Apology of a Completed Soul

"There's something you should know about me," murmured a soft voice near a tiny boy's ear. He listened, merely because it was his favorite voice, and he'd rather listen to it than the most peaceful lullaby from anyone else. He wouldn't really understand her words until many years later, after he'd been hurt by their tale. The feathery voice plunged headfirst into its story, and its owner hoped he would try to comprehend it.

"I first met your father on a busy September day when I was eleven years old. The trees were burning with the colors of fall, reflecting the burning happiness I felt would never leave my thoughts. My excitement, however, had nothing to do with your father." She shook her head sadly in reflection and seated herself in front of his crib, knees drawn into her chest, tucked under her chin.

"If I had only been more open to him--No." She cut herself off, closing her eyes as she took a deep breath, keeping the many emotions she felt from bursting out at once. A tear slipped from beneath her lashes as she thought about the possibility of never seeing him again. She forced herself to continue. She had to tell her son his story.

"I had looked forward to that day for the previous few months because I was, at long last, going to escape my world. I was both apprehensive and excited to learn about magic. When I met your father he was jogging--running, really--past the compartments on the train, searching for someone. He nearly ran me over," she confessed, allowing herself a sad smile.

"He stopped just in time to keep from crashing into me and stared for a minute. I finally asked him if there was anything I could do for him. He just shook his head and told me his name. I might have been a bit shocked because I remember that he had to ask me more than once for mine before I answered. When I did tell him, he said 'beautiful', referring to my name, I guess, and watched as I stepped back into my compartment. He seemed to remember the person he had been looking for once I sat down, and he continued down the corridor.

It's funny when I think back--how he knew from the beginning. I thought he was terribly odd, and I don't think it was until later that I really became frustrated with him and his mannerisms." She paused and lifted her head to look at her son, who was sitting in front of her, watching her with dancing eyes. From her position on the floor, she could see his tiny, smooth head and dazzling smile.

"Your father told me later that the first thing he noticed about me was my eyes. He told me that the fall sunlight had shone through them, lighting up my whole face. He thinks that you inherited mine," she told him matter-of-factly as she turned to face the door. Her eyes went back to the bed quickly when she saw that no one was there. Her heart was beating faster with each word and she was having a hard time breathing. Her husband was outside that door, fighting for their lives. Without her husband she--she couldn't imagine it. She gasped as though the air had been forced from her lungs by a giant hand. Him, gone--

"I think you look like him," she said loyally, and her son let out a satisfied gurgle in response.

She pushed on, as though the only way to rid herself of her sadness was through her story. "In the years following that first day on the train, he watched me so closely I couldn't help but notice. He wasn't at all discreet about it and I couldn't understand what he found so fascinating about me. As the years went by and his popularity grew, I became more annoyed by his habits. I was probably hard on him, but he might have just been flattered that I noticed in the first place. He always rumpled his hair with his fingers when we were in school, making it messier on purpose. He was in love with life and--with me." Her tears were streaming freely as she told her son about the years she had lost. When she tucked her hair behind her ears, it reminded her of yet another moment with her husband.

She forced herself to stand on her shaky feet, trying to ignore the feeling of impending disaster that was growing, pressing in on her from all sides. She was surrounded by a whirlwind of memories. With careful fingers, she reached out to caress her son's hair. He patiently waited as she stroked.

"Instead of becoming frustrated with my idiosyncrasies, he strove to understand them, a favor I neglected to grant him until much more recently. He discovered that I hummed to myself when I was too shy to sing out loud, and that I always used to get pieces of feather stuck between my teeth because I chewed on the tip of my quill during exams. And he knew, but never understood, that I would fight for anyone. I think he understands that now," she added softly, her troubled eyes flickering once to the door, behind which the flashes of green and red light were growing increasingly nearer. She lowered her eyes to her son and, once again, focused on breathing.

"He knew that I coped with hurt by feigning indifference because he did the same thing, and he did it every time I refused him. Every single time. Of course all of that was only because--well, because I was being dim, really," she admitted, resigned.

"I had always felt that he thought he had everything but me and that was the only reason he needed me. But he really couldn't live without me, and I needed him. I still have to have him, and it's so hard to want someone when you know you needed him longer than you actually had him, if that makes any sense. I could have had him by my side so much longer, you see, but I simply would not accept it. I wish I had known what it felt like to have him completing my life, making it perfect, but my chance had passed, my moment lost. I recall so well the day it finally happened." Her eyes sparkled with the memory of the glorious moment. She slid her fingers down her sons (son's) arm to hold his tiny hand in hers.

"I had been particularly impressed at his behaviour that--oh--month or so. He had heard from me so many times that he needed to grow up, I think he finally decided to give it a try. We were ambling along the paths that lead through the Hogwarts grounds. It's so beautiful at sunset there, and springtime has the perfect temperature at dusk. The two of us walked in companionable silence, passing time before we had to return to our patrol duties back at the castle. The last rays of sunlight glowed violet in the water, and the sound of birds filled the air. The peace of the evening was tangible, almost, and it made for a very relaxing stroll.

"Finally, I paused under a sweet-smelling tree and turned to him. He stopped, too, and gazed out at the lake. It sounds so romantic, still, when I think back on that beautiful night. He turned toward me and we stood, staring at one another. He has the most beautiful eyes, your father. Then what I said next--oh, how I wish I'd admitted it sooner!--for it lit his eyes with a flame like nothing I'd ever seen before. And at that moment, I knew I'd say it again and again, every day if I had to, just to see him so whole, so completely happy.

"I'm getting ahead of myself, though. I haven't yet told you what I said! You have most likely guessed by now, though," she teased. Of course, he hadn't the slightest idea what she had said, but he leaned into her, sensing her urgency. She smiled then, a desperate, bittersweet smile like something she treasured was sitting just slightly out of reach.

"I told him I loved him. At first, he appeared surprised. Then, practical as he is, he wasted no time whatsoever and kissed me squarely on the lips. Suddenly, the beauty of that spring say became our kiss. I saw, heard, felt, smelled and tasted him. He was my world, and I never wanted to feel anything but him, ever again." She sat taller now, forcing her voice to remain steady as she let her memories make it strong.

"The truth is, my precious son," she continued, trying to be brave for him as his father had always been brave for her.

"The truth is that I'm just glad I let myself realize he could make me truly who I am. I would give anything to have tolerated him a little better and despised him a little less--a little sooner." She heard footsteps, but her story was almost finished. She plunged into its finale as she heard the landing floorboards creak. She leaned close to her son and took his tiny chin in her left hand.

"I have been so blessed to have had your father. He always put himself first, and loves us with his whole heart. You see? He's done one last thing for me. He's allowed us this precious time so I can beg for your understanding. I just hope--I hope you'll be able to live to give it." As she leaned forward to kiss his forehead, a single tear fell.

The door opened.