The Lewis House 67 страница

They walked in silence for awhile.

"It really is cold," Hermione pointed out as they reached the village square. "I missed England, but I bet I lose my tan in two weeks." She snorted and shook her head. "What a shallow thing to think about."

"No it isn't," Ron said honestly. "Don't laugh, but I spent most of Percy's memorial service staring at the back of Dad's head and thinking about what I'm going to look like bald."

Hermione laughed, freely and clearly, and the sound made Ron's heart beat faster. "Did you really?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Well then I feel better." She laid her head against his shoulder. "And you know, I've always heard baldness is a trait carried on the mother's side."

"Good."

They approached the bookshop and Hermione made a little noise of disappointment. "It's closed."

"Family on holiday until 15th January," Ron read aloud from the sign in the door. "Well… the Snout's Fair's right around the corner. We could say hi to Goldie and have a Butterbeer before we go back - unless you'd rather not be in a crowd."

Hermione smiled up at him. "You're sweet," she said quietly, and Ron beamed. He loved getting it right. "And actually I'd really like a Butterbeer." Her teeth chattered. "I missed Butterbeer."

He steered her around the snowy corner at once, and into the pub. It was wonderfully warm and cheerfully lit, and full of the usual rowdy patrons.

"Red!" yelled Lipsett from the corner. "Two more Extras over here!"

Ron rolled his eyes.

"Hey, Ron!" called Jimmy MacMillan, from the far end of the bar, where he was hard at work. "Good to see you - and hey, Hermione!" Jimmy gave her a glance that was a little friendlier than it should have been, but Ron didn't have to worry about it. The blonde girl that Jimmy had used to come in with was sitting at the end of the bar; she smacked him with the bar towel and Jimmy turned back to her at once.

“Vell!” Goldie Becker grinned widely, his gold tooth flashing. He hurried to the end of the bar that was closest to the door. “Dis is a nice surprise! Sit down, sit down, let me pour you a drink.”

“Hi, Goldie,” Ron returned, grinning back. He led Hermione to the bar and the two of them settled on stools. “It's been awhile.”

“Yes." Goldie crossed his arms. "I haff been vonderink if you perhaps live somevere else now." His voice was gruff, but he smiled warmly at them both. "And hello, my dear girl. Vot vould you like?"

“Oh, just a Butterbeer. Hi, Goldie." Hermione smiled at him. "Ron practically is living somewhere else, you know,” she said, a touch of unconcealed pride in her voice as she took her Butterbeer. “He’s always in London.”

Ron went warm with pleasure and put his hand on Hermione's leg, under the bar.

“Dis is vot I am hearing on de vireless, yes. Young Ron Veesley, reforming de justice department and taking over Diagon Alley.”

Ron ducked his head. “I’m just helping Sirius Black – he’s doing all the reforms with my dad.”

“You are being too modest,” Goldie said lightly, replacing two glasses on the shelf below the bar. “Isn’t he?” He nodded to Hermione.

She flashed Ron a smile that made his heart knock, placed her hand on his own and beamed at Goldie. “Yes he is,” she said simply.

Since Hermione had come back, Ron had been having the time of his life. He watched her as she chatted with Goldie and pointed to a bottle further down the bar. She unfastened her cloak and placed it on the stool beside her, allowing her hair to fall all over her shoulders. She was home. She was still his – though he understood less than ever how that was possible – and she had returned with a calm in her face that Ron had never seen there before. Every day that they were together, even though their time was short, she grew more and more relaxed with him. He almost didn’t know her, and yet she was still Hermione, all the way down to her bones. In everything she did, she was more than he expected - and that was really saying something. It was totally intoxicating.

"I'd love to," she was saying easily. “Which ones are rare, though?"

"Take your pick, my dear." Goldie flourished a hand at the myriad bottles that shone against the mirror right behind him - the import section.

Hermione pointed, and Goldie raised his eyebrows at her. "What, why not?" she asked. "Is that a bad one?”

