These Acts of Love

These Acts of Love

My mother says I shouldn't hold you all the time. At least not any longer now that you are almost five months old. It'll make you too demanding and dependent, she says.

But this is where you belong. When you open your eyes, I always expect you to wait for a moment before the nipple is in your mouth. You've felt secure but also learnt that these acts of love are responses to each other.

In my mother's case the constraints of everyday life were different. She needed her both hands to carry roast beef, potatoes and salad to the table. I can lay the table with a flick of my wand while you are on my other arm, sometimes even with your mouth attached firmly to the source of life. An unexpected guest makes me neither fail in my duties of a hostess nor place you in a cot.

As for how presentable I am, I've never cared less about my hairdo and clothing - and that must be extremely little - or more confident of the fact that I look absolutely charming. Peculiarly, however, I'm startled at the rare occasions when I catch a glimpse of my wide smile in a mirror. I seem to have forgotten that I have teeth, since the perfect beaming face has none.

Your eyes are mine. And this rapidly growing, hopelessly unruly hair declares constantly that James belongs to our blessed family, too - so unmistakably indeed that I hardly manage to miss him at all.

It seems he'll stay late at the Auror office tonight again, but it doesn't bother me. I've also got so used to your dad's three best friends that it doesn't even occur to me to feel uncomfortable welcoming them when he's not at home - or to hesitate to bare my breasts in their presence. This time it's only Remus, anyway, and he's never looked at anything but my face.

Now it seems to me that whenever I lift my gaze from you, or from the food I'm summoning, he's staring into my eyes. And for some reason his eyes are disturbing. I can't help it: I prefer this cool soothing green to his burning golden brown.

His eyes look like they are too big for his face, too. And he refuses to help himself, although I make it clear that it's no use waiting for James.

You never turn down my offer. Even when you are not hungry you grab the nipple eagerly. Then, loosening your grip, having already eaten to replete, you twist your graceful mouth into a disarming smile.

He's not smiling. And now he sneezes. Can't he understand that he shouldn't come close to a baby, as it might be something contagious?

He stands up so abruptly that it startles you. Your face is distorted into a frown for a moment.

Now he's already in the hall. I wouldn't care to follow, but you're turning your head as if looking for him. All right, let's go and see if he's really leaving.

His figure in the mirror, in front of the image of the two of us, captures my attention at the last moment. He looks thinner than I remembered, and exhausted. And the jacket he's about to pull on...

I flick my wand and summon it onto my arm. I try not to make it too obvious that I examine the jacket when hanging it back on a hook. But he must realize I can see that it's threadbare and quite too thin for this weather.

How can I make him agree to take one of James's winter coats? And how can I have forgotten... and almost let him slip back to the cold without having even eaten?

You don't protest - on the contrary - when I shove you into his arms. I return to the kitchen and he's compelled to follow. I'm determined not to stretch my arms to get you back until I've filled two plates and he's settled to share the meal with me.

Now his eyes are locked with yours, and he smiles before starting to satisfy his hunger. He squeezes you once more against his chest, lays you on his knees, kisses your stomach, tickles you with his nose. You giggle, and he smiles, as if this had finally made him feel warm.

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