Magic, Fairy Tales and Happy Ever After

Magic, Fairy Tales and Happy Ever After

Chapter 8

He made no sound as he moved carefully and cautiously through the empty cave. It was dark, dark and silent. Too silent.

Had his information been wrong? Had he made a mistake? In this line of work there was little room for mistakes.

What didn't kill you, still hurt like hell.

Lately, he had other things on his mind besides work.

He allowed himself a little smile. His life was very good. A fulfilling career, a wonderful woman to come home to, and now a baby on the way.

His momentary distraction was rudely interrupted by a loud cracking noise, away to the left. Tugging the hood of his cloak over his head and with a cursory check that his disillusionment charm was still in place, Harry began to move silently forward in the direction of the sound.

A well honed instinct for the feel of magic around him made him halt in mid-stride. As he did a resounding crack signalled the Apparition of a man precisely where he had been about to step.

The man who was facing the other way hunched his shoulders and glanced quickly right and left.

Up ahead there was a softly muttered, "flammare," and a gentle, steady light flared from a niche in the cave wall. A tall robed figure stood there waiting. He moved forward.

Strange flickering shadows danced on the cave wall.

"Is everything organized?"

"Yes, sir."

"You weren't followed?"

"No, sir."

"Good, it is critical that there be no witnesses to this discussion. I am still under suspicion."

As they spoke Harry carefully moved around from behind the shorter man until he could see both faces, clearly illuminated in the unearthly light. Satisfied that he had the right people he gently raised the tip of his wand.

With a resounding "BANG!" the first man fell to the floor wrapped in glowing cords of light, his face hooded and gagged.

The tall man looked around frantically, his wand at the ready.

"Expelliarmus!" The force of the spell sent him crashing backwards into the cave wall. As he lay there gasping, Harry stepped in front of him, casually bending to retrieve the man's wand from the floor.

A quiet word and the disillusionment charm evaporated. He stood looking down at his prey, his face under the hood, still hidden in deep shadow.

"Petrificus Totalus." The man in front of him stiffened, only his eyes showing signs of recognition and terror.

"Well, Mort. I was really hoping we wouldn't have to meet again," he sighed, "but the Ministry seems to be incapable of keeping track of filthy slime like you. It's a bit of a nuisance really. What's the point of bringing you in at all when, with a few carefully placed galleons, here you are free to peddle pain and suffering for your own personal gain?"

He stood there calmly, looked from one man to the other, shook his head slowly, and stepped back. He picked up the other wand lying next to the bound man and carefully levitated him over to a small side cave, before turning back to the tall man on the floor.

"Your friend here, now I know he's still worth a bit of money in at least three jurisdictions." He shook his head slowly. "You, on the other hand, are becoming a nuisance. I really hate wasting my time, catching the same people over and over again. I have better things to do. Finite incantatum."

As soon as he felt the power to move return to his limbs the man on the floor started to lift himself up, his eyes glaring at Harry with fierce intent, but before he had a chance to try anything, Harry pointed his wand to the ceiling, muttered a casual, "reducto." and turned away as the ceiling collapsed, burying Mort forever.

***

Debbie sat by herself in agony. An agony of wishes - wishing it was all over, wishing her bladder wasn't so full, wishing she wasn't so worried about today's test and wishing Harry was already here.

The waiting room was bright and cheery; the walls painted fresh lemon yellow and decorated with a pretty frieze of circus characters: jolly elephants, crazy clowns and cheeky monkeys. From a hidden speaker somewhere classical music warbled into the room.

She looked around seeking distraction. There was another couple sitting in the room, so engrossed with each other, caught up in their own special world, the perfect poster pin-up of expectant parenthood. It made her feel even more isolated.

There was a loud banging noise out in the corridor, the door opened and Harry rushed in, an anxious look on his face. "I'm not late am I?" he whispered as he slid into the chair next to her, placing his hand on top of hers.

Debbie shook her head, "No, but this is killing me. I really want to pee, badly."

Harry grinned and looked as if he wanted to say something, but as he opened his mouth, a nurse entered from the other side.

"Debbie Mason."

Debbie stood up carefully, thankful for the reassuring pressure of Harry's hand in hers. She glanced at him as they went through the door. His eyes were gleaming, obviously very excited. "I am so looking forward to this," he said quietly.

"So am I," said Debbie and, to her own surprise, she really was.

She lay back as directed; half reclined on a couple of pillows. The pressure of the ultrasound felt strange, cool, slick and unnatural on her skin. She gripped Harry's hand tightly as they both stared transfixed at the grey swirling lines on the screen.

As they watched, the lines started to coalesce and suddenly a figure emerged before their eyes. She heard Harry gasp, as they stared for the first time at their child. "She's beautiful, so beautiful," Harry's low voice was barely above a whisper, but the operator turned and smiled at him.

"Mr. Evans, we can't really tell whether the baby is a boy or a girl, but I can tell you the baby is perfectly healthy and normal." Harry looked up at the woman with a strange smirk on his face.

Debbie concentrated on the strange graceful movements of the tiny being magnified many times in front of her. As the technician pointed out the legs, arms, eyes she felt herself filled with a growing sense of awe and wonder. This was a real little person, her baby.

The sense of wonder did not leave her as they walked home hand in hand. It was an unusually mild day for December, and the short walk home through the tree lined streets was pleasant. Debbie was quiet, unusually so for her, reflecting on the amazing reality that was her growing child.

By contrast Harry was chattering away jubilantly, caught up in his own joy and excitement. "Wasn't that just wonderful. Seeing her like that. She's just so perfect."

