The Lewis House 61 страница

Ron's stomach churned. "It's not like I wanted to be late," he muttered, "but I couldn't just leave him -" Bang! From the garage there had come an explosive noise followed by the sound of raining metal, and Ron winced. "Though perhaps I should've."

To his surprise, his mother gave a short, close-mouthed laugh. "As if a few explosions in there will make any difference," she said tartly, and turned back to her cooking. "Max will be fine here, go on."

A weight lifted from Ron's chest. He could leave. He could see Hermione in seconds. "Thanks, Mum," he said, and raced over to his briefcase full of papers. He grabbed the handle with one hand and smoothed his hair back with the other, then straightened his robes and yanked his wand out of his belt. "Bye."

"Hug Hermione for me," was the last thing Ron heard before he Disapparated.

The downstairs hallway of Lupin Lodge appeared around him. It was dark, but there was light coming from two of the rooms on the corridor. Hermione had to be in one of those rooms. Ron dropped his bag to the floor and heard the papers spill out, but didn't mind them. "Hermione?" he called out, barely managing the word. His throat was closing with anticipation. "Where are you?"

He didn’t wait for an answer, but strode to the doorway of the front room and looked to see if --

~*~

Ginny returned to the sunroom, her mouth still buzzing from being kissed, and smiled stupidly at Hermione.

"He's erm. Gone."

Hermione took down her hands, which she'd been holding tightly over her mouth, and held out her arms to Ginny with a little shrieking noise and a huge grin.

Ginny hurried forward and threw her arms around her friend. The two girls embraced for a long time, and Hermione talked breathlessly while they hugged. "I can't believe it!" she squealed. "The way he was looking at you - it's so good to see that! You can't imagine how funny it is to see Harry of all people - not that I'm surprised, of course, because if he's managing it with anyone, it ought to be you, but Ginny, he's so different! He's so… mellow. It's wonderful. It's so wonderful. The things he said in the paper! I just can't believe it - I'm so happy for you, Ginny -"

Ginny clung to Hermione and shut her eyes. She needed to hear these things, and there hadn't been anyone around to say them. No one had talked to her about what was happening - not in the way that counted. Not like this.

"Thank you," she whispered, and by the time she pulled away from Hermione, both of them were sniffling. "We're such idiots," she said, laughing. "We've got nothing to cry about. Come on, let's sit by the Christmas tree - it's so nice."

When they were curled up in the front room at either end of the sofa, fairy lights reflecting from their hair and skin, Hermione laced her arms around her knees and asked Ginny to tell her everything.

"Oh there's so much." Ginny imagined Hermione's face when she told her that she was a Healer, and wondered if now was the time. She checked the clock, and was shocked to see that it was nearly seven. "Where's Ron?" she said unthinkingly.

Hermione's face clouded for a moment, but then she took a deep breath and the corners of her mouth lifted in a smile. "Whatever he's doing," she said, "it has to get done. Or he'd be here."

Ginny stared. She'd never seen Hermione so calm about something important. This was precisely the sort of behavior from Ron that had used to send her friend flying off the handle. All that Thinking and meditation must have had quite an effect. "I can't imagine anything keeping him from being here," she said. "It must be something huge. He's been a complete mental case for weeks, Hermione. Honestly."

Hermione's eyes shone. "Okay. Now tell me about you. And Harry." She giggled.

Ginny did. She recounted the beginnings, though Hermione already knew them: how Harry had helped with the first Wolfsbane Potion, and how it had led to the evening in Gryffindor Tower, at Lavender's wedding. She slowly described, as well as she could, the nightmare she'd had on the morning that Harry had first gone to work at Azkaban, and the sensation she'd had of being kissed in her dream. Hermione took an audible breath.

"Oh, Ginny."

Ginny told her about the evening of that same day. She described how she and Harry had just been talking - how there had been no special moment - and how suddenly it had become the only moment.

Hermione nodded. "Isn't it funny? The first time… sneaks up on you. You only feel it coming about a second before it happens, I remember that."

"Yes and then your brain gives out." Ginny sighed and leaned her head on the back of the sofa. It was so good to talk about Harry, now that there was really something to say other than I wish… "What did you feel like the first time?"

"I felt like…" Hermione bit her lip. She shut her eyes for a second, probably to remember it more clearly, and Ginny felt a rush of lovely, tingling air surround the two of them. "It was like I'd had a question bothering me for a long time and I couldn't work it out," Hermione said slowly. "Kissing Ron was like… a very important answer. I felt relieved." Hermione opened her eyes and looked around; there was another rush of emotion in the air, but this time it was empty and wanting. She shook her head, and Ginny saw that her eyes were wet. "He needs to get here."

