Scattered: Brief Lives

The girl is hovering over her and Susannah has to stop herself from swatting the child away, like a bug. Jo's a sweet girl, she is, and she's had a load of troubles to handle since her parents died... but they all have, after all, had their troubles. Susannah snorts and the girl finally backs away, clearly not convinced that her Auntie Sue doesn't need a more comfortable chair, another gillywater, or perhaps a second slice of cake.

"If I wanted cake, I'd get it myself," she grumbles, knowing no one can hear her. "Had too much already, and it's late."

It is getting late, and about time to put the bride and groom to bed, she thinks, though if anyone here believes it's for their first time, they'd best go back to school and get some more sense. The boy's too confident and the girl glows like she's got a light inside her. They're a good pair, Susannah thinks, smart girl, good-hearted boy, and not that anyone asked her opinion, but she approves of the match.

Susannah's pleased that all of Arthur Weasley's boys have turned out so well. His mother, after all, wasn't overly fond of little Molly Prewett. Thought Arthur was too young to get married and that the girl wouldn't be up to raising a passel of Weasley children...hmpfh. Artemia Weasley had been a know-it-all pest at school and she'd grown up into an annoying busybody of a woman, one who'd had quite a bit to say about people behind their backs and who'd died with few friends and quite a few sighs of relief to accompany her passing. Now, Susannah feels a certain satisfaction knowing that the old bag was wrong about her daughter-in-law, for Molly has raised her children just fine, thank you very much, and without anyone's meddling.

Now, the old bag's twin brother, Will -- they'd named the first grandson after him -- he'd been a different story. Handsome, charming. Susannah smiles and remembers his strong, freckled hands pushing her robes from her shoulders, his lips on her neck, his body pressing her up against the wall in the alley alongside the Leaky Cauldron, back when she'd been working in her da's shop in Diagon Alley, after finishing school... and before she met Roger, of course.

Roger Miller, a plain name for a beautiful man. She'd been visiting a Muggleborn friend in London and they'd gone to a pub, met some of Celia's old friends, one of them, Roger. Funny, mischievous, laughing Roger. Just finished university himself and wanted to be a veterinarian, he said. Someone who takes care of animals, he'd explained, sensing her confusion, and two weeks later she'd explained everything to him herself. Three weeks later he'd met her brothers and her da. Four weeks later they were married, and five weeks later they'd moved back home, with Roger tending all of the non-magical creatures on the farm, leaving the dragons to her brothers -- leaving their care to them, but never his wonderment of them. Just as she and Roger had never lost their wonderment of each other.

Fifty-one years they were married. No children, though not for lack of trying, and despite what some of the snootier pureblooded witches she'd known back then had thought, the fault had been hers, not Roger's. Not that he'd ever held them against her, her empty womb and childless arms. Not for a moment, not once in all those fifty years. They'd been good together, just the two of them, and she'd learned to accept their lot and be happy about it.

Then he'd died. Left her alone, but with her family, of course, her nephew Hamish, his wife Claire -- a good woman, Claire, and a comfort over the years. Their children and his brother's children; Douglas, dead in the war with his young wife, leaving the boy and girl for Claire and Hamish to raise. Jamie and little Joanna, not so little anymore, sneaking off to a dark corner with Arthur's boy Charlie, the one who worked with the dragons, the one who reminded her of Will.

Susannah stands -- not as effortlessly as she once did, to be sure, but on her own -- and makes her way over to the Weasleys, to congratulate Molly and Arthur (two sons married now, and a grandchild on the way), to accept a warm, sincere hug from the bride and to turn up her cheek for a polite kiss from the groom, Arthur's youngest boy with the mischievous eyes.

She's been thinking of Roger all day and imaging him here with her, shaking hands, saying good night, walking home and later, talking it over with her, under the covers of their bed, just as they always did after a dance, a party, a wedding, a funeral. She pats the boy on the shoulder and squeezes the girl's hand and accepts young Jamie's strong arm to help her home -- to her empty cottage and her empty bed -- with a glad heart, eager to close her eyes and talk to Roger in her dreams, as she does every night. Tonight, she'll tell him about the girl and the boy.