CHAPTER FOURTEEN

LIKE WILDFLOWERS IN TAR CITIES

Lover, where do you live?

In the sky, in the clouds, in the ocean

And if I ever see you again, my love

All I'm ever gonna do

Is send shivers down that spine of yours

- Lover, where do you live by Highasakite

The night is clear, for once. I watch the ferry depart slowly from the harbour on the last trip of the day, as stars twinkle in the midnight blue oceanic depths.

It's the tone that does it, maybe, that makes the words echo down my fingertips as the silence crushes us. He had said it like he wanted to get rid of me. Like a disease that had infested his brain.

"I don't know, I-"

My voice is naked of any emotion, stripped to the core as I look at him. I have no air left in my lungs. His eye shine brightly in the dark, halos rising from his lips in the cool air. It doesn't help. It doesn't help that I feel him so closely still. We're eons apart, yet inches away, his breath becoming my air. I can taste him in the air I swallow.

"I don't know."

The silence stifles me, it's almost unbearable and I feel like I'm about to break apart. I thought there weren't any more pieces he could chip off, but he could. I can feel the edges of me crumble. The ocean sighs in the distance, seagulls calling us home. The wind stirs his hair, a low rumble.

"How have you been?" He asks it so suddenly into the night that I find it hard to meet his gaze. It's a change of pace and my mind jumps and skitters in an effort at keeping up with him.

"Fine."

The words come slowly, my mouth drawing out the words hesitantly, shaping them like a question mark.

"No… No." he straightens. "Seriously, how have you been? Tell me everything between then and now."

I stare at him. I get it, I do. I, too, get this sudden urge to get to know each other again, because I feel the exact same pull towards him. Still, I don't know if I want to tell him the truth, to be honest. Because the truth really fucking sucks.

"Well…" I drawl, trying to think of something funny to say, but failing miserably.

"I… Well, I've been… ah. Shitty. Yeah. I've got a job I hate, I'm living in a city where no one knows me, and I'm well on my way in becoming one of those scary old cat ladies, living alone in her apartment. Soon, I'll start looking like Mr. Gobbles. So… Not really great?"

"Luce…" Ted shifts, his voice soft.

I hate it. I hate the sound of his voice, I hate it so, so much. His sympathy makes me sick to my stomach. My mouth is dry.

"No, I'm serious. You know how people start resembling their pets? Well, I'm about to start looking like a hairy, fat and old cat that eats too much tuna."

Mr. Gobbles mews in protest from the backseat, but I go on. "I'm telling you, Ted Lupin. You're lucky you got rid of me. Soon, I'll start coughing up hairballs and start rolling in puddles. This –" I point down at myself, "Is all going downhill from now on."

Ted laughs, and it's a relief. The air clear as suddenly as it clogged up, my shoulders relax.

"You're not going to end up resembling a cat."

"Oh, I am." I guffaw.

"I would like to see you there."

"What? Me as an old fat lady-cat? And wallow in my pity? How rude!"

"No," he laughs, "in London. You know. In your natural habitat."

Habitat. Like wildflowers, growing out of their element, into pavemented cities. Sometimes I feel like a fish out of water, gasping for air in the sand with no one there to rescue me.

"That'll be a laugh."

And it's a lie. It's a big, fat lie. It won't be a laugh. It'll just be very sad, like two people who love each other, but can't seem to find their way back together. I can feel his gaze upon me.

"No, it'd be fascinating."

I try to imagine Ted walking down the streets in Soho past Mr. Zeldoff's place, eating Chicken Tikka Masala out of take-away boxes and the two of us making love in my small, smelly apartment.

"It's quite boring, honestly. I mainly eat Indian take-out and read books." I shrug, finding this whole conversation so absurdly out of the bonds of reality. There's a small nagging anger, too, curling in my stomach. It's masked grief, but I've never done grief well.

Ted smiles. "Like I said: fascinating."

"It's not." I insist, the space between us is small, and I look up at him, still defiant, still angry, so, so angry. "It's just me. Plain old boring Lucy."

I can't remember us being strangers before. I can recall angry fights, Ted going to Hogwarts without me. I can recall the need to comfort him and care for him. I can remember Ted asking about my day, but I do not think I've accomplished anything worth discussing. All I've ever done is to lose him.

