A/N: Hey, I'm back. Thank you for all the love. It really means everything. I'm good, my boy's good, my family's great. This story is very much in my mind often, although updates take their time. But I'm getting there. Every time I finish a chapter, I think to my self, why do you make this so difficult? It's so simple. But it's not. Thank you all for all the love – it's lovely and encouraging. I listened to Ray LaMontagne – Jolene while writing this. It's like butter to your ears.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

TRESPASSING

"Memory is a way of holding on to the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lose."-Kevin Arnold

ababa

"What are you doing here, sneaking in like that?" I screech breathlessly.

"Uh, sorry?" Dom looks puzzled, tilting her head. "You used to love it when I sneaked in?"

I throw myself on the bed beside her. "That was eight bleeming years ago! Things change!"

And suddenly all irritation, all those shitty things that have been happening lately. It is all canalized into this: Dom's sneaked inside my room and it's fucking annoying.

"Jeez…" Dom looks taken aback at my anger. "I'm sorry, alright? Did I almost catch you with someone? With Ted?" She looks suspicious.

I catch a lie. "Nah, just Scorpius."

"Oh." She looks disappointed. "Sorry to say, hon, but I really don't like that bloke. And that ponytail -" She shudders. "No, so not my style."

"Not everyone can have your style, doll." I laugh, before sobering. "He's a good man."

Dom stares at me for a while. "I'm glad, you know. I'm glad you found someone else. Would've made this whole deal a lot worse if you hadn't."

"Heh." I mutter nervously.

I sit up. "Hey, how did Teddy know I went to France?"

"I told him." Dom shrugs indifferently.

I sit down. "Oh."

It's that feeling again. Like my inside's been bared without my consent. And it becomes quite clear: she's a foreigner in my life, too. That's the reason for my anger. She's trespassing in this life, in this room. Just like I am trespassing in Ted's – in this town, in Grimsby.

"Should I not have told him?" She rolls her eyes. "The poor bloke was miserable, asking anyone and anywhere where you were. I just set him at ease. Gee, he thought you'd been kidnapped. Could have saved me a bit of trouble."

"Kidnapped?" I stare at her. "I left him a note."

"A note?" Dom looks disgusted. "A note? And the mystery of Lucy Weasley's escape unravels!"

"Did he get over it?"

"Get over what?"

"The - um… The divorce and all."

"Oh yeah. He's got Pippa now anyways. Plus, he's got this silent, mysterious blacksmith thing going for him."

Dom shoots a look at me. "You - You're alright with that, right?"

"Yeah." I lie back on my bed, defeated. My resentment deflates rapidly, the air oozing out. After a while, Dom joins me. Her toe nudges mine and I nudge right back. Silent.

We lie there for a while, both staring up at the blossoming ceiling. I can hear Clem bustling downstairs, humming a tuneless tune as she does the dishes.

"I'd forgotten you drew those for him." Dom nods at the flowers on the ceiling. "A bit more manly than the other ones."

"Well yeah, couldn't let my bloke have pink roses everywhere."

"But sunflowers? Why?"

I shrug, "It was my thing."

Giggling, Dom elbows me, "Now it's Pippa's thing."

"I wasn't talking about his junk!" I laugh, slapping her on the head. "Get your mind out of the gutter."

abababa

Ted 23, Lucy 20, Five years ago

We spend thirteen days in solitude, before I tell him.

His face is pulled in a grimace when I sit down and tell him that yes, indeed, it is so.

Say it isn't so, say it isn't so is playing on the radio on repeat and I'm trying hard not to pay it any notice.

"Really?" he says with that tilt of his head, clutching the newspaper, but no news could be grander than this.

He comes to stand between my legs, placing his hands tentatively on my belly, as if asking is this okay? I can feel his curiosity growing by the passing second, and my smile grows bigger and bigger.

This nervous giggle bubbles through my throat and I sort of nod/sigh, enveloping his hands in mine.

"Lucy," he starts and his voice actually cracks. And it's the most beautiful sound I've heard.

Walking into Madam Blue feels like a death sentence. I spot Vic through the glossy glass window from the street. She sends me a dark glance, and I immediately know what's coming. I breathe deeply before opening the door, feeling my heart stutter.

The doorbell clings thrilly as I tiptoe inside the hushed shop.

