Everything Is Eclipsed by the Shape of Destiny

There were moments in which Emerson completely adored her mother, moments when she swore that the aging witch was part angel and had been gifted to her for having been a particular good little girl. This was not one of those moments. This was a moment in which Emerson was almost positive that her mother was conspiring against her. This was a moment in which she could safely say that her mother was acting like a royal bitch. And as she sat there, her eyes closed and lips slightly parted to better pace her breathing, she seriously contemplated whether or not telling her mother to shut the fuck up would be worth the trouble. She ultimately decided against it. It wouldn’t be worth the drama that would arise.

“And Bill!” exclaimed Eleanor. “What’s going on with that mess? Hope you haven’t done anything foolish with him. The last thing you need is to be flinging yourself at a married man like some harlot. That’s not what respectable women do! Women with respect for themselves don’t run around with married men. They –”

“Not doing anything with him,” interjected a very irritated Emerson. “Not doing anything with anyone.”

“Well you should try to find yourself a nice boy.” Eleanor declared as she cut her daughter’s hair. “In fact, Everett wrote me just yesterday, said that Marc was asking about you. Remember Marc, don’t you? He was such a dear boy, so lovely. And he was so in love . . . you both were.”

“Drop it. Please just drop it.”

“But –”

“I don’t want to talk about this!” she bellowed, her breathing growing ragged as her emotions began to unravel. “You’re always pushing and pushing me to be with someone else – anyone else. But guess what? Being with someone else isn’t going to solve anything. That’s what pathetic and needy people do when they can’t stand be alone. But I can! I'm perfectly fine with ending up alone, because believe it or not, there are worse things out there than being alone.”

Eleanor shot her a dubious look.

“Oh! Don’t give me that look! I’d rather be alone than trapped in a loveless marriage to someone just because as a woman, society says I have to be married! I’ll have cats. No. I hate cats. I’ll have dogs! I’ll have novels! I’ll have wine! I’ll spoil the hell out of Everett’s kids and travel. That’ll be my life and it’s a hell of a lot better than the lives most people have. So don’t give me that look. Don’t act like Mrs. Bennett, because that’s exactly who you’re being right now.”

Eleanor remained silent, her face reddening as an incredulous expression swept across her face.

“I’ve got to get going. Have some things that need tending.” Emerson stood up, removing the cape that kept her falling hair from her clothes. “Thanks for the haircut.”

“You can’t leave. Not like this.”

“If I stick around, we’re just gonna keep fighting. Look at your face. It’s all red and you have that look you get whenever you’re really mad.”

“It’s not that I'm mad . . . it’s . . . I worry about you. And I know I might not express myself as well as I probably should but when I think of you fighting over there. I lose it. I remember how it was the first time around.” Eleanor took in a shaky breath. “England was my home and when the war began the first time around, I saw the damage firsthand. And when I fell in love with your father, I ran off with him to America because we couldn’t have a family in England. I refused to have a family in England. And I don’t want you there. I want you here where it’s safe or in Mexico or in Egypt. I just want to be able to go through my day, knowing you’re fine. And I get worked up. I get mean and that’s never been my intention, but I lost a lot during that war.”

“What are you talking about?”

Eleanor closed her eyes, the memory playing vividly in her mind. “My parents didn’t die from Dragon Pox. They were killed by Death Eaters. My father was a journalist for the Daily Prophet, wrote some pieces that weren’t favorable for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. So Death Eaters went to the house and killed everyone there . . . my parents, my little sister. They didn’t have mercy and took away my family. That’s why I’ve worked so hard to learn Spanish and to be a part of your father’s culture, because I don’t have any relatives to take you with and I don’t like England. Not anymore. So do you . . . do you understand why I don’t want you over there? He’s taken so much from me and the thought of you dying. Oh Merlin. I can’t stand the thought.” The tears began to fall. “That’s why I'm so hard on you. That’s why I push you to be with someone else, because I can’t help but think that if you fall in love with someone else, you’ll forget Bill . . . you’ll forget England. And I know it’s selfish of me, but I can’t help it. I just want you safe.”

“Mom, please don’t cry.” Emerson pleaded as she wrapped her arms around her mother’s petite frame. “I'm alright mom. Just don’t cry. Everything’s alright.”

They stood there for awhile, neither uttering a word. In her life, Emerson had only seen her mother cry on three occasions. The first was when Everett and she graduated from university. The second was when they moved to Egypt and the third, well the third was when Everett announced his engagement. Three occasions, just three. But now there was a fourth. And they weren’t tears of joy. They were tears that cut through her heart. She was tempted to tell her mother that she’d leave the Order, that she’d stay in Mexico and play the role of archeologist. That was what she’d always dreamt of doing; her life plan. But as much as she wanted to please her mother, she couldn’t. She’d joined the Order and she would see it through. Whether or not she’d be alive at the end, she didn’t know, but she’d fight. She’d given her word that she would and Emerson was a woman of her word.