Goldie laughed. “Votch and see.” He put two small glasses on the bar and handed Ron a very familiar bottle.

“Liquid Curse?” Ron said doubtfully. He looked at Hermione. "Are you sure you want to drink this? It’s really strong stuff.”

Hermione shrugged. “Have you had it?”

Ron shrugged. “Well, yes, but–”

“Then I'll try it.” Hermione took the bottle out of his hands and poured herself a perfect shot of the light green liquor.

“Very good hand,” Goldie praised. He gestured to Ron. “De first time young Veesley tried to pour at dis bar, he spilled a little bit.”

Hermione smirked. “Well there, you see, Ron? I’ll be fine.”

Ron shook his head, unconvinced. “You’ve only ever had Butterbeer.”

“I’ve had wine.”

“When have you?”

“In France.”

“When you were twelve.”

Hermione let out an impatient breath and Ron suppressed a grin. She was looking like Hermione again. The hopeless weight had gone out of her eyes; they flashed warningly at him. He liked her this way, he liked to break her calm and make her fight him. He didn’t know why – he’d never know why. He didn’t care.

“Ron, I’ve drunk enough strange potions by now, I’m sure this won’t be anything at all.”

Now Ron grinned. He knew that it most certainly would be something. “Go on then,” he said. “Let’s see it.”

Hermione tossed her head, picked up the shot glass, and, to Ron’s great amusement, took a sip from it as though it was a teacup. She sputtered and her eyes began to water - putting down the shot glass as if it were on fire, she began to flutter her fingers by her mouth.

Ron shouted with laughter. “Is that how it’s done? Should I be taking notes?” He poured himself a shot and threw it back as though it were nothing but water. “Of course, there’s always that way of doing it,” he pointed out, after he had swallowed and exhaled. “But I’m sure your way is better.”

Hermione looked daggers at him and Ron was excited to see what she’d do next. He knew from long experience that she wouldn’t be able to let it sit. It was really something to see Hermione throw back her shoulders, pick up the shot glass again, and toss its contents down her throat. She must have been exercising some of the self-control she had learned with the Thinker, because she neither shuddered nor grimaced. Calmly, she lifted the bottle again.

“Well,” she said mildly, with a shrug of indifference, “that was all right, I suppose.” She poured herself another shot. "Just an acquired taste."

Goldie nodded and his eyes twinkled at both of them. “Vell, Ron, I see dat you are nicely taken care of,” he said.

Hermione grinned, and lifted her glass again. “Yes, he is,” she said, and swallowed the second shot without a moment’s hesitation. She slapped the glass on the bar and lifted the bottle a third time.

“All right, all right,” Ron said, half-admiring and half-embarrassed at Goldie’s commentary. “You’ve shown me. That’s enough, Hermione – give me the bottle.”

It was the wrong thing to say, and Ron knew it at once from the way Hermione stiffened. Goldie certainly seemed to know it; he whistled low under his breath and took two steps down the bar, to work with another customer.

“Excuse me,” Hermione said, cocking her head as though she hadn’t quite heard him correctly. “That's enough?"

Ron paused a moment, contemplating the situation. Why was there always a point, in every exciting contest, where he took a wrong turn? He had never been able to see when his false step was coming and he hadn’t seen it this time – there would have to be a fight before this was over. And at all costs, especially when things had been going so well lately, Ron wanted to avoid a real fight. After a long moment of thought, he took a deep breath, hunched down, and looked Hermione in the eye.

“You said you were only going to drink two, so I just thought –”

“That you’d be in charge of cutting me off?” she asked, her tone deceptively light.

“Now wait, you’re the one who said –”

“Ron, I know what I said, I haven’t lost my memory. I can’t even feel this –” she looked at the bottle disdainfully – “whatever it is.” She poured herself another shot with a perfectly steady hand, lifted the glass and stopped. “Goldie?” she called out suddenly.

Ron knew this voice. There was a challenge coming.