Pippa is standing on a pedestal. Her dress billows around her, draping the floors like freshly fallen snow. A small lady bustles around her feet, pinning and placing corrections. A small scissor is cutting a purple ribbon by the counter while a measuring tape presses around Pippa's tiny waist.

"Much better," Pippa stares at her reflection in the mirror. "it's improved the waistline immensely, hasn't it?"

Her two best friends nod in unison, two babushka dolls in motion. Vic stands behind some burgundy drapes in the corner, eyeing the backyard with interest, her hand on the grained oak panel of the shop. Lily lies in the couch, her voluptuous tummy, blocking her face from view. She's sipping tonic water through a purple straw.

Pippa looks up at me, when I step closer to the group. "You're here. Finally. I suppose it's time for dress fitting your bridesmaid's dresses."

The way it makes her smile makes me uneasy.

ababab

Ted 23, Lucy 20, Five years ago

There's an indentation in the coffee-table shaped like a bird. It didn't used to be there. In fact, I don't think it was there two weeks ago. I run my fingers around its edges in a myriad of endless circles. If you didn't know, you'd never notice it. I can even make its slight edges when I close my eyes, circling, feeling the endless form. Something has changed here without me noticing.

The apartment is empty and silent. Ted's gone to work. And I'm here. Normally, by this time I would have done something. Done the dishes, cleaned the floors. Made the bed. Instead, I have moved the eiderdown and pillow into the living room and camped out in our old tattered sofa. Between the coffee-table and the velvet blue couch, my world succumbs. I daren't leave this room. I daren't touch the icy floor. My fortress is this.

Being pregnant is like having a secret that no one knows about. It's something private and so special that it's completely yours. I don't think I've ever had anything that was so completely mine. Sometimes the fear takes me by surprise, so mindboggling and destroying that the nausea becomes even worse. I keep on thinking to myself, what did you do? What did you expect? This is changing my life and I'm not sure I want to have it changed yet. Am I ready for this? At other times, it feels very special. This. With him. Us and this future. It feels real and very much right.

She comes through the door with an air of indignation and energy like only she does. She stops up as soon as she sees me in the corner of the room among the pillows, my hair in the usual morning-bun, last nights' make-up still on.

"Luce."

A large, purple feather-boa snakes around her body as she slowly unwraps it from her neck. She scoots off her stiletto-boots and drops her trench coat to the floor. Slips underneath the covers to wrap around my lithe body. She's cool but steadfast. I exhale into her calm.

"Mon Cherie," she grabs my hand from the coffee-table, kissing it softly.

"Dom," I respond.

At least I did one thing right. I chose her as my friend. She inches around me, humming as she strokes back my hair.

"How are you feeling?"

"Dumb. Scared shitless," I sigh. "And… hungry?" I pull at my sweater. "I'm hungry."

"I can fix that!" Dom shoots up from the couch. "I'll make us French Toast. You've got eggs, yeah?"

There's glitter on the hardwood floor from the confetti cannons we shot off. The two champagne flutes are still on the table, half-drunk with last night's celebrations. That was before the argument, before hopeful wishes turned into accusations and fears. The half-empty champagne-bottle is peeking up from the bin in the corner, wistfully dreaming of better night, better days – oh, how we've messed up.

"Luce?" Dom asks tentatively. "You got eggs?"

"Yeah," I nod. I don't have the heart to tell her how I can't stand the thought of eggs anymore. The morning sickness is a thick cloak of unease. I don't like eggs anymore and I loved eggs. It feels as if I've lost ownership of my own body and I'm part-angry, part-scared.

I get up and help her. We stand in silence, whisking eggs and slicing bread. I watch Dom's slender hands as she slices the bread. I envy the purposeful way in which she does it.

I can still make out the words he threw at me like darts, the arrows narrowly escaping me. And I, the forever chosen dartboard, I threw them right back at him, like I'd known no other way. Once or twice, I even hit bullseye, hitting him square in the chest. I suppose it's what we bring with us from home. We escaped the warzone, yet we brought it with us to this apartment. I didn't recognize the battlefield until he was out the door.

"So… abortion is also a great solution for some people?" Dom says and I don't find it particularly helpful or useful advice.

"I am not getting an abortion, Dom." I say and remove her fingers from my forearm.

"Well – now that Ted's all 'you've ruined our lives', might as well take matters into your own hands." Dom mumbles, rolling her eyes.

"I am not –" I exhale, "I'm not discussing this with you."

