Disclaimer: Not JK Rowling.
A Woman Embittered By An Almost Futile Life
To observers she was a pretty picture. Her hair was perfectly coiffed, her robes, made by the finest couturiers draped elegantly down her petite frame. Her face was lightly made up, and she still looked youthful, much to the envy of her female peers. She sat in the most elegant chair of the room, her slim legs tucked under it, nodding and talking with the swarm of well-dressed men who now gathered around her.
The heat of the fireplace behind her caused a pale blush to emerge on her high cheekbones, and now and then she would tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, and her eyes would widen at something one of the men had said, each desperate to gain her trust.
No tear had stained her cheek to bear evidence to the grief she was experiencing, and nor would she allow it to. She sometimes gathered her robes around her, as her throat tightened, and the voices around her would become faint echoes, as she retreated into her mind, back to another time.
Too often, they would take her hand, and offer her valiant looks that promised protection, and happiness. They pressed in around her, their collars stiff and lips drenched with wine, issuing words of vague comfort. Some were broad and heavy, with soft, round chins and wide hands that clutched hers, while others were rather stringy, their hair flecked with grey, and their cool eyes full of concern.
Their voices drifted around her like clouds of smoke, and she focused on other things in the room. The large vase in corner was webbed with cracks, and the flowers within had closed, becoming bud-like in appearance. The piano was surrounded by men younger than her companions, including her brother, Lucius, who chatted eloquently to them on some matter. Beside him stood her son, who politely accepted the condolences he received from older relatives, his mouth set in a thin line.
Since his return, many people had congratulated her on her handsome, well-mannered son, and she now felt a detached sense of pride as influential men smiled at him, and looked at him with satisfaction, and ladies bickered over who’s daughter was most suited to him.
It was over sixteen years ago when she had first laid eyes on him, and she often felt that it was the only important thing she had ever done. To hear him praised in such high regard made the shattered pieces of her heart glow. The remnants of their former life were now discussed openly in newspapers and on shopping streets, and she was so glad James could live away from it all.
She turned her attentions once more to the men who sat around her, her eyes growing bigger and her lips growing wider on cue, but even for her, a woman so accustomed to throwing parties and meeting up with acquaintances – never friends – it was extremely difficult to understand what each was saying to her.
It was no secret to her that Mr. Potter had enjoyed many mistresses, and she assumed that they thought the same of her. But the notions they held about her couldn't have been further from the truth. She was pretty, but she was no fool. Her social excursions were a salute to her carefree upbringing, and while she like company, very few people knew that she often requested to be alone, and read or spend time with her son.
She had been madly in love with her husband. Even when she first set eyes on him she knew. His shy nature had many times led other women to think him distant, but she had quickly opened him up, getting to know him easily, and realising that many of his qualities were on a par with her own. He was a kind man, and others often maintained that the large age-gap between them signified nothing more than the traditional pure-blood marriage. She was relatively young when she had married him, and still was now, when he was no longer there.
James had been born a good deal after, and while he had always been a good father to him, was often abroad, working in areas of business she rarely understood. His absence had made her heart grow fonder, but on his returns he would be quite removed, and usually slept in other rooms, or made excuses to go elsewhere when she knew it was not necessary.
Her love for him transcended his disloyalty, but it grew to have a bitter taste, as his actions stabbed at her like a thorn. Her love became unrequited, and that which had sprung afresh like a daisy had grown cold like the his pecks on her cheek.
The fact that she was good-looking and a socialite gave others the idea that the infidelity in their marriage was part of a mutual agreement. But though she had had many offers, she had always stood by their initial vows, though it pained her deeply to do so. Sometimes, on rare occasions when he returned home late and came into her she would catch a glimpse of affection in his eyes that she had first been drawn to, but by morning it was gone.
He often joked that she was a spoiled creature, and though he bought her whatever she pleased she never felt fulfilled; clothes, jewellery and luxuries of any other kind could never replace what he neglected most in her. She had usually felt as though she was looking at him from the outside, watching his actions and hearing his words with the deepest study, and the ache inside her was never relieved. She wondered if James had ever realised, but they always tried to keep their behaviour normal, as hard as it was to do.
The fact that James had been away meant that the past six years had been even lonelier than the ones that preceded them. Of course, she had tried to distract herself; holidaying with friends, parties, attending to her appearance. But these would only work as a temporary relief, and she would return to find the house an empty shell, and no home to her.