“Yes, my dear,” Goldie said, eyeing Ron with amusement as he approached Hermione. “Vot is it you are needing?”

“Tell me something.” She pushed her hair back with one hand, put her chin in her hand, and shot Goldie a smile that was white and lovely in her tanned face. Goldie's wrinkles seemed to soften as he looked at her.

“But of course.”

“How many of these –” she raised her glass slightly – “did Ron manage before he started spilling things on the bar?”

Ron mouthed “No,” to Goldie, trying to communicate to him that if he answered honestly, then Hermione would be in for it.

Goldie seemed unconcerned – he ignored Ron and appeared to be considering Hermione’s question quite thoughtfully. “Four…” he said, and then cocked his head to the side. “Or vos it five?”

Ron groaned. Hermione looked at her glass. “Probably five,” she mused. “I remember how he behaved afterwards.” She took her chin out of her hand and lifted her glass slightly to Goldie. “Five.”

“Hermione...”

But she had downed the third shot, and was expertly pouring a fourth. “I don’t know why you and Harry acted like such idiots. I honestly can’t feel anything.”

“You’re not giving it enough time! Believe me, you’re going to feel it.”

Hermione scoffed at him and took her fourth drink.

Ron watched, no longer sure whether to be amused or worried as Hermione made for the fifth shot. He put out a hand to stop her, but Goldie’s voice was suddenly in his ear. “A lesson,” he said quietly. “Ven you are dealing vit a stubborn voman, you must let her find out for herself.” Goldie laughed. “She is reminding me too much of a girl I knew. Let her do what she is doing; you know all de Sobering Charms by now.”

Ron nodded. That was true – he did know every Sobering Charm in the book.

“Also,” Goldie continued wisely, “after drinking so much, you never know vot she might say.”

Ron’s eyebrows shot up. That was definitely true. He grinned, realizing that this might be a rather advantageous situation. He crossed his arms on the bar and watched Hermione drink her fifth shot. Her cheeks were flushed pink and her eyes were unnaturally bright as she set down the glass and picked up the bottle.

“Now,” she said dramatically, “watch as I spill nothing.”

She poured a shot. Goldie applauded.

Ron sighed, picked up the little glass, and downed the contents himself before Hermione could attempt it. “You win,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and feigning disappointment. “Five shots, and no spilling.”

Hermione shone at him. “I win,” she repeated. “I win, I win. Well finally.”

“And you still don’t feel a thing, do you?” Ron encouraged, watching her intently as the alcohol began to take effect.

Hermione looked at him blankly. “Feel what? Where? Oh.” She looked down at her shot glass as though it were a foreign object. “No, I – well, just the tiniest bit in my head, but I’m certain there’s nothing really… except my mouth is dry.” She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “And it's all sticky.”

Ron gripped his arms to stop himself from laughing. “Have some water, then.”

“Right, that’s a very good – do you know something, Ron?” She was staring at him, her mouth open slightly.

He shook his head, pressing his lips shut on the smile that was struggling to get out. “No,” he said. “What is it?”

“You’ve got the loveliest hair.” She put her chin in her hand again, and sighed. “And seven freckles right on your nose. Did you know there were seven? I’ve counted,” she said seriously.

Goldie gave Ron a knowing smile over Hermione’s shoulder, and moved away down the bar again.

Ron leaned close to Hermione so that the tips of their noses touched. She tried to kiss him but he pulled back slightly. “I want to let you do that,” he murmured, “but you’d kill me if you remembered it tomorrow.”

“Why would I?” she asked, sounding put out.

“You don’t like public displays of affection,” he reminded her.

Hermione’s eyes widened, and then she nodded. “That’s right. I don’t. Can we go outside?”

Ron nodded back, unable to stop himself from laughing a little bit now. “Have a glass of water first, and then we can go wherever you want.”

