Coral

look in the mirror and all I see

Is a young old man with only a dream

Am I just fooling myself

That she'll stop the pain

Living without her

I'd go insane

Feel her breath on my face

Her body close to me

Can't look in her eyes

She's out of my league

Just a fool to believe

I have anything she needs

She's like the wind --



***





Despite the flurry the event had caused, despite the bruises, the wards, and the constant owls from people, Edward and Amanda soon settled back into a reasonable impersonation of a normal life.



Amanda's things were returned to the master suite, and she could once more the day doing whatever she pleased, without having people tell her to rest, or eat, or sit down. Reading, sewing, writing in her journal, playing the piano, and experimenting with new forms of cookery were her main employment, as they were creative, and kept her much to busy to think about Olivia, Martin Ashwell, the Ministry, or Deatheater's.



She also found useful work. Edward agreed to bring all of the books and receipts home, and he still trusted her to clean the unfinished wands. She could also sort and label the ingredients into glass jars.



And there was her own herb boxes to tend, and several of the side-chairs needed re-upholstering. She heeded Amele's advice and decided to do it by hand, instead of using a re-touching spell. She regretted that choice after seven hours of backbreaking posture; cutting, holding, stapling, un-stapling...without ever getting a single chair satisfactorily straight.



Stubbornly, she refused help, and eventually managed to get two chairs completed, though the stripes ran horizontal on one, and rather diagonally on the other. Throwing down the stapler in frustration, she had owled Amele for more fabric, much to the older woman's amusement. The fabric had been sent, and Amanda managed, without uttering a single vulgarity, to finish the chairs.



Even Edward thought to compliment them, and was kind enough not to mention the diagonal one.



By the end of April, she had the means with which to halt the incessant Ministry owls. She was, to her great relief, expecting again. This time she had Stella escort her to Healer Thoroughgood's as soon as she first suspected. He confirmed that suspicion, congratulated her heartily, and gave her a list of things to do and do not.



She felt morbidly ashamed at her self for not feeling joy or anticipation. All she could feel was the tension in her body uncoiling. It felt like the time when she had dove into very deep water, and couldn't kick off from the bottom. Though she hadn't been under the water for more than a few seconds, it seemed like hours of hard work to approach the always distant surface. Nothing had ever felt as good as at last being able to break through and take that hard earned, deep, sweet breath.

Thoroughgood's affirmation had felt like that. A deep, sweet breath.



In her newly acquired 'adult' voice, she had insisted that Stella not tell anyone just yet. She couldn't bear the thought of having any type of fuss made, until a fuss was no longer unavoidable. She was still raw from her last heartache.

Stella agreed, with a look comprised of some understanding, bewilderment, and concern.



That left telling Edward, and Amanda chose to do so outright, and as straight-forward as possible. She had expected him to look as relieved as she felt, however, his expression was inscrutable. It might have been horror. Horror, guilt, anger, and a certain amount of dubiousness. For few moments, he stared out of the library window, even though it was dark outside, and she knew he could see no further than their reflection in the polished glass.



Then he seated them both on the sofa.



" Already." he stated. " And...it's certain?"



" Yes. I saw Healer Thoroughgood-"



" You left the house?" he demanded sharply.



" With Mother."



He pinched his eyes closed as if he had just witnessed a near-accident.



" With Stella, yes...that is fine. Is everything...well?"



" Yes. Perfectly fine."



He nodded to himself. " Then I suppose I should put in the notification."

She gave a little shrug at his aloofness. It had been this way since the night at the shop; clipped but civil conversations. He hadn't touched her at all, not even a kiss in the evenings. Yet, he didn't seem particularly angry, either.



Oh, why had she never thought to observe more about men and their peculiar ways? she thought in exasperation.



He noted her look of distress, and with hesitation, took her hand. He was about to ask her something that had been weighing heavily on him, when she impulsively threw herself into his arms. He had no choice but to hold her, patting her back awkwardly as she cried on his shoulder. He was enveloped by the sugary smell of her hair.

" What is this?" he asked.



She wanted to explain that 'this' was a long overdue weakness on her behalf. She had shed little or no true tears since the death of her father, even though she had been through what she considered to be an emotional and eventful two years since that time. She did not count the guilty drug induced tears in the hospital as being much release.



She did not manage to say this much, but only managed to convey that she felt he was angry at her and she was clueless as to what she thought he might expect from her.



He softened somewhat at her state, himself never having been one of those cold men who could ignore a woman crying. That is exactly how Dinah had managed him for so long, and whereas he was veritably suspicious of tears, he could not help but feel sympathy. Hastily, he began reassuring her that he was not angry at her.



