Everything Is Eclipsed by the Shape of Destiny

She sat on the edge of the bed, feet dangling off the side, curling ever so slightly when they touched the cold wooden flooring. Her eyes were clouded with sleep. Her hair was an absolute disaster. She’d been sitting there for the last three hours, since she woke at two that morning. There were attempts at getting back to sleep, at forcing herself to just shut down for a few hours, but she couldn’t. No. That bloody mind of hers refused to cooperate. It kept replaying the most recent conversation she’d had with Bill, the conversation in which he’d told her that things were so hopeless with Harry, that Ron had abandoned them. It was surprising how hard she took the news. Her entire body began to tremble and if it hadn’t been for her instinctively shoving Bill aside, he would’ve sustained serious injuries. Thankfully, the only physical injuries he sustained were a few scratches on the palm of his hands.

A little blood trickled from the scratches, staining the snow, but he didn’t mind it. His mind wasn’t concerned with his minimal injuries. It was concerned with Emerson, with the fact that she’d been so emotionally distraught that she had phased without warning and taken off sprinting into the distance. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. That had never been his intention, but he had to tell her how things were going, how the war was progressing. She would’ve never forgiven him for withholding news from her. So he sat there, on the snow, his coat pulled tightly around him as he waited for her to come back. He’d waited and waited and waited until he could endure the cold no longer and went home, to his wife.

It was then that Emerson emerged from the shadows. She’d been standing there for a few hours, watching as he fidgeted around, listening as he complained about how everything was so horrible. She’d wanted to talk to him, to discuss what they were going to do, but the problem was she hadn’t a clue as to what was going to happen between them. She wanted to be with him. There was nothing Emerson wanted more in the world, but divorcing Fleur wasn’t an option for him, and she didn’t want to be his mistress, she’d had enough of that when he was dating Fleur. If only they hadn’t been so hardheaded and stupid early on, all of that could’ve been avoided. They could’ve been conscious of each other’s feelings and had a proper relationship. Instead they were sneaking around, trying to figure out what to do and getting into arguments every other day.

Ever since they’d professed their feelings for one another, they’d been getting into arguments. It didn’t matter how idiotic a topic was, how insignificant an offense had been, they argued. Bill got furious whenever Marceau stood too closely to Emerson, and since he couldn’t very well tell Marceau to fuck off, he’d get on Emerson’s case. Telling her that she had to stop leading the handsome Frenchman on. Emerson would grow outraged. She’d never uttered a kind word to Marceau, and to have Bill on her case about it, just made her so bloody livid that she would tell him to go fuck himself, no, not himself, his wife. That would get his blood pumping even faster, and by the end of the argument, they were always left glaring at one another, torn between their desire to have their way with one another or to shake them for being so bloody frustrating.

The war wasn’t being kind to them. They hadn’t been kind to themselves, and so, Emerson found the much needed escape that sleep brought her, impossible to attain. All she could do was sit there, staring out the window, watching as snow blanketed the land, for the fourth time that week. She hated snow, hated the rain, the cold. It didn’t matter if she was a shape shifter, she didn’t like it. She’d grown up sulking whenever her parents took them to Big Bear during the winter. All she ever did was sit inside the cabin, complaining about how she didn’t like it, about how they should’ve gone to Disneyland instead.

And as she sat there, brow furrowed and longing for some semblance of happiness, she decided that she was going home. There weren’t any missions that she was needed for, and she was going to let Remus and Tonks know where she went off to, just in case there was an emergency. With that thought in mind, she abandoned the bed, casting off the oversized shirt she slept in so that it could be replaced with a pair of jeans and a sweater, which her mother had knit for her. She ran a comb through her hair, then put make up on, she didn’t need her mother complaining about how ragged she looked. Emerson didn’t want to argue. She wanted to be doted on by her parents, and told that she was wonderful, because with things the way they were, she didn’t believe that anymore.

Emerson scribbled a quick note for her friends, placing it on the refrigerator so that they could see it first thing in the morning, and then, without doing anything else, she stepped outside, walked a reasonable distance and apparated home to California. It was a little after nine over there. Her parents were still awake, not for much longer, only until 10:30 or 11, since it was a weekend, but that’d be plenty of time to just talk to them, be in their presence. That was what she wanted. She wanted what Bill had whenever he went to The Burrow. She wanted to feel like she belonged somewhere, instead of just being that American, the one that’s helping out.

“E-Emery?” stuttered her mother in shock when she opened the door. “Darling, is anything the matter?” she asked, stepping towards her daughter and taking her into a strong embrace.

“I'm okay, ma.” Emerson buried her face into her mother’s shoulder. “I just needed to come home. I missed you guys. Sorry, I shouldn’t have come so late.”

“Don’t be silly, you can come whenever you want. This is your home,” she rubbed her daughter’s back. “Oh, it’s good to see you, Emery.”