Hermione did have a glass of water, and then another, at Goldie’s suggestion. And then, looking very pink, she held onto the bar with both hands and slid from her stool to her feet, somehow managing not to wobble.

“Goodnight, Goldie,” she said solemnly.

“Goodnight, dear girl. Goodnight, Ron - visit more often.”

Ron looked at him with a quick smile. “’I will. Night.” He couldn’t concentrate on Goldie at the moment; Hermione had let go of the bar and was about to lose her balance. Ron grabbed her around the waist with his right arm while he fitted her cloak around her, then took her left hand in his and guided her out into the frozen January air.

When they were through the door and it had swung shut behind them, Hermione turned to Ron, pulled down his face with both her hands and asked abruptly, “This isn’t public, is it?”

Then she kissed him. It was a kiss unlike any Hermione had ever given him. Ron found himself contemplating getting her lit more often; she was on the edge of herself and obviously unafraid of what she might do.

“And I don’t need help,” she said, pulling away from him and gasping for air. "You don't have to hold me up.”

Ron tightened his arms around her. “Would you rather fall?”

“I won’t!”

“I know.” He wasn’t going to let her. It was nice having the strongest woman he knew in his arms, and having her depend on him for a minute.

“Ron -" She threw back her head. "Ron, take me home."

Ron looked at her carefully. Hermione gazed up at him with her wide brown eyes, and a dangerous thrill ran up his center. “To Lupin Lodge?” he asked, a little hoarsely.

“To your house." She was leaning far back in his arms now, trusting him to hold her, her chin tilted all the way up so that she could look at the stars. "I want to go to your house, I'm not going home tonight." She laughed into the sky and shut her eyes. "This feels brilliant," she announced, and relaxed entirely, bending back in his arms.

Ron stared down at her and his body pulsed; he wanted exactly what she wanted. She was perfect.

“We can go to my house,” he conceded gallantly, when he found his voice. Hermione righted herself and gave Ron a smile that did things to his blood; he put an arm around her back to keep her steady and they began to walk up the road from the village, back toward the outskirts of town.

“It’s lovely out here.” Hermione tilted back her head again as they walked. Ron kept his arm around her, guiding her so that she didn’t have to look where she was going. “I missed England. I love nighttime. I don’t know why, but I think I like it better than daytime and perhaps it's because of the Astronomy tower – do you know, sometimes on Wednesdays at midnight I feel I must be running late for something and then I realize it’s because I know we’re supposed to be going to Astronomy! And then I remember that it’s all over and oh, Ron, I miss class so much, I miss Hogwarts all the time, don’t you? I miss it the most at night although I don't know why because just look at all the times that we were out doing mad things in the middle of the night. You and Harry used to be terrible!”

She stopped and stamped her foot, drew a deep breath, and continued to walk and talk. Ron kept guiding her down the road, marveling at the rate at which she was speaking. He was determined to remember every word.

“Always getting us into trouble and it was never my fault. But I could never stay mad, I could never stay mad, because it was you and because it was usually for Harry... oh, Ron.” Hermione sighed deeply. “What are we going to do about Harry?”

She looked up at him for an answer, but Ron didn't have one. He wasn't entirely sure what she meant by the question. "Why? What's wrong with Harry?"

“He’s so unhappy. Those Dementors are hurting him, and Ginny can't do anything about it yet, and it’s almost worse than watching him during the war. Because it should be over, and it’s not, and it's not fair. It's not fair, you remember what Eloise Midgen put in the paper about Harry leaving his childhood behind all the time and it's true and it's horrible. I keep thinking about what he must see in his head every day, and you know what it's like with Dementors, it's like going through it all over again and how can he bear it - those things were so -” She was beginning to choke herself up. "I'd rather die than remember some of those things, I never want to remember the day they found my parents, I never want to remember how I felt when you were taken -"

Ron stopped walking. He turned her by the shoulders and pulled her close to him. "Hermione. Don't."

