Chapter 6
Breathing
It's been a week.
Seven days.
One-hundred and sixty-eight hours.
Ten-thousand and eighty minutes.
Six-hundred and four thousand, eight-hundred seconds.
Thirty-six million, two-hundred and-
Sorry, I'm sure you get the point.
It's been an entire week since he's said a word to me, and look at what it's done to me. I'm sitting here calculating, down to the millisecond. I feel pathetic. It's how I always feel whenever he gets like this.
My soul hurts for him. Does that make sense? My whole being is filled with it. I've prayed every night that I'll find a way to ease his pain, but nothing has happened. He visits her grave every day and every day I follow him there; watch him. I never let him see me, though I'm sure he knows I'm there. He's always had a sixth sense about that sort of thing. At least with me, anyway. But he's put up this proverbial wall again. The one I want to attack with a proverbial jackhammer.
Right now, we're at the Burrow. The whole place is in its usual chaotic state. Ron is sitting in a huge leather chair next to the roaring fireplace, little Weasley grandkids arranged in a tight semi-circle around him as he delights them with one of his more exaggerated versions of our early-Hogwarts adventures. They all `ooh' and `ahh' at precisely the right moments and gasp during the exciting parts.
Molly and Arthur are in the kitchen. I can hear her scolding him as he tries to sneak a treacle tart from the heaping plate on the counter.
"NOT BEFORE DINNER, ARTHUR!"
"Aww, but Mollywobbles..."
"I said, NO!"
Fred and George are running around here somewhere. Probably upstairs, from the sound of it. It sounds like a bloody war's taking place with all the explosions.
Harry is curled up in the on Weasley's overstuffed couch, gazing into the flames with a glazed look in his eyes. For a moment, I consider leaving the small group I'm with (Bill, Charlie, Fleur, and Fred and George's wives, Gemini and Felicity, both expecting) to sit next to him, but a motion on the stairs stops me. I whip my head around to see Sophie, Fleur and Bill's youngest, scooting down the staircase. Her light-pink-socked feet make no noise as she crosses the living room floor. Her destination is obvious.
Quickly, I make my way to her and crouch down to her level, halting her journey with an arm around her waist. She gives me a confused look, one very reminiscent of the kind that grace Fleur's face, and yawns cutely, her tiny mouth stretching in a small oval.
"Where are you going, Sophie?" I ask softly, a smile spreading over my face as she struggles to get past me. At only two years old, Sophie is possibly one of the most determined people I've ever met.
"Uncle Harwy."
I glance over at said subject; he hasn't moved a muscle since I last observed him. I don't think he's even blinked. However, I'm a bit afraid of letting Sophie go over to him. I'm not sure how he'll react to someone so much like Allie.
"Sophie, honey, why don't we let Uncle Harry rest. I can take you upstairs and you can finish your nap, huh? Then you can see him after."
A look of absolute disappointment washes over her, and for a second, I'm compelled to let her go. But my concern for Harry overpowers me, and I hold out a finger to her, which she grasps in her tiny hand as I lead her back to the stairs. As I set my right foot on the bottom stair, it takes half a moment for me to suddenly realize that the warmth of her hand is gone. Looking back reveals her tiny figure scuttling as fast as she can toward the couch. Manipulative little devil. Takes after her uncles, she does.
I watch, frozen, as her momentum carries her into the side of the couch's cushions, rebounding her soundly onto the hardwood floor. She doesn't cry out, like I expect her to. She simply stands herself back up and grabs the hem of Harry's shirt, using it to haul herself onto the couch beside him. This startles him out of his stupor, but it doesn't affect her as she makes herself comfortable facing him on his lap.
"Hi, Uncle Harwy."
"Hello, Sophie," he answers softly. She stares up at him, holding his gaze, as her miniscule fingers toy with the delicate lace on her sock.
Harry's eyes flick down for a moment then his hand reaches toward her sock and tugs lightly at the cuff. A small gasp escapes her, and for a second, I detect the ghost of a smile on Harry's face. He tugs a second time, pulling her sock clean off and with one elegant motion, slides his index finger down over the arch of her foot. Her laughter is loud, but it jingles, like the sound of a lot of high-pitched bells ringing. Harry's face breaks out into a heart-stopping smile, and he repeats the action, his laughter ringing with Sophie's.
Happy tears blur my vision as I watch the pair of them. I relax, leaning against the wall for support.
Maybe he'll be okay...
©
"'Mione? `Mione, did you hear anything that I just said?"
Darren's voice fades into my thoughts. It's the day after dinner at the Weasley's, and I haven't been able to get the vision of Harry and Sophie out of my mind. I've spent the better part of a week trying to get him to laugh, to smile, to blink even. And she just plops herself on his lap, and he's all sunshine and daisies.
But I shouldn't be thinking about any of that right now. Darren dropped by my office and offered to take me out to lunch. We've been here for about an hour and I haven't absorbed a word that he's said.
"Sorry, I zoned out for a minute."
"A minute? More like the whole time we've been here. Is something wrong?"
"No, of course not."
"Then what is it?"
I shrug. "Work's just been a little hectic lately."
What else was I supposed to tell him? Well, for the past day all I've thought about is how Harry's eyes lit up when Sophie laughed. Sure. That would have gone over well.
"Well, I was saving this for later on in the week, but since you seem so stressed..."
"What?" I ask, a sudden, unexpected feeling of foreboding engulfing me.
He smiles, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small velvet box. He flicks it open with one skilled hand to reveal a sparking emerald-cut diamond solitaire. The stone must be at least five carats. It's huge.
My fork hits the table with a clatter. I can't catch my breath. It almost feels as if I'm being buried alive...
"No." Did I just say that?
His face falls. "Excuse me?"
"I can't." When did my head give my mouth permission to speak on its own?
"Why can't you?"
"I-I just-" Breathe in, breathe out. It feels as if someone has just sucked all of the oxygen out of the room.
"Sweetie-"
What a horrid pet name. It's almost as sickening as `Mione. "Don't call me that."
"'Mione-"
"Not that either. It sounds like you're trying to say `my knee.'" Inhale. Exhale.
"Is it too soon?"
Anytime is too soon. "Yes."
"We can wait then. I can wait until you're ready."
I'll never be ready for you.
Images flood my mind. Darren and I getting married, on our honeymoon, having children, growing old together, the rest of my life laid out before me. They blur together in a whirl of color, making me nauseated.
You'd be settling, my mind whispers. For once, my mind and my heart agree, even though my soul doesn't quite understand.
"I'm sorry," I mutter, standing up swiftly.
My chair crashes to the floor, attracting the attention of everyone in the café. I grab my purse and get out as fast as my feet will carry me. I break into a run, ignoring the looks of the passerby as I jog down the road toward the outskirts of the city.
Inhale. Exhale.
A/N:: Hey, everybody. I know it's been a while, and I apologize, but even though this chapter is short, I wanted to give it the flair that I try to give my longer chapters. Cyber hugs to my FANTABULOUS reviewers! And remember...reviews are a writer's motivation. Maybe I should mandate some sort of reward...like, I'll add an extra 500 words to my next chapter (after 1000 words) for every...hmmm...ten reviews...yeppers...that sounds good. So review, my dears!
~~Mandy
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