"He'll be home any minute."

"I know. But I've missed him so much that now it just…"

"Hurts." Ginny moved closer to Hermione and hesitated before holding out her hands and passing them through the air. Perhaps she could help.

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked, frowning.

"Something I'm learning in class," Ginny murmured. "Let me try it, and then I'll - I'll tell you what it is." She suppressed her own excitement at the prospect, and concentrated on Hermione, whose aura was… reluctant to be studied. It surrounded Hermione in a slender, contained, intensely energetic and pensive ellipse that felt smooth and cool against Ginny's fingertips. So different from Ron's. Shot through like marble with fingers of warmth and calm. Ginny dragged her hands along its impenetrable surface until her fingers fell through it into something soft and black and aching. Like a bruise. It extended like a chasm just over Hermione's chest; Ginny pushed her hands further into it and sucked in a breath as pain hit her like a wall.

This wasn't just missing Ron, although that had magnified it - this was Hermione's grief over her parents. It was hot, dark, terrible - it was guilt and anger and anguish and steely resolve, all spiraling in towards her heart. Ginny yanked her fingers away as if from a fire. She wasn't prepared to deal with that just now, and she wasn't stupid enough to try it. She dropped her hands and opened her eyes, trying to keep herself from shaking.

Hermione was looking at her with wide eyes and a half-open mouth. "You're a Healer," she whispered. "Aren't you?"

Ginny jumped. How had Hermione - but then of course, she'd probably read everything there was to read about it, and recognized the techniques.

"Yes," she answered.

Hermione stared a little longer, then brought up the lights in the room with a businesslike flick of her wrist. She knelt up on the sofa and squinted at Ginny. "How did you find out?" she demanded. "When did you know?"

"I found out just after you left," Ginny said, but gave no further explanation of her studies. She knew Hermione didn't need one, and she didn't want to talk about Healing now; instead, the whole story of her strange and limited relationship with Harry came spilling out of her as though someone had pulled the plug from a drain. She told of how she had passed out; she told of their fight, of their understanding now and of their letters. She told her how different Harry had seemed tonight, and how she knew that it was too soon to last. Hermione sat unmoving, listening, her eyes growing wider by the second until Ginny thought they might fall right out of her head.

"We should have known," was all Hermione managed, when Ginny ran out of words. "There were - there were signs. How could I be so stupid? Ginny - this means - perhaps we…" Hermione's fingers flew to her temples, her brow creased, and she was silent for a long time. A painful hope radiated towards Ginny from the other end of the sofa, but Hermione said nothing more.

Into the silence, the clocked chimed once. Quarter till eight.

A quiet pop! sounded in the corridor, followed by the thud of papers on the floor. Hermione's head snapped to the doorway and she was on her feet in a heartbeat, her hands trembling at her sides.

"Hermione?" Ron's voice was thick. "Where are you?"

A ragged half-breath escaped Hermione, but she didn't answer. There were three quick, heavy footsteps, the doorway darkened, and the air was suddenly charged with such intimate emotions that Ginny flinched against them. They weren't hers. She shouldn't be here.

Healing forgotten, she raced upstairs as quietly as she could, leaving Hermione and Ron to their reunion.

~*~

She was there. Ron froze in place and his blood crashed through him. He saw Ginny jump to her feet and run away up the stairs, but it hardly mattered; there was no way to keep his jaw from dropping at the sight of the girl by the Christmas tree.

She'd grown up. He hadn't realized it, but the Hermione who lived in his mind had never aged past fifteen, when they had last spent a summer apart. That Hermione had been round-cheeked and wild-haired, small and pale, with alert brown eyes and a mouth that never stopped moving -- she'd been so young. And this Hermione…

Ron couldn't take his eyes off her face. She was brown and slender, her hair was longer and more golden, and her face was tense with joy; she wasn't smiling but her eyes shone so brightly that she might have had a fever. She was beautiful.

"Ron," she whispered, and took a step away from the sofa.

He hadn't heard Hermione's voice in months, and its vibration seemed to touch him from across the room. "Hermione," he rasped.

She shut her eyes briefly and Ron swept his starved gaze down her body, which was covered in something that barely even qualified as a garment. It was loose, but it somehow touched her everywhere he wanted to touch her, and seemed to be made of something thinner than paper.