"Oh, that's right. You and Ted have this awesome track record of talking things through, right?"

I'm silent. My face is slack, but my insides are vibrant, burning with energy. Dom looks at me. Sad. Angry, too, I think.

"Then stay. Stay and be miserable."

"If I'll stay, I'll never forget him."

Dom places the toast on the sizzling pan. It skirts on the butter, before coming to lie still on the pan, and I begin to think, yes, I may be able to eat this. Despite the eggs.

"Then leave, Luce. Leave and don't ever look back."

ababab

And the first thing in the super long line of dumb things I have agreed to, it is definitely agreeing to be a bridesmaid.

"What do you think? Isn't it just marvellous?" Pippa beams at me.

"It's…"

It's a fucking pink nightmare.

"Peach is this season's colour," the mouse-lady pipes up from the corner of the room.

I catch Vic's eye in between the layers of tulle and puff-sleeves. She's guffawing into her sleeve.

I press down on the large bow, which covers my front. "I'm not sure… it's… me." I finish meekly.

"Nonsense," Pippa shushes, "It looks lovely on you."

I stare at her.

She knows. She must know.

"Did you enjoy the motorbike ride yesterday?" Pippa straightens one of the small bows on my sleeve. "The boys are great."

Yep. She knows.

She glances up at my pale face and smiles. Pads me gently on the back of my hand as if to say there, there, sweetums. We all think we're the special one.

"Ted tells me everything," she says, her tone good-natured enough to mask the spite.

"They can be a bit wild, eh," she continues, straightening another bow on my sleeve, tugging, "But that's just wee boy games."

"Heh." I jiggle my foot. My hands drop into my lap, and in my mind, it's some sort of defeat. She's got the upper hand once again.

It's makes me skittish, this sense of losing what used to be mine. Pippa's beautiful face only makes it more unbearable.

Later, Pippa's climbed the pedestal again. She's proud, gleaming from beneath the veil as she twirls in the mirror. I balance on the edge of a chair as she gossips and giggles at every turn.

"Will you help me, Lucille?" She holds out her sleeve at me expectantly.

As I come closer, she lolls her face to the side and looks at me.

"You know, I knew Ted was the one the first time we kissed."

"Is that so?" I drawl, anger shading my words.

She hums with an odd smile, her pink lips twisted. I want to run now, but she's sentenced me to endure this.

"He does this gasp right before you kiss him, isn't that right, Lucille?"

My hands let go of her dress in surprise? Anger, definitely anger. I arch a brow, looking her up and down. To my annoyance, I have to look up at her.

"What do you want?"

She is standing so close to my face that her eyes go slightly cross with the effort of staring me down.

"I want you to stay away from Ted and our lives. Forever."

My hands grip her wedding dress, the satin bunches in my fist.

"Can't do that. He's my best friend."

Pippa sneers, "A best friend who doesn't owl in 5 years? I think he'll manage the rest of his life."

She presses against me and I feel her strength behind the anger. She absolutely fucking tiny, but her rage is rampant.

"I've heard about you, you little homewrecker. You ruin everything you touch, but you're not wrecking this," she breathes.

"I'll make him happy, Lucy Weasley." She spits, "You've caused nothing but headaches. Just fuck off and to never come back. You've ruined him enough."

I glare at her. There's a large ripping sound as she straightens away from me. I barely feel it, but suddenly I'm standing with pieces of torn fabric in my hands. And Pippa is staring open-mouthed at my clenches fists.

"No, no, no, no –" The wispy lady cries.

Slowly, Pippa's hands find the hole I've left. The scream begins slowly, like a gurgling sound deep in her throat, before gargling upwards and out, Pippa's head tilts back, her veins pop and she pushes towards me as quickly as the large dress will allow her.

"I WILL KILL YOU –" She screeches as she claws through the satin fabric, trying to find her wand, while Vic drags me out the store, both of us still clad in the satin-dresses.

I can still hear her roar as we escape, rushing barefoot across cobblestoned street.

"I suppose, I do wreck everything I touch…"

Vic and I stare at each other for a second, before bursting into giggles.

Admittedly, it may not have been the best reaction on my part.

abab

I fall asleep at Daisy's between a lager and a sausage sandwich. Daisy doesn't ask, she just serves me a hot sandwich with a kind smile. I suppose it's what it's all come down to. Me sleeping in scruffy pubs because home isn't in this town anymore.