Ted gives me an even look. "You're far from boring, Lucy Weasley."

I look away.

"Why didn't you tell me that you came looking for me in France?"

He stiffens momentarily, running a hand through his hair.

"You made it quite clear that you didn't want to be found. Besides, by the time I got there, you were already half-way across the globe."

"India," I correct him. "I went to India."

Five years ago, Lucy 20 years old

She appears suddenly, like the sun blinding you on a foggy day. It takes a moment for me to find the words, her name foreign in my mouth as I stand in the middle of the street.

"Mom?"

I hold my breath for the entire 47 seconds it takes for her to turn around. The sun is low on the horizon, embracing her silhouette in radiant gold.

"Lucy." Her lips split, blooming into a smile. "It's… It's good to see you. Your father and I were worried. And –"

Her fingers curl around my wrists, her bright eyes meeting mine.

"I got you a job interview. It's at a big office at the newspaper. You can take side-classes at uni at the same time. At least the name Weasley still opens some doors."

I hear myself say, "oh," and I can hear how quiet and innocent it sounds. I wonder how much money she has had to donate this time around. But it's politics and family politics, and I have always, in those moments, been a bit too slow, unable to grasp the dynamics completely.

"It's a great platform for you to develop your talents. All you have to do is say yes, baby."

My eyes keep to the scurry of the streets and how everything around us still carries on, the sky getting darker and the streetlights sputtering on. The myriad of saris and animals. There's the noise and the blaring of cars and then there's her. My mother's stillness and her big, sad eyes. I can't take more sad eyes, to be honest. She has more streaks of grey in her hair and she's rounder around the waist, the buttons of her dress bulging slightly. And I suddenly find it hard to look at her, not quite ready to see anything of her has changed. She has to stay the way she is in my head, I think. I need her like that.

"Alright. Okay. Yes."

I suppose there is a conversation that we should be having. But it's definitely too awkward, I think about then and all the fights I have fought. But in the scurry of red dust, everything but one thing has evaporated into the thin air. My hand moves slowly.

"Just do me one favour."

The ring slips off too easily, it seems. It sparkles in the humid air. There's a thick line of white skin where the ring has sheltered me from sun. And I suddenly feel naked, covering my finger instinctively.

"Take this to Ted."

If I don't look at it, I can't feel it. But for now, its whiteness shines angrily at me from my right hand, a sour triumph as a metallic taste fills my mouth. It feels different, like a slow failure as I stare at my hands in front of me.

"Of course."

Her voice is soft. She doesn't say much. I will give her that. She slips it slowly inside her pocket without looking, her eyes full of some emotions I can't place. I look at her painted fingernails, her trimmed bob and I feel so inadequate in my dusty clothes and dirty hair.

I'm ready to wave her off, but her mouth says please come home and there's just enough money curled in my pocket to go back. I still haven't told her all of the story, the lies and Ted's sad eyes. It sounds difficult in my ears and I've been worried, half-ashamed, half-mad with grief.

I know that we'll go back.

We're sort of at par here, I think. The conversation is stilted, I'm embarrassed and uncomfortable at the way she's looking at me. I wish I could say something as simple as I've missed you, because I really have. I mean it, but then that's it. There's still anger here.

I reach out to squeeze her hand and try to push some sort of smile. "Let's see what London has to offer."

My mother's eyes sparkle. "Oh, Lucy."

Ted looks at me for a moment, not saying anything. And suddenly my mouth doesn't want to stay put.

"I- I went to all the places on your bucket list."

The confession pours out of me. It seems I can't help but alternate between the girl he knew and the woman I am. Back and forth, back and forth; the image won't stick. I feel my shades slipping, as the turning coats fall to the ground.

His eyebrows shoot up, but he doesn't say anything.

"Say something…"

"Why do you refuse to apparate?" He asks suddenly and the night freezes. "I know you know how to. I helped you pass it seven years ago."

This is not what I want to discuss.

I sigh deeply and get up, collecting my blanket.

"What? So you're just going to leave because you don't want to discuss this? Have I somehow offended you?"

Ted makes a choked sound, somewhere caught between a laugh and a exasperate sigh.

The ferry has passed out of the harbour now, a mere fleck of light in the blackness of the horizon.