When she opened her eyes again, they were bloodshot, and they traveled over him in the same way that he'd just looked at her.

"You look… different," she said shyly, her voice low. "You look… older..."

He couldn't stand still. Half a second later, his face was in her hair. He wasn't sure how he had crossed the room but it didn't matter - she was breathing against him again, these were her hands on his back - she smelled like salt water and travel dust and… Hermione. He got his nose close to her neck and breathed deeply. She was the same. He kissed the side of her throat - her jawline - her chin - working his way towards her lips.

"Oh, Ron -" Her voice was choked and she seemed to be making herself as small as possible, curling up against the front of him as if she'd hide in his robes, nearly making him lose his balance.

It wouldn't do to stand. He bent his knees and cradled her against him, and they fell together onto the sofa. He pulled her onto his lap and slipped his arms beneath hers, rediscovering her back with his hands - tracing shoulder blades and spine and… had she always been so small? She whimpered and lowered her face to his with a soft, urgent little noise that made Ron's temperature shoot into the stratosphere. His whole body stirred in response. She was home - she was on top of him - and he needed to kiss her. Now.

He spread one hand on her lower back and palmed the back of her head with his other hand, sliding his fingers into her hair. He guided her face down to meet his and set his mouth against hers barely, softly, in slow reintroduction. She exhaled into him, and he brushed his lips back and forth on hers for a long, feverish second.

It all happened at once: Hermione's mouth fell open with a soft moan and she sealed it across Ron's - she moved against him, pressed herself to him - he clutched her hair in one hand and gathered the fabric of her robe into the other, twisting it into a bunch so that it pulled tight along the front of her. Slowly, he brought his hand out of her hair and dragged it down the side of her neck to rest on the warm skin of her shoulder.

"Hermione…"

She made a pleading noise and pressed towards him again. Keeping her robes tight in one fist, he let his other, open hand run the length of her bare arm. Gooseflesh rose up on her skin and her breath hitched. Ron brought his hand back to her shoulder and gently traced her collarbone to the hollow in the center - what was she wearing in the middle of winter - he hoped she'd never wear anything else. He thanked Max for a brief second for making him forget the Gladrags package in his office.

"Not here," she managed, when his hand began its necessary descent along her front. She snatched his fingers in her own and took them from her body - he groaned and ravaged her mouth with his tongue, tasting her for the first time in four months, unable to control the hunger he felt. Her free hand moved from his hair to his face to his chest; he felt her fingers fumble to unclasp his cloak and push it back from his shoulders, and then she pulled her mouth away from his with a gasp and leaned back, panting.

She was gorgeous. So bloody gorgeous, sitting astride his knees with her face flushed and her hair full of sunshine and her skin tan against the white. She was ethereal. He opened his mouth to tell her so, but couldn't.

"Missed me, did you?" His voice was hoarse.

She laughed breathlessly and her eyes filled with tears. "Missed you - oh Ron." She opened her mouth and shut it several times, shook her head, and gave up.

It said enough that she was speechless. He put his hands on her hips and stroked her sides with his thumbs, for once not frightened by her tears. She leaned forward and put her face against his neck and he kept hold of her, breathing the scent of her hair. Being with her was everything – it had never occurred to him just how much of his life she occupied, not even while she’d been away. But from the moment he'd seen her standing there, he had felt an amazing fullness where the emptiness had just been. It ached.

"You must be so tired," he managed. "I'm sorry I was late."

She sniffled on his collar. "It's all right."

"One of the kids who keeps running away from the Children's Home got caught again, and I - I sort of know him, I didn't want to leave him - so I dropped him off with my mum after work. They made me fill out papers before I could take him. It took an age."

Hermione lifted her head and sat back again. She looked at him silently for a long time. "You're so good," she mumbled finally, and touched his face with shaking fingers until neither of them could bear it and they were kissing again. Ron felt the shape of her as they kissed, touching as much of her as she would let him. He felt that there was no better way to express his happiness, and he never wanted to be farther from Hermione than he was right now.

"Are you exhausted?" he asked, the next time they broke away from each other.

She nodded, but made no move to go to bed.

"Want to stay up for awhile?" he asked hopefully, resting his hands on her thighs.

She chewed her lip, then shook her head. "I need to sleep," she said, and then yawned as if to prove it.

