Pensee: a reflection or thought.
June 19, 1986
The day was a picture. The lawns rolled emerald green right down to the lake shining with brilliant sunlight.
"Minerva," he'd said like he'd so often done, down on one knee with a bouquet of wildflowers instead of a ring. "Marry me. Make me a truly happy man."
The weather had been fine, the children had started laughing again, she had survived and so had he. Was it all just to wait for something that had already slipped through her fingers?
"Alright," she'd said and he'd nearly toppled over in surprise. "Yes, let's marry and be happy."
So they had.
The lane was clear and bright with flowers and life all in bloom. It might have been the middle of nowhere with the castle out of sight until the road curved and the village blossomed among the hills. It was a picture, smoke rising mistily from chimneys, villagers out strolling in the sweet summer breeze, shops with their doors thrown open invitingly.
"What do you think of that one?" he'd asked, pointing down to a thatched roof barely visible beyond the post office.
"It's not too big is it?" she'd asked skeptically.
"Looks tiny from here," he'd said, shielding his eyes against the sun.
"Well, you have looked at it, haven't you?"
"Of course not. Shall we sign the deed?"
"How do you even know it's for sale?"
"I think we'll get lucky."
The crumbling stone church was a picture, unchanged in three years, in three hundred, really. Daffodils spilled from the flowerbeds around the cracked stone steps, carved gargoyles perched on the roof, occasionally flapping about and changing places for a more interesting view.
The hills had echoed with peals of the bells as they burst from the carved oak doors arm in arm. The small crowd of guests had clapped and cheered. From the back, came a loud wolf whistle.
"Mr. Lupin!" she'd called.
"Sorry, Professor!" but he'd been laughing.
The house was a picture. The hummingbirds still fluttered among the window boxes, where flowers still bloomed. The trowel still lay where he'd dropped it, his boots were still beside the door. She pushed open the gate and it still creaked.
He had straightened up as she came out the door, dressed for school without a hair out of place, hat pinned on straight.
"You're a picture," he'd said, eyes twinkling. "See you tonight."
And he'd gone back to working in the garden.
The house was empty, now. She hadn't slept there since. All that was left was to leave the key for the new tenants. There was the fireplace in front of which they had sat side by side late into the night. There was the staircase on which their nieces and nephews had hung their stockings. There was the back window where, huddled together, they'd watched the rain.
She had just turned to leave, lock the door on this place, when something caught her eye. She'd missed something and it still stood propped in the corner. She crossed to it and picked it up. And there they were, not young, not innocent, but happy. That was all they were now: a picture.
A/N: One more for 2012. At least, it's still 2012 for me. This one's for Muggle Creator. It may not have been exactly what you were thinking of, but I hope you enjoyed it all the same! Thanks for the awesome reviews! This was Pottermore stuff. I'm not sure how many people have read it, but I think enough for this to not be confusing.