Debbie smiled vaguely and nodded.

"We will have to start work on the nursery. Pink or yellow, what do you think?"

Debbie looked at him, his face glowing, and his eyes sparkling, so beautiful. She laughed. "How come you're so sure it's a girl?"

He gave her a knowing smirk, just like the one he had directed at the technician earlier. "I just know. It's definitely a girl, our own special magical daughter."

Debbie stopped walking at the word 'magical', a sudden chill going down her spine. "And what makes you so sure the baby's ... magical ... like you?" she asked, speaking carefully and choosing her words with care, avoiding the words spinning through her mind like strange, unnatural, freaky.

Harry seemed not to notice her sudden reserve. He leant forward, his expression at once both earnest and sublimely happy. "That was easy," he stated, "I have a bit of a talent for sensing the magic in the world around me, the latent magic in objects, but particularly, other people's magic. The easiest way to describe it is as a sort of aura of magic. When we met I knew you were a Muggle, you radiated no magical aura whatsoever."

"Gee, thanks," she said in a soft mocking tone.

Harry shrugged. "I don't mean that as an insult, it's just a fact. But now, just over the last couple of weeks you are starting to radiate a magical aura. It's not yours," he gently placed his hand on her stomach, "it's hers. And it's very strong for one so small."

Debbie felt a slight return of the nausea that had dogged the earlier weeks of her pregnancy and which she thought she had left behind her. As Harry's eyes caught hers she smiled weakly at him, hoping he did not notice any sign of her fear and apprehension.

Thankfully he seemed oblivious to it, walking close to her side, radiating happiness and an air of carefree innocence, as if there were nothing in the world to worry about.

When they reached home Debbie retired to the bedroom on the pretext of wanting a rest. What she really wanted was to be alone to digest and process her own reaction to the day's events.

There was a real little person growing inside her, and suddenly she cared. A surge of protectiveness flowed through her at the thought; maternal instinct she guessed. So strange, she had not wanted to have a baby just yet, but now, now she would fight to protect her child as yet unborn.

She must really have been tired. The next thing she knew she was waking up and the sun's rays slanting through the blinds told her it was late afternoon.

As she slid slowly into a sitting position on the side of the bed she could hear a gentle low murmuring of someone talking. She stood up and followed the sound. It led her to the half open door of Harry's study. She paused for a moment at the door.

He was sitting at his desk, one hand resting on his chin, looking at the photograph that still took pride of place in the centre of his desk. Debbie felt a surge of annoyance sweep away the last vestige of sleepiness like an ice cold shower. He had been talking to Her again.

Debbie knew it was just a photo, but the way Harry talked to the woman in the picture it was like a two way conversation. Apparently he could see movement in the photos in the study. Debbie never could no matter how hard she tried, just a slight fuzziness, or something out the corner of her eye, but it irritated her how Harry would spend hours talking, particularly to this one photo above all the others.

He turned in his chair and looked up at her smiling and holding out his arms. "How is the little mother?" She walked over and slid into his lap, his arms holding her close. "I did look in, but you were so peaceful and you do need your rest."

They sat in quiet togetherness for a minute or two and Debbie was feeling much more relaxed.

"Debs?"

"Hmm ... yes, Harry."

"I've been thinking about names. I have a few ideas."

"Like what?'

"Well ... there's my mother's name, Lily."

"No, not a flower name."

"Fair enough. What about ... Hermione?"

Debbie stiffened, her good mood evaporating quicker than a summer shower, an irrational and uncontrollable anger flooding through her veins. She leapt out of his lap and whirled around to face him.

"No! Definitely not!"

"But it's a nice name and she was a good friend of mine." Harry was frowning now.

"If I remember correctly she was also your girlfriend. Now it is bad enough that you spend your time talking to her photo, but I will not have my daughter named after one of her father's old flames."

Harry also leapt to his feet, anger flaring. Debbie felt the chill of fear, but was too angry to back down.

"She is not an old flame," he roared.

"Then what is she?" hissed Debbie.

"Just an old friend."

"Yeah, sure. An old friend who you ran away from, haven't written to, but you talk to her picture and you want to name your daughter after."

She stalked over to the table where the picture of the Hogwarts Head Girl stood, for a moment she almost imagined that the girl in the photo did look up at her an inquiring expression on her face, but that was nonsense.

"It is very hard, sharing your lover with a memory. A memory I can't compete with. I will never be her, Harry. I'm not that beautiful, I'm not that smart. I am not a witch!"

Without even realizing it she had picked up the photo as she spoke and as she finished speaking she threw it with all the force she could muster at the far wall.

There was a stunned silence in the room, only broken by the tinkling of shattered glass as the mangled frame and its contents collapsed in a heap on the floor.

Debbie looked at it horrified by the result of her fury, and then looked at Harry; his face was dark and distorted, pain and anger clear to see.

Debbie ran past him, out the door, down the stairs. He did not follow. She grabbed her keys and shoes and left the house, walking who knows where.

She came home two hours later.

The house was quiet, too quiet.

He was gone.

***

Harry came home two days later. Suddenly he was just there in the doorway.

She looked at him fearfully.

He gave a weary smile and held out his arms. "I'm sorry." And of course it was all alright again. And another mutually agreeable set of names were chosen that day.

But the study door was now closed when Harry was in there.

On the one brief occasion a few weeks later when Debbie caught a glimpse inside the room the photo was sitting up on the shelf with the other photos and no sign that anything had ever happened to it.