Inhale. Exhale. Breathe. Stop shaking. I'm listening for the music, for my cue to walk up the aisle, and to walk directly toward my future. My future husband, my future family, my future of living in England forever. That's something I never thought I'd be doing. I always assumed that I would move back to America, move back to where I was before I turned eleven and my mother decided the best place for me was a place far away. She said that the wizarding schools in America didn't focus on your magical skill, but your muggle one's. I don't think she wanted me to have to watch my father come and go as he did, she knew that it would be getting more and more hectic in the upcoming years for him.
Speaking of my father, he's meant to be here to walk me to my future, to pass me on to another man who is to take care of me. And considering what George as lived through and witnessed, it makes sense that my father is content with my choice. A man who has seen war, fought for his beliefs, and defended who and what he loves, is a good man to in my father's eyes. I tapped my fingers against the flowers, still reminding myself to breathe as I looked around for my father. The music can't start without him here, my knees are weak enough all ready, I might need him to carry me.
Then, as he always was when I needed him most, he stood in the archway of the kitchen and the living room, looking at me with his head tilted to one side. "My daughter, all grown up." His voice sounds like velvet to me, something that for so long I had dreamed of many times in my life, hoping that he would come back okay, that I'd see him as I see him now, in uniform, metals and colorful ropes all there to signify what he has done for his country. I've wanted to slap him for the calmness in his voice, as if showing emotions, even to his family, would breach security, why he could sound so calm at moment's meant to be so life changing has always annoyed and astounded me.
"Daddy!" I swung my arms around his neck and willed myself not to cry. He retired a few years ago, and still every time I see him I feel as if it might be the last time. "I was worried you had forgotten, where have you been?" he chuckled a soft chuckle, a light and airy sound that reminded me of Sunday morning pancakes, oddly enough. "Me? Forget? Never. Your mother is an emotional train wreck right now, crying every other moment." I nodded and shrugged, she never did handle big moment's well. For my father, she was always strong, but for her child, not so much.
"Are you ready to be married?" I laughed a little, how could I be. This is something that no matter how much you prepare and think and analyze you will never be ready for. I feel like the first time I went to Hogwarts, scared beyond belief, but oddly not worried about the plunge I'd have to take. I was scared then, as I am now, about my future, but I know that the hardest part is going to be that first step, the first shaky uneven step.
"Where you ready when you married mom?" he shook his head slightly and looked at me again, his eyes locking to the pearl necklace around my neck, the same one that my mother had worn at their wedding, the same one that he had bought for her in place of a ring, so no one would ask question's they weren't ready to answer. "She gave you the necklace, huh?" I turned slightly red, I had told my mother that I didn't have to wear it, but she insisted that it was both something old and something borrowed, so I would only have to worry about finding something new (Mrs. Weasley knit me a shawl to wear when the temperature drops at night) and something blue (a pair of nice earrings that my friend Nicki helped me pick out). I'm not sure why I am sticking to such things, but why not stick to some traditions?
The music started, and my father opened the door for me, allowing me and my small train to exit the house before he did, the butterflies in my stomach fluttered rapidly and I felt as if I might be sick. He took my arm and we slowly started walking up the small path, I'm not sure if it was because me where moving so slow, but I felt like time was ticking slower, like if I stopped, it would stop. I could see George standing at the end, waiting for me, watching my every step, and the butterflies stopped. I wasn't nervous once I saw him. It reminded me of the first time I got off my medication at Hogwarts, or really, when my mother decided that I was going to get off my medication at Hogwarts.
A few weeks a go I had a conversation of sorts with Madame Pompfrey. "I got a letter from your mother." I looked down at the brick floor of the Hospital Wing; I knew what was coming before she began to finish explaining what my mother had written her. She never wanted me on the medication, and now that I'm in my seventh year and almost out in the word she doesn't think that I should depend on anything to keep me normal. I don't enjoy what I'm like without medication, I'm all over the place and I never get anything done. "Does she not remember my marks before?" she shrugged. After coming in here almost every day for four years she wasn't as stiff with me as she was with everyone else.