He had had a strong relationship with James, which he always made sure to tend to when he was home. This bond they shared often made her envious, and while she was confident that James loved her as she did him, she wished he would confide in her. It seemed he had grown up so quickly, and she felt sadly that she had missed out.
Their family was in fact, quite typical. It was completely acceptable in their circle to break from the confines of marriage – even to create new ties; something she hoped hadn’t affected her son.
One of the men was talking directly to her again. It was Albert Milford, one of her most trusted friends. He was looking at her with real concern, and she smiled thinly to show him that she was still aware of it. He was the only person she had talked to about her husband’s death. How shocking it had been.
Albert had been at Hogwarts with her. He had never married, and instead had focused on his work. He was a mediwizard, and his vast knowledge on the subject of herbs and charms had appointed him to the chief position of St. Mungo’s – the most coveted in his profession. He thoroughly deserved it, due to the dedication he had put into his practice.
Unlike many of his colleagues, his hair still retained its natural colour, and his blue eyes were bright. His shoulders were broad, and he was quite tall – much taller than her, at any rate. He always had a warm smile for her, and even in these tough times knew that she needed company, not solitude. Like her, Albert was quite outgoing, and for the past hour or so he had conducted the conversation with the other men, careful not to bother her. She was very grateful. She knew she could not discuss private matters with her tonight; it was neither the time nor the place.
He smiled sympathetically at her from his armchair opposite – he knew that she did not like being surrounded on all sides by her older, old-fashioned relatives. They had always bored her, and boredom presently made her retreat into her inner-feelings, something she did not like doing, as she wanted her exterior to remain as passive as ever. Albert sipped his wine, and she watched his eyes flit from speaker to speaker, scowling in disagreement, or nodding as he found solidarity in his opinions.
Once again, her eyes roved the drawing room. Small groups had formed around the furniture, older relatives and family friends taking first preference in seating. She thought it a pity that James no longer had anyone of his own age to associate with, since Sirius had returned to Hogwarts, but her son had appeared as comfortable as he could be, all things considered.
But where was James now? Her eyes gazed past Susan Bones and Margot Isme-Rathford. He was not by the window – all she saw were cigar-smoking friends of her husband. He was not behind her either – she turned her head around to get a better view of the large room. Her heart started to beat faster – where could he be? She set her glass on the side-table, her manicured hands brushing her quilted handbag as she did so. She looked to the piano. Lucius was still there, now in deep conversation with one of his former school friends. He looked up and she caught his eye, and with a flick of her chin summoned him to her.
He was immediately at her side, clearly worried. She asked him had she seen James leave, and he too looked around the room for his young nephew. Not seeing him, Lucius told her that James must have retired to his room – it had been a demanding day for him, one he should never have to experience at such an age, and Lucius promised he would go up and see if everything was all right.
She smiled as he left the room. Lucius was so caring.
The door shut behind him, and some relatives seemed surprised at such an abrupt departure. Albert was conducting another discussion – this time quite a topical discussion. Reforms in government, the threat of extinction to the wizard race, and a possible solution to social problems were always high on the agenda. She sat back with a sigh – these conversations were so uninteresting. She fixed her gaze on her bag and willed the minutes to pass.
Gradually, as the light outside extinguished, she grew uncomfortable with her appearance and felt the need to freshen up. Activity would refresh her mind in the way no conversation ever could. She excused herself from the group, and Albert eyed her sombrely.
It was only when she reached the privacy of her bathroom on the first floor that her oppressed emotion began to leak, until it streamed down her cheeks, trailing in her make up. She stood upright, her shoulders hunched, staring out the open window. A light breeze blew the curtain away from it, and from here she could see the path below. From here she saw a young couple, strolling hand in hand below her, as though they cared not that their inferior world could soon be destroyed.
She wondered what she would think then, what they would think if they could see her, with her ruined mask and husband gone – a husband who had never loved her – what would they think if they looked up from their happy, futile stroll to see her pointing her wand down at their serene bodies.
But she dismissed that thought from her mind almost as soon as it entered it.
Her face rectified and her expression back to normal, she left the polished bathroom. She clutched her bag tightly, and it was as she walked down the hall that she found Albert, who seeing her reddened eyes and bitter smile, held her in a warm embrace.
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