The one to pull away from the embrace was Eleanor, her dark green eyes still brimming with unshed tears. “You’ll be on your way now. Won’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And your mind hasn’t been changed. Has it?”

“No.”

She dropped her gaze in hopes of avoiding a complete emotional breakdown. “Is he truly worth it? Worth dying for?” she asked.

“He’s worth fighting for.”

A brief nod of acknowledgment was given by Eleanor as she took her daughter’s hand in hers and gave it a tight squeeze.

“Don’t tell your brother,” she said. “Some family secrets are better off remaining just that, secrets. And please try not to hurt him. Everett means well. Worries about you, is all.”

Without saying anything further, she walked away, leaving Emerson alone in the living room with her thoughts. Worries about you, is all. She couldn’t be angry at him for worrying, but she could be angry at him for talking to Marceau behind her back. When they’d initially broken up, she made Everett swear never to talk to him again. Yet there he was, sharing correspondence with the French wizard. And whether or not this was the first time in years, didn’t matter. What mattered was that he’d been in contact.

He had no business talking to Marceau. That was against the rules. As her brother and best friend, he was obligated to not talk to her ex boyfriend. It was an unwritten rule that everyone in the world followed, but apparently Everett had forgotten that rule. And when Emerson spotted him outside a pyramid, she was set on reminding him of it.

“Everett Maddox Figueroa, you are the biggest asshole on the face of the planet!” she bellowed, not caring if anyone heard her.

He was caught off guard by her words. “What are you babbling about?” he asked.

“Oh you mean to say you don’t know?” she shook her head, her nose furrowing in anger. “Should’ve known better than to think you would actually know what you did! You never know anything. You always just give people that damn look and they either forgive you or tell you what you did wrong. But I won’t tell you! Because you – you insufferable man, know what you did wrong!”

“Are you drunk?” that was the only explanation he had for her behavior.

A glare was her only response.

“Alright, alright, you’re not drunk . . . just crazy. Kidding!” he shouted when she punched him in the shoulder. “Why are you acting like this? Not even two days ago, I took care of your ass when you got splinched and this is how you repay me?”

“Don’t even try to play that card with me. You know what you did wrong. You know it.”

“Why do you insist on playing this fucking game? If I knew what I did wrong, I would . . . oh . . .” he realized just what he’d done wrong. “Mom told you? Didn’t she?”

Emerson nodded.

“Well I don’t know why you’re getting so pissed off over it. Didn’t do anything wrong. Just told him how you were.”

“And how am I? Hmm?” her right brow began to twitch. “Care to tell me how I am? Because in all honesty, I don’t even know how the fuck I am.”

“Why do you even care what I told him? It’s not like he’s in your life. He’s somewhere in France and was just curious about you. He just thought of you and . . . I don’t know, wanted to know how you were. And I don’t even know why he’s sitting around thinking about you, you’re insane.”

“Oh! I'm sorry I'm not as sane as you. I’m sorry that I don’t have my life together and I'm not well on my way to being married and having babies like you are!”

“Come on Emery, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yes, you did! And that’s why you responded to his letter wasn’t it? Because you want me to have what you have,” she accused.

“I don’t want you to have what I have!” he yelled, the veins on his neck beginning to throb. “I just don’t want you to be sad anymore. That such a horrible thing to want?” his expression softened. “Because I don’t think it is. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with telling Marceau that you’ve been alright. And that you’re single.”

“If he were in France, then maybe it wouldn’t be wrong, but he’s in England.”

“He’s what?”

“He’s in England, living with Bill.”

“W-w-with Bill?” he stuttered. “What the fuck is he doing there?”

“Spending time with his sister,” she replied.

“You mean to say, Fleur and him are . . . oh . . . I just thought the French looked like that.”

“Might be attractive an attractive people, but no. They’re not all pumped with Veela blood.”

“Fuck.”

“See why I'm pissed now?”

Everett nodded. “Has he tried talking to you?”

“Tried and failed.”

“Well . . . maybe this is a good thing. I mean. If he’s gone through the trouble of writing me and moving to England then maybe he wants to try to patch things up. And I know you don’t want a relationship because of Bill, but a fling could be good. There’s nothing like sex to chase the clouds away.”

“Not gonna fuck him. I can’t even stand looking at him.”

“And why not?” he asked. “You never told me why you to broke up.”

