— dedicated to sarahsezlove
& beta-checked by Sunset Whispers
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She was humming quietly. And Sybill was dozing off. Thank God. Thank Merlin, she thought, almost viciously, because God was surely a Muggle notion, and she was now married to a wizard. A wizard, she thought, almost dazedly. What could she say about that? Nothing. She was just a normal woman. A normal woman with a half-blood child. Half more than me. Half more than I'll ever be. Truly half of this Wizarding World. I am … not. I am an outsider.
Jen stared down at Sybill. Her baby girl was lying on her back, hands thrown up around her head. Her face was pink and soft; her mouth pursed. There was a single bubble of saliva precariously balanced at the junction where her lips met. Wispy hair clung to her head. And her cheeks were rosy. Rosy because of the blood flowing beneath. The blood that was better than Jen's. Blood that came from a magical father and a muggle mother.
She swallowed. "Ah," she sighed, and stood. This was not what she'd imagined. Not what she thought her life would be. Whether it was better or worse than those imaginings … she could not say. But it was surely a marvel. Magic! Magic was real!
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"You wish you'd never met me, isn't that right?"
"No, Jen. Don't put words in my mouth," he said in disgust, throwing back his brandy like it was water and it was a hot summer day instead of a cold Tuesday night.
"Because that's all I do, isn't it?" she asked helplessly. "I'm just the wife. Just your Muggle wife."
He stared at her as if he was seeing her for the first time, and he didn't like what he saw. "How did you even come to that?" he asked, wonderingly.
She choked on her laughter. Looked down. Laced her fingers together. "How did I come to that," she whispered, dropping the question mark and the incredulous tone he'd had. "I came to that quite easily, darling."
He stared. She stared back.
"Was it maybe when you didn't invite me to any work functions? Was it when you refused to take me out into your world? Was it when I realised that you — " she broke off almost violently, pulling her body physically backwards, away from him, as if — in so doing — she could shatter any thoughts or feelings that were birthing themselves into their sad, pathetic world.
"When I — ?" he encouraged. He almost leaned forwards. Almost.
Jen licked her lips. "When I realised you loved our daughter more than you loved me," she croaked out.
He huffed out a breath of air and tore his eyes away from hers. He couldn't even look at her now, she realised. "Parents are supposed to love their children more than anyone else. Good parents do that."
"More than you ever loved me," fell from her lips. "Is it because she's magical and I'm not? I'm not what I used to be to you," she said plaintively. "I used to have my own sort of magic over you. You used to see something in me. Now … it's like you see nothing. You don't grab my waist and hold me. You never spin me around. You don't kiss me. You don't make love to me, Louis — you fuck me. Do you think I don't know the difference? I know the difference," she spat out, eyes watering, mouth a thin line, slamming her hands on the table — and would you look at that … the sweet-natured Mrs Trelawney slamming her hands on the kitchen table like some drunk harlot from the streets.
Finally. He turned his gaze on her. "Like I see nothing," he repeated. "Funny, that."
She didn't ask what was so funny.
She couldn't.
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Jen was crying. The house was empty, except for Sybill and herself. She couldn't stop the tears. She couldn't put Sybill down, even though she thought that was probably exactly what she should do.
"I'm sorry," she chanted, over and over again, though she couldn't say exactly what she was apologising for. "I'm so sorry, baby girl."
Sybill was screaming at the top of her lungs. Her chubby fists were waving around. Her wispy hair was standing on end. And those pouty lips were overrun with saliva.
"Shhh," she soothed, as if she could actually soothe her own child.
Sybill let out a particularly heart-wrenching cry.
"Just — shush!" Jen yelled, her voice cracking. She was trying to calm her child. But maybe what she was actually doing was trying to get Sybill to calm her. A baby could not comfort her — not like how she needed.
"I'm so sorry, Sybill, I really am." Her hold tightened.
Sybill's screeches reached a crescendo, and then there was an odd pop! and Jen was shoved away from her own daughter. Her back crashed into the nursery wall. She stared.
Sybill was on the floor, sniffling but clearly calmer.
Her daughter had resorted to accidental magic just to be away from her own mother. Jen covered her hand with her mouth. What kind of mother was she? What kind of wife was she? What kind of person was she?
The whoosh of the fireplace announced her husband's arrival. She heard the noise from his shoes as he made his way to their daughter's room.
"What — ?" he breathed. He knelt down and picked up Sybill. "Is this what you do now?" he asked his wife. "You leave her sobbing on the ground while you lie against a wall? Is this who you are now?" he interrogated her.
"No," she said hoarsely.
"No," he echoed disbelievingly. He wiped away the drying tears on his child's face. "I never thought you were this kind of person, Jennifer."
Jennifer. She looked out the window. She didn't have the willpower to defend herself, or explain. Maybe it was because she didn't think she should be defended. Maybe it was because she couldn't find it in herself to argue back when he was looking at her with those eyes of his. Those disgusted, defeated eyes.
When had life become this?
He hadn't even noticed the tears clinging to her own cheeks.
But then again — maybe he had, and just didn't care.
Please tell me what you think. :)