Pandora consented to shuffling forward until she was stood at the foot of the bed, but there she stopped.
"He's bunking off to come over here with me. I didn't want to argue with him." she explained. "What with him being so tired all the time."
Dora shifted uneasily against her pillows.
"Well, Sweetheart, that was...very good of you..."
"It's all work, work, work!"
"Yes...I know how he feels..."
"No you don't. You're working him half to death."
Dora bowed her head and examined the newspaper in her lap intently. When she did not say anything, Pandora straightened up and announced:
"I think you should give him the day off."
Dora contemplated this demand briefly before looking up. To Pandora's bemusement the witch smiled faintly and said:
"Of course, love. You're right."
"What?" Pandora uttered, before she could stop herself, only to spin around to face the door when Dora shouted:
"Teddy?!"
Teddy appeared to poke his head around the door in an instant. Pandora wondered if he was listening at the door.
"Mum?"
Dora settled back against her pillows with a wide yawn and said:
"I'm giving you a day off work, love."
And to Pandora's fury her father merely raised an eyebrow and said:
"Oh be quiet, Mum! I don't want a day off work."
Dora frowned deeply.
"It's just you've been on double shifts for days now, I just thought perhaps you might need to..."
"If you want me away from work you'll have to suspend me." Teddy interrupted bluntly. There was a ringing silence and Pandora turned to stare at her father in incomprehension until Dora sighed and said:
"...right. I'm...I'm not going to suspend him, Pan. I'm sorry but I've no reasonable grounds and anyway it'd be a black mark on his record, so..."
"D'you want a cup of tea, Mum?" Teddy interrupted again, stifling a yawn into his sleeve, and Dora gave a defeated huff and said:
"Yes please, love."
Teddy promptly disappeared back out into the sitting room and the door swung shut again.
There was a very long silence.
Eventually Dora took a moment to purse her lips before confessing:
"We're all in far too deep to just step back now, Pan. Sometimes once you've started something that's it...you're in it for good."
Pandora hung her head. She thought of what she herself had started, of the mess she'd caused and of her impending motherhood and supposed that for all her flaws Nana Dora had hit the nail on the head. Pandora found herself feeling ever so slightly less furious, enough so that she consented to going to sit upon the bed beside her grandmother when the witch patted the mattress and said:
"Come on, sit down, love. I might not be quite myself but it's not contagious, you know."
Almost as soon as she had crawled onto the bed, sinking down upon the soft sheets at her grandmother's side, Pandora felt her anger seeping away with the familiar scent of Dora's perfume that seemed to linger upon the pillows...
The girl sunk defeatedly sideways until her head had come to rest upon her grandmother's shoulder, desperately trying to cling on to her anger, still certain she'd not pass on news like her father said because her encounter with her grandmother was not turning out to be the explosive, dreadful thing she had expected and that was unacceptable, that was simply not fair! She'd been so angry! She'd built this whole thing up and up until she'd thought she'd burst and here was Dora, uncharacteristically quiet, disappointingly placid and frustratingly changed from the sinking, hopeless mess that she had been last they had spoken...
"I'm not just a...a Squib." Pandora complained half-heartedly. "I'm not...not just anything!"
At first Dora was silent. Her muteness, the most guilt-ridden sound ever to strike Pandora's ears, made the girl's temper immediately begin to flare and she about to sit bold upright again when the witch finally said:
"Oh yes you are. You're just Pandora, which is more than enough, believe me. And I'm just a daft old woman...which is also more than enough. More than enough to make me do and say some...some utterly ludicrous things! The sorts of things you ought take not the blindest bit of notice of, you hear?"
"Dad says it's just...just semantics."
"Did he now?" Dora's head slipped sideways to lean against her granddaughter's temple. "Well then, he'd be right. But of course every word you ever utter is just semantics. If I can't take a second to think of the meanings before I open my big mouth then what does that make me?"
"A daft old bat." Pandora mumbled, immediately cross at herself for not being entirely serious, and Dora abruptly straightened up and turned to look down at her.
"Oi!" the witch exclaimed in mock-offence, reaching to jab a finger at the girl's ribs and making her squirm. "Only Grandad's allowed to call me that, remember!"
"Because he's an expert at deflecting your stinging jinxes." Pandora recalled, finding herself giggling, and Dora agreed:
"Too bloody right!" Sniggered she reached to pull upon Pandora's arm, free hand reaching to throw back the covers from her lap, saying: "Sit up and look at this, come on, I've been waiting for someone to come and visit all morning, Grandad's bored of listening to my bragging, look..."
Pandora allowed herself to be pulled up, head swimming uncomfortably to obediently look down at the witch's wasted legs, thin and pale, clamped in their metal cages.
"Wait for it..." Dora whispered, and upon glancing sideways at her Pandora found the witch gritting her teeth furiously...