I wake up to the hum of a familiar voice and arms. I sigh into his chest, pillowed by his leather jacket, as he carries me. I feel the low timbre of his voice through his chest.

"Why do you do this to me, Lucy?"

I wanted to tell him no, not here, because there are people here, people watching and talking. We've been the talk of the mill for far too many years on end. I wanted to tell him, but I don't. Instead, I slur/mumble,

"Do what?"

"This – I keep thinking I'm fine and then something like this happens."

"Something like what happens?"

"This, you – you smell so good. You smell just like you used to do. And I can't stop and wonder – "

"Ted."

"No, I mean."

"No. Ted. I can't."

I want to tell him that I've never accomplished bravery very well. That this isn't how it goes. We come to sit on a bench outside the pub. I'm still lying in his lap and his face is very close to mine.

We stare at each other for some time. It takes a while, but something cracks inside of me. And then the tears fall.

"Shhh," in an instance he's pulled me closer, into his chest.

"Why do you do this to us, Luce? Why do you pull us through this again and again?"

I don't answer. Namely because I haven't got the foggiest as to what the right answer is to this. My fingers smell of ketchup and beer and loneliness. I open my mouth to say something, but then I think better of it.

"Why are you running with wolves? I feel like –" I start and sort of sputter, "I don't really get this person you've become. All dark and twisted – I… I don't get you."

I find myself standing. Ted is still sitting there on the bench, backlit by the pub. His face is dark. I can't figure out if he's angry or just upset.

"You made me dark. You made me quiet."

The force he says it with takes me aback. He comes to stand, too. His face inches from mine, he says, "It's always been you, Luce. Always."

The truth of the matter is that it's always been Ted. Before this story began, I kept on counting the farewells. Now it's the hellos.

"Hug me," I straighten, looking up at him.

He stares at me as if I'm bonkers. And maybe I am, but it feels like hugging is the only way things can start to fall back into place. By him hugging me, we fall back into place.

"Hug me." I repeat.

And he does. I push my face into the crook of his neck, breathing. And goddammit, this is all I need, sausage-rolls be damned. Booze be damned.

"Don't ever let go."

In the real world, we shouldn't be hugging. In the real world, Ted would be with Pippa right now. But he isn't. In this space behind Daisy's pub the real world doesn't exist. This place is all there is.

"I won't ever let go."

We don't tell the whole truth, of course. In this world, we lie, wearing our hearts on our sleeves. In this world, it's technicoloured truths we breathe to each other.

It's like we need protecting.

From what or whom, I don't know, but I've got a feeling that it's from ourselves.

ababa

Ted 23, Lucy 20, Five years ago

I've gone fat. Not in the pretty, oh, she glows-fat. No, this is just a small belly that you always mistake for a muffin-top.

"Hi. I'm here, ready. And all, yeah." Dom runs up to greet me as soon as I pass through the swing-doors. She's skidding. "Let's see this baby!"

I nod, my throat dry.

The midwife makes me feel like I'm fifteen again. She mollycoddles me, holding my hand and offering me a cup of tea. When she squeezes my arm, innocent in her intentions, a small part of me drops inside. And it hurts.

I try my hardest not to dwell on the formalities. How there's only a small sheet of paper that covers me from being completely bared, naked and alone in this room.

But then the midwife asks, "And the father?"

I answer, "Not here," and it's fine. Of course, it's fine, I have taken to reminding myself, trying to talk myself down from thinking this is the end of my world.

The midwife's small nod makes my stomach hurt and my throat makes this funny hiccough, as if it really sinks in then. He hasn't come. My family consists of Dom and this small alien inside me.

It's fine. Of course, it's fine.

And there are times, when small moments spring and pop and evolve, turning on you before you can imagine otherwise.

"I'm here."

The hairs at the nape of his neck are damp, droplets of sweat wet my hand as he kisses me, slightly out of breath, but he's here. It may be bad circulation in the room, but I'm lightheaded, watching him take a seat next to me in one of those uncomfortable chairs.

He catches me then, in that moment, sees my watchful roaming eyes. He squeezes my hand. "I'm here."

And then the sound of a cutter boat envelopes the room in its warm haze.

And like the damn fool I am, I say, "Oh, that's him, alright."

And Ted hums, "it is, it is," into the back of my hand, his eyes wet.

It is.