“How’re you holding up?”
It had been one of the rare moments when she could sneak away. The fresh air of Galway filled her with hope. The soft, baby smell of her children made her heart lighten and lose the constriction that seemed to plague it every moment she woke. Their smiles consoled her. Their reaching, groping hands asked after her. Hours she could have spent with them, hours and hours and hours. No matter how long she lingered it wasn’t long enough. She wanted to cry into them. She wanted to hold their warm, tiny bodies against her forever and she couldn’t whisper enough just how much she and Keiran loved them. Because he did, still. Somehow, even though she was keeping it from him, he still did. She was sure of it.
Elliot had asked the question. It was natural. It was one that Baldric ventured every once in a while and it was one she was sure was part of every glance Adrienne sent her way, though Millie didn’t want to acknowledge it. When her brother asked, her resolve weakened. Amidst her children, in amongst the life that was supposed to be hers, she couldn’t help but utter that she wasn’t she was holding up of her own accord – that she was being propped up by luck and something else. The pain potions helped, of course. Cael and another dose was never far away. The lacerations still ached. She still couldn’t really sleep. She was sure she quirked an eye open at every hour. It amazed her, in truth, the twins hadn’t screamed upon seeing her. To them, she was little changed – still their mother.
“Have you made any progress?” He had asked as he had set down a cup of tea for her. “With Keiran, I mean.”
She had ventured a nod of her head and continued to press kisses to her son’s cheeks. She switched, showering her daughter in bursts of affection, and snuggled into them, continuing to breathe in the sweetness of their skin and twee little baby grows. She had abandoned herself on the floor with them, resting her head against a mountain of pillows Elliot had taken down from one of the airing cupboards upstairs. She had spent the morning with them, having stretched the truth to get away, and ate lunch before finally pulling herself back to Hogwarts where she hid for a few hours more in the Room of Requirement in order to expel the frustration that was treating her blood to poison within her.
Melissa Hayes could be forgiven for forgetting that she’d arranged a date with her husband. She was trying to get through the syllabus material with her seventh years at a fast pace and had what felt like a thousand essays to mark from her fifth years. Seemingly, it never stopped. Intolerably, also, she’d found out that he had moved the alcohol. She’d found a way round it, of course, and a drizzle of firewhisky which she’d put in her desk at the start of the year went into her potions. Somehow, the ill temper, the lack of sleep and the alcohol all numbed her enough to be pleasant – oxymoronically. It had all kept her busy. Then, when Friday came and it was brought up again, Millie was suitably surprised. She hadn’t thought it was so soon. But of course, a glance at the calendar and it proved true. It was Friday.
It hadn’t been helpful to see their children, she reflected to herself as she pinned her hair up before the mirror in their bedroom that afternoon. She regretted it but in the same breath she knew she’d admit the desire to go back, to steal into Keiran’s old room and live in there. She’d hide forever, she was sure, if only life would relieve her enough to do it. She wanted to see her children grow. She had noted the change in them even though it had been really no time at all. All it had really sufficed to do was make her more heavy handed with the firewhisky, make her sleep all the more fitfully and every time she closed her eyes, the night seemed to replay with so much more clarity it took her breath from her lungs and set her heart hammering like it was going to jump out of her chest.
The essays hadn’t been finished. She’d not marked them. In fact, she was lucky she’d made it through the lessons that week. She was beginning to doubt that she’d be working for Hogwarts at the end of the year. There was a cynical part of her that doubted she’d last much longer at all. She didn’t think they would, either. This horror-stricken sense of complete and utter helplessness was winding itself within her, coiling up tight in a way that made her feel as though she was never going to be truly happy again. Yet, she smiled, she laughed, and she did all of the things she was supposed to. There was nothing amiss. She just moved a little slower – easily attributed to the pain that still wracked at her, that seized at her joints and split headaches across her scalp. But of course, it was easily remedied with another potion, along with a twist of whisky.
That afternoon, she’d discharged her sixth years early and cancelled her lesson with the fourth years, leaving them their assignment in the classroom. She’d then gone down into the grounds with the intention of going to watch the Gryffindor Quidditch team practise but beyond the entrance courtyard was territory she didn’t want to stray into. She stalled, her hand catching hold of the limestone, and she stared down into the grounds, her eyes bugging out of their sockets as she swept her gaze down over what had been the battleground. Her feet wouldn’t move, her boots scuffing as she tried to lift her feet. The only way she did move was back, to retreat. She hid in their rooms, wedging herself between the wall and the bedside cabinet in their bedroom, and for a long time just cried. Eventually, though, normal service had to resume.
So, she spent a long time washing the misery from her skin, stared into the mirror for an hour or so in an attempt to fix her smile and she took the time to pick out a dress that made her feel pretty. She felt and looked mumsy. At first she thought she liked it. Then of course she remembered she had no children to come back to. The dress was thrown out. In the end she picked something green, donned some tights and found some wedge ankle boots. After shrugging on an outer robe, she found Keiran in the living room and the pair were good to go. Slowly, then, they made their way into Hogsmeade. She was eternally grateful for the delay his leg gave her. It let her have the time to gather herself and put one clumsy foot in front of the other. In every corner of the grounds she saw something of that night. God forbid her having to look towards the lake.
In Hogsmeade, Millie could breathe a little easier. Her hand released Keiran’s from the strained grasp to the loose embrace of their fingers and she leaned into him, content for the first time in a few weeks to be in his company. It almost felt normal, if not for the fact that they’d never, ever been on a date before. It wasn’t as though there wasn’t much to do in Hogsmeade anymore, either. There was a theatre, small and intimate, that put on films as well as plays. There were plenty of restaurants, too, and dozens of shops all of which were geared towards giving the students part-time jobs. During early term time, however, it was more or less just populated by the locals and so it gave the couple that little bit of extra privacy.
At his words, Millie flicked her eyes around the high street. She snuggled in closer to him instinctively as people bustled by. She was finding that she didn’t enjoy crowds as much, anymore. She felt vulnerable in amongst them. She felt as though the disorder was still there – even when people were just queuing or hanging around. She felt as though she was back in the chaos of that night, trying to protect the students. Failing. Failing to protect the students. Her other hand came and grasped at the arm of his robes and she sighed, resting her head against his shoulder for a few moments as she tried to gather herself together again.
“Have you ever had a five-course meal – a different course at a different restaurant?” She asked, lifting her head from his shoulder. She looked up at Keiran, a small smile playing at her lips. “Or maybe we could just go to the pub? Something simple. There might be something on at the theatre.” She pulled at her lower lip with her teeth. “Up to you.”