clumsy_auror (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
clumsy_auror) wrote2006-12-05 09:31 pm
clumsy_auror) wrote2006-12-05 09:31 pm
(no subject)
Distractions are a positive thing.
Books are somewhat helpful, but her attention keeps wandering; the television or music are even less effective. Doing something with her hands is a definite improvement, so Nymphadora's sitting on the couch with a scrap of fabric, a spool of thread, a needle, and her wand in her hand. She's practicing the sewing spells Molly taught her.
As a concession to Bernard's nerves, there's a blanket tucked around her legs, and a cup of tea on the table in front of her.
Books are somewhat helpful, but her attention keeps wandering; the television or music are even less effective. Doing something with her hands is a definite improvement, so Nymphadora's sitting on the couch with a scrap of fabric, a spool of thread, a needle, and her wand in her hand. She's practicing the sewing spells Molly taught her.
As a concession to Bernard's nerves, there's a blanket tucked around her legs, and a cup of tea on the table in front of her.
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"Always."
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"So. What're we doing the rest of the day?"
Have to look ahead.
Have to move forward.
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He doesn't wait for an answer. "Well, we get the kids up, and then we cook dinner, and then we throw them into the garden and spray them wish hoses until they're clean and then we shut them in their cages and have some real fun."
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"I love you."
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Mission accomplished.
"I love you, too."
Standing, he holds out a hand. "Come on, wife. I'll let you stuff my chicken."
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She follows him into the kitchen, listening to his banter, to how eager he is to lessen the pain.
It's not gone, not entirely. And maybe it never will be.
But it's life. And it's there to be lived.