stardust

the scarlet woman

There was a woman walking down the street. At least, it looked like there was a woman walking down the street, but it was rare to see a head capped with such a brilliant shade of red, and she walked like a flame flickered: graceful, curling movements that made one forget that danger sometimes disguised itself behind beautiful things.

Of course, Vivian did not think of such things. She lived in a peaceful little locale, where quaint houses built from weathered stones and arching wooden beams lay in regular intervals, their windows looking out at the street on one side and the forest on the other. It was a secluded little village, though not so secluded that Vernon had any sort of difficulty in getting to work; and there was a primary school close enough that Vivian could walk there to drop Jasmine off in the mornings and again to pick her up in the afternoons. Besides the little houses were a variety of shops that lined the streets, and they sold everything the Dursleys could possibly need.

But it was the sort of place that one had to go looking for. Vivian had lived in the Hollow all her life and had never met a single person who had ended up there unintentionally – it was hard to end up in the middle of nowhere without meaning to, after all.

But it was as uncommon for a person to end up in the Hollow by mistake as it was for a person to end up there because they meant to be there. Very few came, and fewer left once they'd arrived, and so it was unusual for Vivian to catch sight of someone she didn't recognize walking down the streets.

It had just stopped raining, and the flaming woman was one of two people out. Even Jazzy, who adored digging for worms while the earth was still wet, was still indoors; Vivian thought she might be playing with one of her dolls, or reading one of the books that Vernon had borrowed the other day. The other person out, Vivian noticed, was quite small – likely smaller than her Jazzy was – and was skipping alongside the red-head, their hands tightly clasped.

Vivian wondered idly where the two were headed, but they were such a long way down the road that it was impossible to tell, and she couldn't stay and watch forever. Vernon would be home soon, tired from another long day at work, and Vivian always liked to have supper on the table up by the time he'd finished perusing the paper and sipping at his whiskey.

Her parents had always told her that alcohol destroyed people; indeed, it had made her mother's childhood quite harsh, and her father was from a church that didn't condone drinking of any sort. She had believed them right up until she met Vernon. Vernon had two fingers of whiskey before dinner every weeknight, and a glass of wine with supper on weekends. Vivian had never seen him indulge past that, though she thought that he had more reason than most to do so. He was, after all, a bereavement counsellor, and Vivian found it very likely that the people who came to him for help made him just as miserable as they were.

He was very good at keeping his work away from home, though, and he always made certain to take off weekends so that he had a day or two to recuperate. During the summer, and on the balmiest autumn afternoons, he always took Vivian and Jasmine out for a picnic; they spent the chilliest months indoors playing games or watching the telly, and every now and then they would go out to watch a new film.

Vivian always found herself amazed by his strength. He had been counselling since before she met him, and it never seemed to wear on him any more than any other job might. She liked to think that she and Jazzy had something to do with his determination to keep his work and home life separate, but she knew that they had very little to do with it at all. It was just the sort of man Vernon was: hardworking and determined and patient and doting, depending entirely on the situation.

She tried to dote on him, too, and had taught Jazzy to appreciate the way that her father balanced work and family so effortlessly. Their family, Vivian knew, was happier than most. They lived off a modest income, and they loved each other, and she and Vernon had managed to raise a charming, well-behaved daughter, for all that Jazzy had been a terror during her formative years.