Ron laughed softly and squeezed her leg. She was so cute, and she had no idea. He had missed that so much. "All right," he said, but had no clue how he was going to separate himself from her. After four months, even one night apart seemed cruel.

"I - I really don't want to leave you tonight," Hermione whispered. She sounded awkward, even embarrassed, but Ron's heart leapt. Yes. Stay with me. "But you can't stay here."

"Come to the Notch," he begged. "I cleaned my room, there's food, I swear it's livable."

Hermione laughed, and shook her head. "What about Harry?"

"He leaves at some evil hour before dawn, he won't even know you were there."

At this, Hermione seemed to wake up again. She sat up straight and pursed her lips. "I hate his work schedule, Ron, you know you really ought to have told your father right away that there was something wrong with doing it like that - I can't believe Charlie actually thinks that sort of thing is decent treatment! Can't you say something to someone, because Harry's got white in his hair, for goodness sake, and that's just not normal! He's looking peaky, and I don't like it, and I'll tell you what I told him - if you don't do something about it then I -"

Ron clapped a hand over her mouth. "Blimey, dear," he said, grinning up at her. "Good to have you back, but would you mind shutting up? I'm trying to sort out where we're going to sleep."

Hermione bit his finger.

"Ow!" Ron yanked his hand away and shook it. "Mental!"

"Serves you right," Hermione said loftily. But she was grinning, and two seconds later, she leaned down and gave him a slow, deliberate kiss that left him paralyzed for nearly a minute. "I really did miss you," she said quietly, when she had finished. "For some odd reason."

Ron seized her around the waist and pressed his face to her bare shoulder. "Come home with me," he muttered, holding onto her for dear life. If he blinked, she would disappear again. "I swear Harry won't notice, and even if he did he wouldn't care. You can Apparate right into my room. I just can't…please…"

"Okay," Hermione said, stroking his hair. "All right. Tell me how to get there and explain where your room is so I don't end up in Harry's."

Ron explained exactly how to get to the Notch. He then drew a shimmering plan of the flat in the air with his wand, and pointed out his bedroom to Hermione, who nodded.

"I'll just get my toothbrush, then. And pyjamas."

Ron frowned and took the shoulder of her Cortona robes between his thumb and index finger. "Can't you just wear this?" he asked, tugging on it. "I like this thing."

Hermione blushed. "I… I'll be right over," she said. She slid off of his lap, and disappeared up the stairs.

Ron stood in the front room for a long time, unable to orient himself. He'd just had Hermione in his arms. He could still feel her. He'd have her in his arms all night. Warm against him. Whole. She'd just been here, with him, in this room - solid and lovely and insane and perfect.

At some point, he collected himself. He picked up his cloak, went into the hallway and gathered up his stack of disorderly papers, and left Lupin Lodge for the Notch. He dropped his things in his bedroom chair, silently thanked Harry for the suggestion that he tidy up his room in case Hermione wanted to see their house, and changed into his own pyjamas, then sat on the edge of his bed and waited.

He waited longer than he thought he should have had to, and then -

"What in the hell - who's in here?"

It was Harry's voice, thick with sleep but alert and afraid. Ron shot to his feet and picked up his wand.

"Her - Hermione?" Harry sounded baffled. "What are you -"

"Oh my goodness-" Hermione squeaked. "I'm sorry, Harry, I didn't mean to startle you - I've been doing this all day over international borders, you'd think I could manage - but - I have the wrong -" She stammered to a stop.

"Er." Harry was apparently at a loss. "You - you probably want the, er - the next door on the right."

Ron shut his eyes and willed himself to contain the shriek of hysterical laughter that was fighting to get out of him. He raced to Harry's room, pulled open the door, grabbed Hermione - who was standing rigid with her arms clamped across her chest - dragged her out, and shut the door. She fled into his bedroom, glowing red right through her tan, and Ron would have followed if he hadn't heard a muffled sniggering behind Harry's door.

Ron threw the door open. "Yes?" he demanded, pointing his wand. "Something funny?" He wanted to laugh - he wanted to laugh - but Hermione was in the next room.

The lump of bedcovers that was Harry continued to shiver with mirth. He gave a random shout of laughter, and one pale fist came out from beneath the duvet to pound against the mattress.

"Shut up, mate, I mean it," Ron warned.

The fist disappeared and the lump of bedcovers curled up in the other direction, still shaking. Harry's cries of glee were almost totally muffled now, and Ron didn't see the point in standing around any longer. He shut the door and went back to his room.