“Elle is everything okay?” inquired Samuel, as he emerged through the doorway. “Emery?” his brow furrowed in surprise. “Mija (my daughter), are you okay?”

“Yeah, I'm fine dad.” Emerson sniffled lightly, mustering a smile to reassure him. “I was just homesick. Wanted to come by and see you guys.”

He was unconvinced, but decided not to press the subject further, at least not while his wife was around.

“Well it’s good that you remembered us. It’s been weeks!” he reminded.

“I know, it’s just, things got really busy with . . . the war and all, but I'm here.”

“And I made your favorite,” Eleanor linked arms with her daughter. “I just finished cleaning up in the kitchen, but give me a few minutes and I’ll warm it up for you. Sam, close the door, you’re gonna let in the draft and you already have that cough.”

“Dad’s sick?” she asked, glancing behind her shoulder at her father.

“Not sick, it was just a little cold, but your mom makes it sound worse.” Samuel closed the door and followed them into the kitchen.

“You had to take medicine for it.” Eleanor reminded.

“You make me take medicine for everything,” he laughed, his deeply etched laugh lines becoming visible.

“And that’s why you’re never sick for long.” Eleanor proudly declared. “Would you like coffee, Emery?”

“Yes, please.” Emerson took a seat at the table, shimmying out of her coat once she was sitting down. “The weather’s so much better here.”

“Of course it is. That’s why houses are as expensive as they are.” Samuel joked.

Emerson shook her head at her dad, a light laugh escaping her lips. “There are expensive houses in England.”

“I don’t see why anyone would buy them. It’s cold, it rains, and there’s no sun.” Samuel declared.

“Your dad’s right. I used to hate the weather and I grew up there.” Eleanor placed the food inside a pan; she never used the microwave to heat food up. “Your brother stopped by yesterday.”

“Did he?” she asked.

“Mhm, he wanted to tell your dad what kind of suit he should get for the wedding. Apparently it’s supposed to be a double breasted charcoal suit.”

“Doesn’t dad already have one of those?” asked Emerson.

“Not one that fits.” Eleanor declared, shooting his husband a little smile.

Samuel grabbed onto his belly, it wasn’t massive, but he was by no means a fit man. “My panza (stomach) is just a little too big, you know, not a lot, but I'm gonna buy a new suit. The other one is a few years old so it needs to be replaced.”

“Very true dad, you need to look good at the wedding.” Emerson rested her head against his shoulder. “How about you, mom?” she asked. “Have you found a dress yet?”

“Not yet, but your dad and I are going to downtown next week, so maybe I’ll find something there. Have you found one?” asked Eleanor.

“No, I haven’t even started looking. I’ll do it soon, though. I mean, there’s no rush, there’s still awhile before the wedding, but I’ll find one. I’ve seen some nice dresses in London. I’ll pop by one of those shops.”

“Are you doing well with money?” asked her dad, quietly.

“Yeah, I'm good. I haven’t been going crazy with buying stuff so I still have a little left in my checking account and if things get bad, I can go into my savings, and I have some for retirement, but I don’t think I’ll find myself forced to dip into those. I haven’t bought anything other than a few books and groceries. So I'm good. Thanks for asking though.”

“You know if you ever need money, we’d be glad to help however we can.” Samuel reminded.

“I know dad, but I'm good, really.” Emerson smiled. “Ah. That smells delicious! I’ve been in dire need of actual Mexican food. I mean I love my cooking, but mom makes the best food.”

“I think I might be the only English, Mexican food expert.” Eleanor laughed. “S’alright though, I like the title.”

Soon enough the food was served and Emerson began the first of three plates that she would eat in the course of an hour. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had such good food. Her mother’s culinary abilities surpassed even those of Mrs. Weasley.

“How have things been?” asked Eleanor, she might not have mentioned the war, but it was that that she wanted to know about.

“I’ve been good.” Emerson said, avoiding talking about the war. “A little tired, just because I haven’t been sleeping well, but I'm alright.”

“And Bill?” she asked softly.

“He’s healthy and safe.” Emerson replied, not looking up from her plate.

“Very happy to hear that,” said Eleanor. “I'm glad you’re still in one piece.”

“It’ll take more than a few spells to get to me.” Emerson declared. “I'm a shifter, remember? It has to be a group to be able to stop me with magic.”

“This is one of the few moments when I'm glad you’re a shifter.” Eleanor took a seat at the table. “You look like you’ve lost weight. Have you not been eating well?”

“Do you really think I wouldn’t eat well?” asked Emerson, shooting her a grin.

“That doesn’t change the fact that you look famished.”

“Famished? Hah, no, no, I don’t look famished.” Emerson set down her fork. “How have things been around here?”

Her parents went on to tell her about how they’d been getting on, as well as how her cousins, aunts and uncles were doing. Her mother spoke very animatedly on the subject. Eleanor was a woman that loved to gossip and having a person that wasn’t clued in on anything that was happening, was a very rare thing indeed. So she talked and talked, then she paused to fix up some coffee and tea, and kept talking. Every so often she would pause to ask Emerson about how things were going in England, but since Emerson only gave one or two words replies, she quickly gave up on that and kept talking about what was going on in California.

