Domesticity

Domestic Tranquility

I look at my wife as she leans against the sink, washing dishes and humming the lullabies she sang to our children all those years ago. She cleans tonight in the muggle-way, dipping her hands in the soapy water, letting the suds fall away as the rinses the pots and pans we used to cook our supper. When we're alone we don't use magic as, together, we are fascinated by the muggle ways of cooking and cleaning. She'll complain, I know because I know her well, in an hour that we should consider a house-elf now that we have a little more money, now that we're not supporting all of the children and we ourselves are getting older. But, because I know her, I know she will never truly allow it, because she likes the dishes and the water and the phenomenon of cleaning by hand.

Magic, though not used tonight, is most definitely a part of our lives, and the lives of the children we raised together. You can't be a pureblood wizard and not have an appreciation for the ease that a wave of a wand can afford when you have toddlers underfoot all screaming for their supper while the older boys tussle for toys and babies cry for nappy changes. Magic is most helpful when raising these children, but when we are alone, two together, she humors me by allowing the muggle items I bring from work to come into our home. The toaster, the clock, the fellytone (telephone, she'll correct me later as she always does) were all trinkets to tinker and play with one day long ago, toys of a man who still regards the "other world" with the fascination of a child. My questions became her questions many years ago and we have enjoyed answering them together, just two.

I stare at this woman as she sings and cleans and feel as though my life would never have been as complete had she not agreed to join me in the great adventure marriage and parenthood. We married young and innocently, though we never had the money those other couples our age eventually accumulated. We "managed" and "made do" and "scrimped" and "saved" and "survived." The vault at Gringotts never held our riches; my wife would tell me each month as I agonized over the bills. "My love," she'd say as she kissed my forehead. "Our riches are gathered around our kitchen table tonight, fighting over the wishbone and smearing each other with mashed potatoes. Set your bills aside and come with me to enjoy our legacy."

We'd laugh together as we sneaked glances at them all, seven little moppets with flaming red hair. My wife, my love, has defined herself by her role as mother. She told me once, long ago, she never felt whole until the day they put our first son in her arms. I knew what she meant then, as I still know now. From the moment our first came into our lives, we were both hooked instantly. One baby became two, then three, then five, six and eventually seven with the arrival of our daughter. She is our princess among a flock of court jesters and my wife; protector, disciplinarian, counselor, kisser of scraped knees, comforter of childish hurts, adores them all.

They are older now and quickly becoming men while the youngest is just now on the cusp of womanhood. In my eyes, however, and in the eyes of the woman who birthed them, they will forever be babies, fresh and pure and waiting for us, with baited breath, to pass on the lessons they'll need for the future. One has strayed from us now, and I can hear my wife crying for him when she thinks I am asleep. I always "wake" and comfort her, murmuring words of strength as we face another day within the family rift. Dumbledore helps as well as he reminds us that the prodigal sons always return. I hope so, for my loving wife, who grieves his defection strongly and desperately. For her sake, I pray the old man is right.

The rest, we are sure, will come home regularly and easily. Someday when they do, our brood will bring with them spouses to enlarge our family, children to play with and babies for us to cuddle and sing to. This house will soon be filled with the clamor of young love, but tonight I am glad for the peaceful tranquility of water running over the clinking dishes and the hum of lullabies sung to babies long ago. Though we are now a growing family of nine scattered from here to Romania, tonight as I look at my wife, I am glad that in this space we are only two.