CHAPTER FIFTEEN

WELL DONE

Home by Aron Wright

Love kid. Lost until you give it some kick. You're too young to leave it. Too young to keep it. Love's the breath a Life still lifts when Life is finally over with.

(ONLY REVOLUTIONS, MARK Z. DANIELEWSKI)

The sun is completely risen when Ted finally wakes, having burnt its way across the sapphire horizon.

I watch him sleep for a long time, watching the rise and fall of his chest, finding comfort in the solid movement of his body as the first feeble rays drift across the lands. The soft tilt to his cheek hasn't changed over the years. Tears are still clinging to his eyelashes and I sweep a hand across his skin to collect them.

"Hey." His gaze is soft as he looks up at me, blinking in the morning light.

"Hi." I can still remember the first time he told me he loved me, but for the first time, I can't bring myself to wish to turn back time.

We get in the car. There's a sudden comfortable silence shared between us. As if all has been said. All the sadness and all the pain that we have shared is out and scattered to the air. And with the vast expanse roaring in front of us, it is easy to let it swallow us up.

Ted smiles, "It's beautiful here at sunrise."

"I love you." I tell him.

He looks at me for a very long time while the roar of the seagulls and surges spread between us. After some time, I have to look away. I stare at the water for a while then, while I feel his gaze, brazing, bright like the sun on my face.

It takes a very long time before he says anything. And when he does, it's not at all what I wanted to hear.

"Drive to the woods. There's something I want to show you."

He doesn't have to say which forest it is, because I already know. There's only ever been one forest for us.

The greenery parts slowly as we make our way through the woods. Ted leads the way silently. The path is overgrown and dark as if no one's been this way for years.

Mr Gobbles has been set loose in the woods and Betty's parked on the outskirts of the thicket of trees. The greenery is thick, but I keep my eyes locked on Ted's back, following his steps.

And suddenly we're here.

The house is massive. Cream-coloured with a large patio and sunflowers standing tall in the front-yard. There's a swing in the backyard beside a large apple-tree. I touch the white picket-fens slowly, treading through the tall grass and crossing the large wooden stairs that lead up to the villa. Its windows are dark, vacant of light. The small bell on the door tinkles as I open the door.

It's beautiful.

For some reason, I feel incredibly sad as we make our way inside. As if I'm witnessing the life we should have had, had it all gone to plan. Another life, different people to who we are.

The house is vacant, with dust settling in the corners. It's clear that no one's lived here for years.

The light switches on as we enter the front door, bathing us in a golden hue. And for a moment, I am speechless.

Inside it's filled with my paintings. It's a myriad of Ted's brown eyes, all reflected back at me in kaleidoscope swirls of colour. Most important is the glazing pair right in front of me, blinking, smiling.

"This was for us."

And it's Ted. It's Ted with his merciless, brown eyes, it's Ted who pulls my heartstrings and makes everything bleed into the night. It's Ted who knows me better than anyone, my husband, my comrade, my fellow kinsman. It's Ted and it is all there ever will be. It's him, and it's me, and that is all that has ever mattered.

"I built this for us. I… I never wanted to become an auror. I couldn't do it, Luce. I didn't want to kill people. I just wanted you. You and this house. Our life."

I bring my hand up to his cheek, touching the wetness there, and I smile, smile, smile. Because this is us, and it's all there ever will be.

The stairs don't creak like they did at my old house. His steps are soft as he carries me upstairs, nudging the door at the end open for us. It's silent in here except for the sound of our breathing.

He presses my body into the mattress of our old bed, the linens soft as were it yesterday we lay here last. He presses his cheek against my breasts, lips erasing every other man I've ever met. His lips ghost along the contours of my face, lips, until I cannot bear it anymore and I pull him closer, nearer to me as our hips bump against each other.

Our lips slide against each other in aching familiarity as my hands retrace well-known tracks on his face and body.

"Thank you, thank you, Thank you," he exhales against my neck.

And all I've ever done, is for this, this moment.

When I wake up, it takes me a while to remember where I am. What has happened.

It's night outside. The moonlight is spilling across the wooden floor. Ted is sitting in window sealing, staring out. I can't help but watch his face. The trees cast shadows along his jaw and he's so beautiful it hurts to have him so far away, yet so close at the same time.

"Come back to bed." My murmur is soft.