Emerson listened in silence until the clock struck midnight. She excused herself from her parents, her mother hugging and kissing her, before retiring to her room to start her nightly routine of creams, her father, on the other hand, walked her to the door. He had a few questions that he’d been meaning to ask, and since his wife was no longer within earshot, he took the opportunity.

“How’s the war going?” he asked as they stood on the front porch.

“Not as good as I’d like to be.” Emerson admitted. “I thought it’d be over by now, but it’s still dragging on.”

“The news says that it’s not been favorable for the resistance. Are they saying the truth? Or is the Ministry skewing the information the world gets?” he hoped it was the latter.

“It hasn’t been favorable for us. It’s – it’s been hell. There’s always fighting, always missions to run. I had an idea of what war would be. Didn’t think it’d be glorious, like some people do. I’d read enough books to think that I had grasp on the horrors of it, but . . . I had no clue. No idea of what –” the tears began to slip from her eyes, sliding gently down her cheeks. “They say its hell. Everyone that’s written about it says it is, but I thought hell was to strong a word. Now, I think it’s too weak.”

“If it’s that bad, don’t go back,” said Samuel. “Come home or go to Mexico with your abuelitos (grandparents), and study the ruins.”

With the sleeve of her sweater, she wiped away her tears. “I can’t.”

“He’s safe.”

“Because I’ve kept him safe,” she declared. “He’d be dead by now if it wasn’t for me. So I just – have to grit my teeth, get through it.”

“And what’ll you have when it ends?” he questioned.

Him, I’ll have him, she thought.

“I don’t even know what I’ll have tomorrow.” Emerson laughed, trying desperately to lighten the mood. “So who knows what I’ll have when it’s over.”

He wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “I just want you to be happy.”

“I will be. I hope.” She pecked his cheek and hugged him tightly. “I’ll see you soon dad.”

Before he could say anything, she took a step back and apparated home. It was still dark out, the sun was by no means going to be shining on that day, and so she walked up the stairs with a frown on her face. She wished the sun would’ve shined or that it would at least stop snowing, but no, neither one of those things were going to come through.

When she walked inside, Remus was sitting in the living room, his hands buried in his face. Her eyes darted across the room, checking if there’d been a break in, if a fight had broken out while she was gone, but there was no sign of distress. Everything was as it had been. She wondered if they’d been fighting. These last few days had been tense for everyone, but she didn’t think they’d be fighting, especially since the healers told Remus not to stress Tonks out.

“Are you okay?” she asked, softly.

He looked up. “Huh? Oh. Yes, I'm fine, quite – no, I'm not fine. Don’t know why I said I was. No ones fine, anymore.”

“Well, what’s wrong?” she walked over to one of the small couches, taking a seat. “Maybe talking about it will do some good?”

“It’s . . . it’s not related to the war.” Remus sighed. “I . . . I suppose I'm just nervous about being a father. Dora’s going to keep working, since I can’t – I can’t get hired. And I’ll be looking after our child. I . . . I’ve never taken care of an infant. Don’t think I’d be any good at it.”

“You will.”

“How do you know that?” he questioned, his voice, barely above a whisper.

“Because you’re a good man, Remus,” she smiled reassuringly. “And I know that you’re the type of person that fixates on their faults, but you have so many good qualities. You’re kind, attentive, caring. Your son or daughter is going to be very fortunate to have such a father. You’ll teach them not to be prejudice, to believe in themselves, and to be good to others.”

“But I don’t know how to look after a child.”

“No parent knows how to look after a baby. No one’s fully qualified for that, but you’ll feel out, learn on the job and see what works for you and what works for them. And if you have any questions, you can ask Molly. She’s raised an army. I'm sure she’d be glad to share his wisdom. And Tonks’ mom’s around so you can ask her how Tonks was when she was growing up, what she liked and go from there. It’ll be tough, dealing with another person always is, but you can do Remus.”

His eyes glistened with tears. “I can see why Dora’s so fond of you. You have a way with words.”

“I have a way with saying what I think.” Emerson replied. “But you’re gonna be great, really.”

“I do hope you’re going to have to tell me that everyday. Walk out of your room and say, ‘Remus, you will be great.’”

“Think it’ll be more like me dropping by the house.”

“Why?”

“Because when the war ends, I’ll go back to what I was doing before I got here.”

“But you can’t do that. I thought you and Bill were –”

Emerson grew flustered. “What’d you just say?”

“I – I’ve not told anyone. I just . . . overheard one day. When I was in the hiding, looking up at the window like I used to, before I came back, and . . . well, I heard you, I heard both of you.”

“No, no you didn’t. You didn’t hear a damn thing.” Emerson took up, her body beginning to tremble ever so slightly.

“I heard, Emerson, I know about you and Bill.”