“Doesn’t matter why we broke up, all that matters, is that we broke up. That’s it. And you better not talk to him anymore. Because if you do, I’ll mess you up so bad that it’ll takes weeks for you to heal.”

“Always with the violence,” Everett muttered halfheartedly.

“Only way you listen.”

“So what you gonna do now? Want to stay over for dinner?”

“No thanks. Having dinner at the Burrow,” she ran a hand through her recently cut hair. “And I think I’ll drop by Bill’s to tell Marceau to fuck off.”

That was exactly what Emerson did. She apparated to a field by Bill’s house and proceeded to walk the rest of the way. She didn’t want them to hear the loud pop. She didn’t want Bill or Fleur to know she was there. All Emerson wanted to do was talk to Marceau. It felt strange to be on the hunt for him. It’d been ages since she’d snuck around to try to get to him and as she walked across the sand, memories of their youth began to strike her. They’d had a good relationship. A decent one, but their ending had been horrible. Their ending put a damper on their entire relationship, making it nearly impossible for her to remember it without wanting to punch him in that perfectly symmetrical face of his.

Unaware that Emerson was imagining how he’d look after a punch to the face, Marceau sat on the steps of the house, his eyes peering into the ocean that bore such a strong resemblance in shade to his eyes. His mind wasn’t hard at work. There were no thoughts buzzing around in there. This was his quiet time, the time in which he just sat and stared, completely content with just being there, with taking in the grandeur of the ocean.

“Marceau!” he heard someone call to him.

Slowly, he turned his face in direction of the voice. His eyes flickered with excitement when he spotted Emerson trudging towards him. Her face may have exhibited displeasure, but he didn’t process it as such. He was far to busy admiring her figure in the sun. The years had been kind to her. She’d grown into her nose and her lips seemed more inviting than he had remembered. And even her hair was looking better. He’d always been fond of long hair, but the short cut worked well with her.

“Emma, it is so nice to –”

“No, it’s not!” she cut him off. “Now look, I don’t what you’re aiming at, but let me tell you something. I don’t like you. I may have liked you when we were teenagers, but that was just because you had an accent and you were foreign. But now everyone I'm surrounded by has an accent and is foreign, so neither of those does anything to me anymore. I'm immune to it! Just like I'm immune to you! Because. I. Don’t. Like. You.” she huffed, childishly. “And I don’t appreciate the fact that you wrote to my brother to ask how I’ve been. How I am is none of your business. It stopped being your business when you called me an emotionally unavailable bitch!”

“You done?” he asked, remaining perfectly calm throughout her verbal abuse.

“Fuck you. There. I'm done.”

Marceau sighed softly. “It’s a good thing I didn’t expect friendly from you. Or else I would’ve gotten my feelings hurt. But I must say this rant was quite . . . passionate. For someone that’s immune to me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Oh. You know me. I always do.” Marceau stood up, his eyes fixed on her face. “All these years later and you still can’t stand the sight of me.”

“Maybe if you hadn’t insulted me things would be different.”

“Wouldn’t have insulted you if you hadn’t called me an insufferable bastard,” he countered.

Emerson ignored his words. “So what are you doing here? What do you want?”

“Visiting my sister,” he explained, a smile playing across his lips. “Can’t a brother do that?”

“You were never fond of your sisters.”

“That was years ago. I am now.”

He wasn’t going to give her an honest answer. The way he stared at her told her that. He had that stupid smug look he used to get whenever he wanted to avoid having an actual conversation.

“You’re still an insufferable bastard.” And with that said, she apparated to Tonks’ house, she had a dinner to cook.

Forty minutes later, Emerson sat at the kitchen table with a book in hand. She’d finished preparing dinner as well as some desert. And now all she had to do was, wait for the oven to go off so she could take out the pastries. Tonks was nowhere in sight. She’d sent an owl saying she was going to drop by a store to pick up the new Weird Sisters album. Apparently it was the best album to date and as a devoted fan, Tonks needed to get her hands on the album. A little while later, Tonks came in through the door, waving her album in the air.

“Not going to believe it!” she exclaimed. “They were there! They were actually there. Not doing a signing or anything like that, they were just there, getting records of their own and when I saw Myron Wagtail standing there, I nearly pissed myself!”

“Merlin’s beard!” gasped Emerson. “That’s so fucking rad. Ugh! I can’t believe you saw Myron Wagtail. Is he as hot in person as he is on the posters?”

“Loads better looking in person.” Tonks hung her robe up and skipped towards the kitchen. “And they were all so nice. Asked them to sign my album and they did! Even made small talk with me, well, Kirley Duke did. Asked me where I worked. Told him I was an Auror and his eyes went all wide like it was the most brilliant thing ever. Was really great, talking with them,” she took a seat. “After everything’s that’s gone on, it was just great.”