Ted looks back at me, his eyes soft as he gets up and slides underneath the covers. His body curls around mine, his head coming to rest on top of mine.

"Lucy." His fingers slip and slide across the curve of my hip. His voice is soft. I like the honeyed way my name rolls off his tongue. I've missed hearing my own name like that.

"It wasn't your fault, Lucy." He breathes against my breasts. The world expands violently; dipping to tilts its head at us. His arms are boarders of stoic strength as his nose skims along my cheekbones, a whisper against my ear.

His lips brush the side of my head, embracing me. And all I can do is fall.

"It wasn't your fault we lost our baby."

Endlessly.

Lucy 20 years old, Ted 22 years old.

"Just sedate me. I can't bear to live through this." My voice is less than a breath, an inhalation as I clench Ted's hand. There's no air left inside me, my head boiling with blistering panic. I am watching the scene from across the room, my pale, sweaty face, and Ted's worried eyes. The midwife's concerned frown. My hiccoughing breath and shrill protests.

"We can do this, Lucy. I'll be right beside you the whole time." He is calm, collected and earth shatteringly beautiful as he holds my hand. He kisses me hard and quick, tasting a mixture of our tears on my tongue.

The room is lit in silver. I watch Ted's face the whole time, as night turns to day and all our hopes evaporate into the sunlight. His face is calm, collected. His hand steadfast clenched in mine. And I wish so badly that I could be stoic like he is, constant and whole.

Yet I'm breaking.

And when they place him in my arms, I am sure that I am going to break. I will break apart and I will never be able to be put together again. He is tiny and bluer than pink. Unforgivingly stiff, as I clutch him closer. I stroke his little dark nails, trying to understand how this has happened to us.

They don't tell you of the little things and there are so many things that I could not have imagined. The small wrinkle on his forehead. The shape of his lips that match mine. The eye-shape which is a mirror of Ted's. The smell of his skin. How it almost looks as if he's sleeping.

I try to remember the nurses' names, searching for kind smiles and someone suddenly yelling kidding!, but inevitably, invariably, my eyes always come back to this small boy in my arms. I vaguely sense Ted beside me, his voice low and toneless. I can feel his hands on either side of my face, his thumbs at the corners of my eyes, rubbing back and forth.

I have trouble looking at him, my anger blistering. Whenever I do, his face twists and I have to swallow the cry of anguish that gurgles in my throat. He reached for me and I shrink away, my skin itching from the pain. I watch him collapse back into himself. And I feel cold, and alone.

I don't keep track on the people entering and leaving the ward. My mum. My dad. Vic. Harry and Ginny. I barely register it, just watching as they slowly burn into silence, pit-pattering around the half-empty room, before drizzling off, leaving us with unease. It's thick, the grief. And it rests uneasily with us all. I stare at the plain walls, thinking of all the joy it must have witnessed. I suppose I should be thankful and talk with them. But all I can feel is an empty whole of nothing and it hurts too much to talk.

I keep myself folded into a chair in the corner, my child in my arms with the stars as the only sense of light. The sky is aging. And I'm aging along with it, sitting with my child who shall never grow old.

I always thought grief would be loud, tearful and epic. Instead it is numbness and silence. Ted's inadequacies as all I want is a living boy. My lungs burning fraudulently like boiling water.

And it's him. This perfect boy between my hands. My truest love. With clenched fists, small lips and a button nose. Impossibly tiny and perfect at the same time. I press my lips to his fingertips. Stroke a finger from his forehead, following the curve of his nose. And there is anger wrapping itself around my chest like a noose. A shuddering breath escaped me.

It isn't the first time I think about what ifs. About running faster. How my love to Ted now seems small and weak in comparison. I had no idea.

I had no idea -

"Take as long as you need." The nurse is kind.

The door closes.

And all that remains is silence.

When I wake, it's to an empty bed. The house is quiet as I tiptoe down the stairs.

"Ted?" I ask, but nothing but the slow murmur of the kettle greets me.

In the kitchen I find a copy of Witch Weekly with Ted's magnified face decorating the front-page next to two steaming cups of coffee and a pan full of bacon and eggs.

My breath rises. It burns in my head. Shaking fingers unfold the paper slowly.

EXCLUSIVE: TED LUPIN'S LOVELIFE AND CHILDHOOD UNCOVERED.

The owl found me, after all. And it found Ted, too.

I pick up the note he left me on top of the newspaper.

WELL DONE.