"It might be sudden or it might be weeks before you have an episode, either way I have informed your teachers that you might be a little short or tired or hyper with them…." I almost started laughing 'a little' it's never been a little of anything, it's the curse of the disorder, you very rarely feel normal or grounded, you either love everything about life or hate you hate everything and everyone. Even now, in the state I'm in I can remember this clearly. It's not a free pass to be crazy, but it does give you some wiggle room.
Which is why I am in the common room at one in the morning, homework done, my November letter to my father finished and ready to be sent off. Now I was just sitting here, tapping my fingers on the edge of the chair in a rapid motion, my mind spinning in a hundred different directions. (Where's my peacock father quill? Why aren't we allowed to use pink ink? I like the color pink. Is that too girly? I wonder who else is awake in the castle? Does Flitch ever sleep? How'd he train his cat? I'm more of a dog person. Why aren't we allowed to have puppies? Etc…)
The portrait door swung open and I could hear the sound of talking, hushed whispers (why are they whispering? What time is it? Is it really that late?) and soft laughing. "I think I'm becoming immune to the quill, you know." I heard one voice say. I know the voice as one Fred Weasley, a boy who doesn't really enjoy my company. Isn't there a Hogsmeade trip tomorrow? I should buy a new quill. "Yeah? I'm not, but after a while it doesn't seem to hurt as much as I think she wants it too." George. Of course they're together, they always are. Even in, what I am assuming is, detention. You'd think they'd separate them for things like that. Maybe they'd get more done.
"Why are you awake?" His voice was harsh when he noticed me, mainly because I was making some noise rummaging in my bag for my nail polish. I really want to paint my nails a deep purple, one of the perks of living in a magical word, magical nail polish. It changes to whatever shade you want it to. And when I looked up at them, standing behind the couch, Fred's eyes almost accusing, and George's where curious. I've been up and down all month, some of the conversations he tried to start with me ended almost abruptly. But, the only think I could about right then was the fact that his eyes where brighter then normal in the candle-lit room.
"Why aren't more people awake? George, you're eyes look much greener right now, did you know?" I turned away and started to add the first coat, slowly and methodically making sure not the smudge it or get any on the surrounding skin. "….so fucking weird." I heard Fred mumble before I heard him stomp up the stairs.
"Are you okay?" I nodded before looking up at George, I wanted to kiss him right then. Another side effect of being crazy, impulsive behavior and a heightened sexuality, it's actually kind of annoying. "Would you like to sit down?" I moved my legs over more and looked up at him, four fingers down, six to go. I'm not sure what he did, but he sat down, and he watched me for a moment. "You haven't seemed all there lately." Five more. I shrugged.
Am I ever all there? Are any of us all there? Is he even all there? I reached out and touched his face slightly, if only to see if he where real and sitting next to me. To see if he weren't a figment of my overactive imagination, because who knows, he may have been. Three more. "What?" He chuckled a little bit and looked at me as if I had gone completely crazy. "Did you just…pet my face?" Done. I just kind of smiled at him and shrugged.
"I wanted to see if you were all there." I turned my body to him more. I almost couldn't hold myself back; something about the way he looked at me, which made me want to just jump on him. He still looked at me with that weird look in his eyes. "Can I see your hand?" he handed it over to me, slowly, and I gently put my lips to the red letters on the back of his hand. Then I put it in his lap and smiled.
"Better?" he didn't answer, just watched me for a moment longer before moving in a little more. I just smiled and moved over a little bit more. "Yeah… a little. Maybe you should try again?" he gave me a goofy grin and put his hand on my thigh. I picked it up and placed my lips to it again, longer this time, and when I dropped it he placed it on my side, and smiled at me.
"George! Are you coming to bed or what?" Fred was standing at the foot of the stairs, arms crossed and fire in his eyes. George moved his hand away from me and got off the couch, walking up the stairs, his steps heavy. And Fred stood there for a few more moments before following his brother. And I decided to attempt sleep.
Authors Note: I wrote this four times. It keeps getting deleted, and I'm lazy. But it's here! It's Up! YAYY!
No?
Oh, okay.