For a moment nothing seemed to happen, only for Pandora to very nearly jump out of skin when Dora's right knee slowly began to bend. It was a slight, insignificant movement that made the heart in Pandora's chest summersault and she immediately lunged sideways to throw her arms around her grandmother, knocking her back against the pillows with an abrupt sob of relief.
Because it was visible, concrete progress. Because her grandmother was on the mend. Because her grandmother was the fearless, untouchable force that Pandora had always believed. Because everything that Dora had said when they had quarrelled had been nothing but lies and a blip in the fabric of reality...
"I've been hating you!" the girl cried, voice muffled in the witch's shoulder, and Dora reached stiffly with a wince to hug her tightly. "You ruined everything, you made me think...like...like everything you'd ever told me was a...a lie! I hated you!"
For a while, Dora simply hugged her, grip like iron, then she sighed and confessed:
"I hate me."
"Y...you shouldn't."
"No, I shouldn't. But I do." Dora's grip tightened until Pandora found it a struggle to breathe. Then the witch said: "Pandora, I want you to promise me something."
"Yes?" Pandora managed, only to find herself being pushed back until Dora could look her sternly in the eye.
"Don't ever hate yourself. Don't ever hate anybody if you can help it. Because hate is the strongest, most destructive force there is...we've fought wars trying to defeat it. Don't you bring any more of it into the world."
"What about you?" Pandora sniffed, reaching to swipe a hand across her eyes. "My...my nana isn't a hypocrite. If you make me promise then...then you can't hate anyone either..."
Dora gave a grim chuckle.
"Oh, I am hateful, Sweetheart." she said, reaching to smooth Pandora's hair. "At least I think I am. But your dad tells me otherwise...who do you think you'll believe?"
Pandora gazed at her grandmother's face in deep consideration for a long moment before she whispered:
"Dad."
Dora smiled weakly.
"Well, then." she said, fingers cupping the girl's cheek, and Pandora let her eyes drift closed.
Pandora knew then that the bridges Dora had burned were slowly being mended. But there was still a way to go.
She wasn't quite sure when her grandmother had become so accepting or indeed preoccupied by this phantom hatred that Pandora didn't believe in, but she could see it ate away at Dora more than illness, age and mortality ever could. After all it seemed to be the only barrier Dora had yet to knock some holes in, the only obstacle she had thus far failed to cross.
Pandora attempted to put this observation aside, for it disturbed her, and instead decided:
"I've got something to tell you. It's...Ministry business."
Dora chose an inopportune moment to yawn widely, fingers rubbing at her knee, but Pandora ploughed on nevertheless.
"I think I know where Jeff got that...that stuff for the letter bomb. That stuff Magical Substances can't identify...I think I just...just found a bottle of it. At Cleo's house." Pandora reached awkwardly into her pocket, pausing to glance sideways at Dora who appeared to have gone slightly wide-eyed. The girl struggled momentarily to extract the bottle in question out of her pocket and held it up for her grandmother to see.
Dora stared at the bottle in apparent incomprehension for a moment, before sudden life seemed to bloom upon her face as she reached for the object, finally exclaiming:
"Merlin's beard! Look at that!"
"Cleo ordered it out of a magazine!" Pandora said, instantly excited at her grandmother's enthusiasm. "I even looked them up on the Internet, Nana, I wrote down the address and everything..."
"Where?!" Dora very nearly dropped the bottle as her head whipped round to look at the girl and Pandora hurried scrambled around in her pocket for the scrap of paper, which Dora very nearly snatched out of her hand with such a 'Ha!' of triumph that it made Pandora jump.
"Parchment, Sweetheart." the Acting Head of Aurors instructed as she unfolded the piece of paper to squint keenly at the address. "And ink. And a quill and the box on the dining table with the wax and Ministry seal in it."
Pandora very nearly skipped to the door, only to pause when Dora called:
"And Pan?"
"Yes, Nana?"
"Be a love and...and fetch me a...a er..." Dora trailed off uncertainly, eyes darted meaningfully to her bedside table where Pandora spotted the usual collection of empty potion bottles, though the cluster had diminished in size substantially since Pandora's last visit.
"A glass of water?" Pandora suggested pointedly before she could think better of it, and Dora's eyes upon the bottles widened ever so slightly. The witch opened her mouth to speak, only to close it again. But a moment later she seemed to recover from whatever mental battle had been waging in her head, for she turned to look back at her granddaughter with a weak smile, one hand reaching to massage absentmindedly against her leg as she decided:
"Yes, a glass of water. I could...could really use a glass of water, Sweetheart. It's...it's thirsty work, all this...this lying around in bed, you know!"
And Pandora shot her a broad grin before bolting enthusiastically out of the bedroom.
No sooner was she alone, Dora reached to yank open the bedside table drawer, wincing a little at the movement. She took a long moment to scowl at the empty bottles, before sweeping them into the drawer with a clutter. She slammed the drawer shut and sunk back against her pillows with a heavy sigh, waiting for a sense of relief to dawn...
Her legs throbbed.