Ted gets up, too, coming to stand too close to me. I can taste his smell on my lips. I swallow.

"Is this because of what happened, Luce? You know that has nothing to do with –"

"I bloody well know that - Christ, I'm not a blithering idiot, Ted."

"Then why –"

"Because – this conversation is over." I get up and walk to the car.

"This conversation is over, Ted." I repeat, in a softer voice. Anguish interlaced through tones. "Let's go home."

I turn and open the car door, but it's slammed closed the next second by another hand. Ted is breathing into my ear. I feel the largeness of his chest on my back and my body shivers.

"This conversation is not over –"

"It is. It so is." I'm annoyed to find that my voice quivers.

"No. Just because – you – you're not the only one who was hurt, Luce. I –" His voice falters and I turn around to look at him. He's got his arms on either side of my body, caging me in, his face inches from mine. I push against his arms. They don't cave.

"Let me out."

"No."

"Ted, let me out."

"No!"

He's breathing hard, braced against my car. I look at him, but his head is turned down.

I see something fall onto the ground, almost unnoticeable, but not to me. I've been half-expecting it, dreading this moment ever since I set foot in this town again. The sight tears my already torn heart apart.

"Ted."

"No!" His voice finally breaks, splintering into pieces of emotions.

And I can find him again, in the heaving sobs. I can see my boy there in his brown eyes. The orphan, the prodigal son who married me at 18. I step even closer, closing the already small space between our bodies. His body heaves against mine as I grip him hard. And I'm no longer sure who is holding who.

"Merlin –" His body collides with mine, the heaviness melting against mine. His body shakes against mine, quivering and hard. I bite my lip hard, tasting blood as I cling to him.

"Shhh," I whisper, blinking rapidly.

"Shh." I kiss the side of his neck, breathing his scent in deeply. I'll embellish this into my memory forever, the feel of his body against mine.

It's the first time I've really felt him give way. He's always been the stone, my rock. And now he's crumbling to the ground. I cling tighter, trying to merge our bodies together, to erase any doubt, any space. His heart beats hard against my own and it's more reassuring than anything I've felt the entire night.

We stand for hours, two figures leaning against each other until the night has come and gone and light peeks in the horizon of the napalm sky.

He's murmuring underneath his breath, chanting it seems. My fingers dig into his back as I press my face into his neck, whispering, breathing and finally sobbing into his skin. I feel the beat of his pulse against my lips, its rhythm grounding me to earth, each throb pushing against me. Reassuring. We're still standing.

As the sun rises above the horizon together with the arrival of the first ferry, I finally hear what he's been murmuring this entire time. As I lean closer, I realize with a jolt that it's one word.

A name, really.

My name.

"Lucy."

Five years ago, Lucy 20 years old

The apartment is quiet as I apparate into our hallway. "Gobbles?" I hum, as I balance a brown paper bag of groceries on my hip, wrestling my coat onto our mountain of jackets and kicking off my boots.

Mr. Gobbles mews softly, snaking between my legs as I enter the kitchen, unloading groceries. I search out coffee and milk, humming as I fill the fridge with groceries. The kettle starts whirring as I quickly mix paint and pull out a fresh canvas. Mr. Gobbles rubs his head against my leg.

"I know, I know, " I stroke his red fur. "I miss him, too."

The indigo spreads easily on the canvas, eating into burgundy skies. The bristle fibres crunch and scratches the canvas. I rub an ache above my hip.

"It's just the two of us today," I murmur, my nostrils flaring a little with each breath.

Gobbles tugs at my legs, meowing. A sharp ache jolts my body sideways, my breath escaping me like thin air. Some undisguisable moan escapes my mouth, my voice sounds foreign to me.

The floor meets my hands and knees, a weird gurgling sound escaping me as pain clenches my back.

"Fuck –" My jaw clenches, gritted teeth making my vision blur.

The kettle starts to boil.

I feel wetness seep onto the floor beneath me. Mr. Gubbles' paws are turning red, leaving burgundy footprints as he skirts around me.

I try to breathe, but it's pooling at my knees; tears of rosy water trinkle down my thighs. I feel the edges of my sight blur as I scramble for my wand, my hands red.

"Oh god," the words come out in a slow breath. "Oh god, oh God, oh god – no, no, no-"