Shadow of the Prophecy

Ch. 19 - I'm Having His Baby... No, I'm Not, But You Should See Your Faces!

As a child, Helena's father would fondly proclaim that Helena was a changeling; Prone to mischief, strong will, and chaos during the day, only to become calm and easy at the coming twilight.

Sweet as the faeries in old tales, her father would say, when questioned how she had slept at night as a babe.

It's a habit Helena has never grown out of, sleeping deeply and soundly through the night. Awakening in time for breakfast at Hogwarts had taken years of practice and careful honing of her circadian rhythm. A careful pruning of the wild, untamed branches of herself to fit into her new life of magic.

It is Theodore who is the early bird. Prone to sleeping light. If she is a changeling, Theodore is a soldier, always fearing the abandonment of his post. Only ever betrayed into closing his eyes rather than relaxing into it. A necessity more than any pleasure. She can barely count on one hand the number of times she has awakened while Theodore slept on.

At first, she thinks this the reason why everything feels profoundly wrong when she opens her eyes and blinks hazily in the low light. Everything else, after all, is aligned.

They are in bed together. Theodore is wrapped up in her, the combined heat of their bodies beneath the covers sticking them together. Tackily pulling at her skin where Theodore's chest rises and falls with the soft rumble of his sleep.

It's typical for them to sleep bare, but her mind skips over and returns to the feel of Theodore's skin on hers.

Something about it...

Helena furrows her brows, willing the fog of sleep to clear from her mind. They always sleep bare, why would it...

Clarity hits her suddenly, wresting sleep from her in one fell swoop.

Theodore, carrying her to bed and falling asleep clothed. Whispered compromises in the dark. The fight itself.

The memory sinks her heart into her stomach to sit at its bottom like a stone, and Helena has to swallow against it; the heavy, crushing weight of it threatening to drag her down. She closes her eyes tightly and tries to focus on this moment. On Theodore's steady, even breathing. The softness of the blankets rearranged to curl over them like wings.

Somehow he had found his way down to her middle in the night, head on her chest and ear to her heartbeat. Pinning her beneath him in a way that would be stifling if she were still angry, but now just makes her feel small and fragile and protected.

Helena had spent yesterday's evening wielding words as weapons against him, and even through his anger and hers, Theodore still made of himself a shield between her and everything else.

Like they are not fighting. Like they never fought at all.

What is left of the heat of her temper feels siphoned from her by the heat of him against her, and Helena would curse him for it, if she didn't have a preference - The comfort of him over the need to be cross.

She can see the line of his lashes and the soft way his jaw slacks in his sleep, and she runs a finger softly along both. Theodore makes a soft noise as he turns his face to bury against her chest and away from the touch, and Helena sighs shallowly. Any tension bleeds back out of him when her hands card through his hair. Back to relaxed.

Her heart bleeds at how much this position reminds her of that day in the Astronomy tower. Back when she had felt he would never be hers, and she had taken in the curve of his lashes and the peace of his face on time stolen.

Much has changed since then. Except for the things that haven't.

Like then, they love each other, and like then, pureblood ideology threatens to take them from each other. Helena had almost lost her life in desperation to hold on to him, and Theodore had almost lost his livelihood to a loveless marriage. If they allow it, the outcome now will be just as bad, if not worse.