Hermione sat in the middle of his bed with her arms around her legs, looking perfectly horrified.

"Oh no," she moaned. "I thought I concentrated but I must be so tired that – "

"Shh. Don't worry," Ron said quietly, going to her at once and pulling down the covers beside her. "Come on, get in."

Hermione crawled under the bedclothes, still scarlet, and still talking. "It's not that he doesn't know, it's just - I don't want him thinking that we're - because we're not."

"No, I know we're not," Ron said dryly.

"And now he'll think - and I don't want him telling Ginny! Or Sirius, or anyone up at the - not that he would, because he's - but Ron -"

Ron had crawled in beside her by this time. He spooned against her back and sighed, loving every inch of her and how she filled the curve his body made, and how soft she was under his arm. He tucked it around her and she held onto it.

"I cannot believe I just did that," she went on despairingly. "He's going to tease us."

"Probably." Ron shifted closer to her, lulled by the ongoing vibration of her voice, which buzzed in her back and resounded in his chest.

"You don't sound like you care!"

"I don't." He kissed the back of her head. "You know about him and Ginny, right?"

"Well… yes?"

"Throw it back in his face. He never knows what to do. He'll shut right up."

Hermione was quiet. She laced her fingers through his. "All right. If he does, then I will."

Ron grinned. "Good, that'll be fun."

"No it won't." Hermione nudged his shin with her heel. "You're terrible."

"Mmm." He brushed her hair away from her neck and lifted it up, moving it to the pillow above her head. "Hey, you wore the thing," he said happily, noticing her nightdress for the first time.

"It is a chemise, Ron, not a thing, and it's not the same as what I was wearing before. Honestly. This one is for sleeping."

Ron kissed her neck. "Fine," he conceded. "Just wear it a lot."

She craned her neck to glare back at him, but Ron propped himself up on his elbow and dropped a kiss on her mouth before she could think up any scathing reply.

She sighed and snuggled back into him, holding his hand with both of hers. "Goodnight, Ron," she said softly.

"Goodnight, Hermione."

She went quiet and still. She must have been dead tired, Ron reflected. He kept his arm around her and studied every bit of her that he could see. There was her dark shoulder, and here was the mass of her hair, coiling all over the place and touched with blonde. There were her hands on his. Here was the slope of her side and the rise of her hip. Here she was, breathing and falling asleep right where she ought to be.

Ron put out the lights and held fast to Hermione, not quite convinced she wasn't still a dream.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Christmas at the Burrow

~*~

A/N: We are shocked that one of our "seasonal" chapters is actually seasonally appropriate. We are used to writing Halloween in February.

Thanks, as always, to this chapter's tremendous beta readers, who are:

Moey, Elanor Gamgee and Caroline.

~*~

The smell of cinnamon and cloves and baking greeted Hermione as she stepped out of the fireplace in the Burrow. Quickly, she turned and dragged her old Hogwarts trunk out of the way, just in time to avoid Ron, who came barreling through with his own trunk, Pig's cage, and several other packages in his arms.

Before Hermione could dust the soot from her robes, Mrs. Weasley had enveloped her in a tight hug, which did much to lighten the heaviness that still lingered from her morning visit to St. Mungo's. Delia had warned Hermione that in the beginning she might feel frustrated and uninspired around her parents, but to be patient and try to let the answers appear. Part of the key to Thinking was not to think, and so Hermione laughed and returned Mrs. Weasley's warm embrace.

"You're a sight for sore eyes," said Mrs. Weasley, stepping back to look admiringly at her. "And so healthy and brown-looking! A bit thin though, didn't they feed you out there? Well, never mind, come in, come in, and have a pumpkin pasty - I've just made them."

"What about me?" asked Ron, feigning a wounded look. He held out his arms to his mother. She swatted her dishtowel at him.

"You can get these trunks out of the kitchen. There's barely enough room in here and - "

"Ron!" A small boy of about twelve, with sandy hair and a wide mouth, had interrupted Mrs. Weasley. He started to run towards Ron, and then, as if suddenly remembering his age, slowed, and said much more casually, "Did you bring me anything?"

"Maybe I did, maybe I didn't," said Ron, winking at Hermione. "If you help me move these trunks into the other room, you might find out. But first, Max, this is Hermione."

Max turned to Hermione and looked at her with narrowed eyes. He turned back to Ron. "Your girlfriend?" he asked. "She's all right. Not as pretty as my friend Ella."

Дата добавления: 2015-11-04