Those Wrong, Yet it's Right, Things

Chapter 16

Don't be afraid your life will end; be afraid your life will never begin.

~Grace Hansen

Pansy pulled her knees as close to her body as she could, not only to make her smaller, but also to stop her trembling body. Of course, Pansy would never admit that she was afraid (Parkinsons don't get scared), but it's only a natural human reaction that whenever someone hunting you walks into the room, you come darn near close to peeing your pants.

There hadn't been many places to hide in the Astronomy Tower, but Pansy had found a cobwebbed corner hidden by the dark of the night and pressed herself as much as possible against the wall, where she'd been molded for the past hour. Her feet were tingling with sleep and her back desperately needed to move to a different position.

Before Draco and one of his sidekicks had burst through the door, she'd been thinking about Harry. Questions continually recycled in her mind: Is he still alive? Had he defeated Voldemort yet? Was he thinking about her? Now, however, her mind had gone blissfully blank. The only thought replaying in her mind as Draco's silver orbs scanned the room was I should have just married that bastard.

Suddenly, however, just has his eyes fastened themselves her direction, her thoughts changed. Frantic questions raced through her mind: I wonder what it's like to die. Does a place exist beyond this life? How will he kill me, that smarmy bastard? And just as Draco roughly pulled her to her feet, I wonder is he'll miss me....

Somewhere under the same star infested sky, the same waning moon, the same dark blanket, a mother rocks her baby to sleep. A smile seeps across her face, slowly from one side to the other, a quiet ecstasy overcoming her. She cannot help it. Every time she looks at her beautiful baby boy she sees the world laid out at his feet, his whole life ahead of him.

But who knows whom that baby will be. There are so many wrong turns to be taken, so many bad choices to be made, so much opportunity for failure. Perhaps he'll become the next Draco Malfoy, the ambition (but not the courage) to take over the wizarding world. Or maybe he'll end up like our dear Pansy Parkinson: lost, wondering how he ended up where he is, trying to find a meaning to life. This baby could save the world and spend its years in the limelight, or be the one who breaks everything and gets picked on in potions. He could be the charming redhead with the smile and the small, knowing sips of water or he could be a brilliant know-it-all; opinionated, but not as sure as he first appears. There's even an off chance this baby could befriend a poor, lost boy on a train and one day have to make a decision on whether to toss behind six years of friendship or risk his life.

But who knows whom that baby will be, what he will become. Right now he is a small, porcelain doll, cradled securely in his mother's arms. He has a bald spot by his left ear and a thick head of black curls. His eyes are the brightest blue you've ever seen, his fist not able to grasp anymore than your finger. The stars smile on him tonight, the grasshoppers lull him to sleep. The whole world revolves around this mother's joy, with everything ahead of him, and nothing behind.

So much lies ahead of us when we're born. Uncertainty, heartache, mistakes, and a future no one can predict. It's us against the world. Will we win, or will it get the best of us? We'll have some great moments. Our first kiss. Laughing with friends. Those three words whispered for the first time by a teary father. Cuddling by the fire with a good book or--if that's not your cup of tea--the boy of your dreams. A secret smile. Red cheeks.

And then there are the moments we'd rather not carry with us. Broken dreams. Heartache. A mistake. A wet mound of dirt and a cold slab of stone. Final goodbyes. Last looks.

It's a future full of second-guesses, uncertainty, falling and not knowing if we'll be able to get back up. Full of one-shots, last chances, and regrets. Yet we enter this world, we wake up every morning, knowingly, willing to risk it. We dare failure in order to enjoy certain moments, like finding a lost love, second chances, and a bundle of joy.

The mother smiles again before glancing out the window. It's late. A gurgle noise escapes from the baby's mouth, but he sleeps soundly. Gently, she stands and places him softly onto the cushions, waiting to let go until the last possible second. And even as she leaves the room and shuts the door quietly behind her, the smile remains.

The little boy sleeps on, unaware of the security blanket that has just been removed. Shadows from the tree outside fall across his face and crawl up the white walls. A bird on a branch rests on the balloon border, twisting it's black, undefined face back in forth, anxious. A rocking chair sits in the corner of the room, an indent on its light blue seat. The leaves on the tree rearrange in the wind, tossing a few remaining ones onto the snowy street. Headlights, and then a car; the leaves are smashed into the frozen pool of water, on which reflects three parallel stars, twinkling brightly in their place in the sky.

Across the countryside, following an invisible train track, to a house unseen by so many, in a room unknown to all but the residents, those stars look down on a curled body. Her face is pale, her hair tangled and sweaty, her wrists are clasped in iron chains. The young woman's eyes are closed; her breath is shallow, her blouse torn toward the collarbone....

Gasping for breath, Pansy awakes.