“I bet!”

Tonks smiled brightly, “Enough about me! How was your day? See you got hair trimmed. Looks almost as lovely as mine,” she complimented.

“Thanks.” Emerson instinctively played with her hair. “It was good. Got some sleep in. Spent time with my mom, it was nice. And then I got home and fixed your favorite.”

Tonks clapped her hands together. “This is turning out to be quite the day! Shall we eat now or later? Good either way.”

“I would, but I’ve got to go over to the Burrow. Fred and George have been trying to woo me for awhile and I promised I’d spend the evening with them. Want to come?”

“Oh . . . no, don’t think that’d be a good idea.” Tonks’ smile faltered.

“Might do you some good to spend time with others, I know I'm not much company. And the Weasley’s are the best. Always laughing over one thing or another . . .”

“Would love to go, but I just don’t think I should.” Tonks replied from her seat. “Feel like they’ll ask why Remus didn’t go with me and . . . and I really don’t want to tell them that the bastard ran off. Or maybe they already know. Maybe he’s told them that he’s left. And I'm just making an ass of myself by pretending that he’s gonna come back.” Tonks took a breath. “No. You will not cry,” she muttered to herself. “Fucking hate being pregnant, it’s so bloody impossible dealing with all these emotions. One moment I'm smiling. The next I'm bawling. And then I'm laughing. It’s madness! Sheer fucking madness!” exclaimed Tonks.

Emerson no longer had the heart to leave. Not with the way Tonks was acting. Her friend needed company, someone whose shoulder she could cry on and someone that would listen attentively to her, or at least do their best to. And she was perfectly fine with being that someone. Tonks had saved her from living with Bill and that infernal wife of his. The least she could so was spend her evening with her. Would the Weasley’s be cross with her? They might. That is to say, they would definitely be crossed with her, but they’d understand.

“Think I’ll stay in.” Emerson slipped off her jacket. “I'm still a little tired from yesterday so I’ll probably just curl up on the couch and watch some teli. Maybe we can listen to the record together.”

“I know what you’re doing and even though it’s nice of you, I think it’s better if you head over to the Burrow. They’re expecting you. It’d be rude to not show up. Not to mention, Molly would have a fit.”

“She’ll get over it.”

“It’ll take ages though. Molly’s one to hold a grudge.”

“Even if she’s planning on marrying me off to Charlie?” she asked, a laugh threatening to erupt from her lips.

“You’re joking!”

“Nope, not joking,” Emerson reassured. “Bill told me the other day that Molly wants Charlie to marry me, but he said than since Charlie’s more into dragons than women, that she’ll probably be in cahoots with the twins so one of them can marry me.”

“Probably end up marrying both of them since neither will want to give you up.” The somber expression vanished, giving way to a genuinely amused one. “Must invite me to the wedding, I’ll take two presents. One for each of the grooms!” she clapped her hands together and as she did, a short giggle passed through her.

“Well, I'm glad someone’s having a laugh over this.”

“Not a laugh, just a little giggle.” Tonks clarified. “But in all honesty, it would be brilliant if you married someone from here. Then we’d get to keep you. Instead of giving you back to America when this mess is over. Grown too fond of you to let you go, it’s your own fault for spoiling me so much.”

“Never getting married,” Emerson told her. “I have unrealistic standards for men. That’s why I’ll end up with a novel, some wine, ah it’ll be lovely. And I’ll get to be your single friend that you can visit when your children and husband drive you mad.”

“Will I get to drink wine as well?”

“Can drink a whole bottle if you like, we’ll each drink a bottle! On second thought, think I’ll have two or three.”

“Then it’s settled.” Tonks said. “And don’t think I’ll forget this. I’ll be looking forward to our drunken meetings.”

“So will I,” she reassured.

Tonks stretched, allowing her developing belly to peek out from underneath her shirt. “Think I’ll have some dinner now. You should head out. Those Weasley’s are probably dying to see you.”

“Since you’re in such a hurry to get rid of me, I’ll go. But tomorrow, since it’s your day off. I was thinking that maybe we should have a girl’s day. You know. Catch a movie or two and have some dinner. Would you be into that?”

“Sounds brilliant!” she replied as enthusiastically as she could.

And then Emerson walked out onto the porch. The cool breeze nipping at her cheeks as she threw on her jacket, in preparation for apparating to the Burrow. She hoped her visit would be an enjoyable one, but if Marceau was there, with that stupid smug face of his, she just might throw a hex his way . . . just might.