He was not quite sure what he did feel toward her. There was a feeling, and it was very much like jealousy over her, and very much like annoyance at her, but then again it was neither. It was the same as wanting something that was costly, and hating the object for being not costly, but attractive enough to gain attention. He wanted sometimes to take her to his bosom and shower her with kisses and gifts; and at other times he wished that the law had never been passed, bringing her so completely into his life.



His life had been at one time, relatively simple, and routine. Everything had a shelf. Yet even though everything had been so drastically altered, in more ways than he had words or time to describe, he couldn't help but forgive her whenever she was this close. He chose, instead of attempting to explain this, to lay the blame for his cool demeanor on the shoulders of the Ministry, and their incessant harassment.



She looked reasonably skeptical.



" Amanda..." he peeling her away gently, " I know about the notes from the Ministry."



Her eyes widened, slightly.



" I received a copy of each. I...was keeping them locked away to avoid upsetting you."



" How did you know...about mine?" she asked slowly.



" I found one when I was cleaning up the shop. Earlier I had found some partially burned envelopes in the parlor fireplace. If I hadn't found the intact note, I might have always wondered what sort of questionable correspondence was worthy of being so hastily incinerated. " he shifted uncomfortably at that thought, for he had for a few short minutes after discovering the envelopes, gone slightly insane with jealousy.



" I was burning them to keep them from angering you." she admitted sheepishly

Which was, she thought to herself, later, very O. Henry of us.



They sat there side by side in a more comfortable silence. She was somewhat soothed, and he too began feeling that relief in which she had been been revealing since speaking to Healer Thoroughgood. Perhaps...he thought, daring to put his arm around her as they gazed into the fire, perhaps he had been too cold towards her without proof of her guilt. He really shouldn't judge her on what Dinah had done, or might have done.



But even as he thought this, a creeping, unwelcome thought entered his mind. Amanda might be amicable now...but what would she be like after they no longer had to worry about the law? After this child was born, she was free of any restrictions, free of any responsibilities. That thought made him feel slightly ill.



He knew he had done exactly what he had promised himself not to do in growing accustomed so easily to the girl, but she made it very difficult not to to like her. He hated the prospect of the future now, and guiltily, he found himself dreading this child. This child meant that they would be free of Ministry restrictions, and he could, quite possibly lose her affections.



Yes...he thought in the most secret part of his mind. He almost resented it.

Alarmed, he buried that thought as deeply as possible, and pulled her closer, With a wave of his hand, her record player began spinning, and soon the room was filled with the intricate sounds of Mozart, the prefect music by which to forget everything that was not beautiful about the world.



An idea had suddenly occurred to him. There were many months ahead of them until the baby was born, why shouldn't he woo her in that time? Wasn't he a powerful wizard? Did not he know how to turn table napkins into roses? Their engagement had been so spur of the moment, the marriage so hasty and restrained...there had been no time for courtship. Barely enough time for pleasantries!



Certainly, this past year had been no gala for her, he realized. What had happened in her new life to make her want to maintain it? What had he done to ensure her friendship? Well, it was never too late to begin fresh, and he still knew a few tricks. She wore the locket he had given her with almost fanatical reverence, which obviously showed that she was sentimental and romantic. His mind flooded with possibilities. Places to go, things buy for her.



Things to do for her, and with her. As if Fate had chosen to be kind, the record changed tracks, and the music that followed, the overture to " The Magic Flute" began to play.



He stood abruptly and offered his hand.



She took it, looking at him with a puzzled expression. As soon as she was on her feet, he pulled her into his arms.



" Dance with me? " he asked.



She laughed, and the sound was like bells.



" Well...if I must..." she replied teasingly. " But not too fast on the spins, if you please."



He simply could not think why they had not danced since their wedding, except that the idea had never spontaneously occurred to him. Now that it had, he prepared to do it often. He liked the way her hair fell out of it's clasp, the way her cheeks pinkened, and the way she parted her lips to breath.



The music ended too soon, and he returned her to her seat, and summoned a glass of water, as she fanned herself with her book.



" Where did you learn to dance?" he asked.



" I had an instructor. My grandmother, Grandmother Garrett, that is, hired him."

He raised a brow. " And what dances did he teach you?"



" Everything but the tango. Grandmother said it was vulgar."



He nearly choked at that innocent statement.



" Well, my compliments to the instructor."



" And you? " she asked.



" I do believe I have mentioned my Aunt Gertrude. Fortunately, she was much stronger dancer than singer, and when I say strong, I do mean it in the most robust sense of the word. There was no chance but to learn...or die in the battle."



" Well..I am glad you chose to learn."



" And I. Never before have I been gladder. "

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She's Like The Wind-Lyrics, PatrickSwayze/ Stacy Widelitz