“We should remember the good things,” she went on, and her voice was muffled against Ron’s cloak. “We’ve all been together for so long and we’ve had such interesting adventures –” she looked up swiftly and grabbed Ron by his collar. “They were adventures, weren’t they?” Her tone was urgent. “And we had fun together – and it was good, wasn’t it – and lucky, in a way? Not just tragic.”

Ron nodded, his chest burning. He hadn’t expected her to talk about any of this, but perhaps it was time. “It was good,” he managed huskily, his throat closing up.

“But I want my parents and I want Harry to have his parents, and I want you to have Percy, and we can't have any of those things.”

Ron didn't know what to say. "Your parents aren't dead," he managed. "You don't know what'll happen."

"I used to think that," Hermione said bitterly. "I used to think I could bring them back, and that the people at St. Mungo's just weren't as smart as I am, but I can't help my parents. I haven't been able to think of anything. Nothing. I'm not a Thinker at all."

Ron looked at her in surprise. He had never heard Hermione admit defeat. Not really. "Hey." He squeezed her waist. "It's only been four months, you have to give yourself a chance."

She ignored him. “But things will get better,” she said. “Other things will. The Ministry is getting better and the wizarding world is coming together – look what you’re doing with Sirius, I’m so proud of you for that, and what you've done for Max – and Ginny's amazing, isn't she?"

Ron nodded.

Hermione’s eyes flashed with tears. “Yes, and perhaps she can - but I don't want to think about it. And Hogwarts – Hogwarts will be like it was before,” she continued fiercely, “like it was at first, when we were little. It’ll be perfect. Won’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Because our children have to go there – I don’t want them going anywhere else.”

Ron started violently. Their children.

They had never said anything like that out loud to each other; however, the way it had tumbled effortlessly from Hermione’s mouth told Ron that this was not a new thought for her. She must have thought about it without saying anything to him, and he was quite certain that she was only saying it aloud now because she was too intoxicated to censor herself. But in the back of Ron’s mind the idea was scarily familiar, so much so that Hermione's words struck him with physical force. For a minute, he was the one in danger of losing his balance.

A sharp wind blew along the street, and Hermione let go of Ron. She pulled her cloak tighter and buried herself against him. “It’s cold,” she said, her teeth chattering.

“Come on.” Ron took her around the waist and led her quickly up the road to the front door of the Notch. Hermione was quiet until he pulled his wand to unlock the door, when she gave a little moan and slumped against him. He turned to find that her face was slack and her eyes were falling shut.

“Are you sure you still want to come over?” he asked. “You’re feeling all right? Let me take you home.”

Hermione shook her head, her eyes still shut. “I want to stay with you,” she said at once. And then she suddenly came to life again and began to giggle uncontrollably.

“What’s so funny?”

“Harry charms his walls.”

Ron lowered his wand. “What for?”

“What for?” Hermione repeated, looking up at him in surprise. “Well I expect we're very loud." She snickered. "Ginny taught him how at the Burrow, that's where they tested it, it's the Silent Bedchamber Charm.”

Ron gaped at her. "They tested a Silent Bedchamber-"

“Hi there.”

Ron's head snapped back to the doorway. Harry stood in it, his face expressionless, his clothes rumpled, and his hair a mess. He looked as though he'd just rolled out of bed.

“Did you forget how to get inside?” Harry asked.

"No." Ron narrowed his eyes. “Did we wake you, Harry?” he asked suspiciously, trying to peer past Harry and into the house. "Anyone else here?" he demanded.

Harry blinked at him. “No, I’ve just been lying around since I got home. Where’ve you been?”

“Pub,” Ron answered. He jerked his head toward Hermione. “She’s graduated from Butterbeer,” he said, grinning. “Should have seen her throw back the shots, Harry –”

“Oh, honestly, Ron, I did not. Harry, hi!” She grabbed him in a hug. Over her shoulder, Harry looked at Ron, surprised. “Now move,” Hermione said briskly, pushing him out of the way, “it’s freezing, Harry, my goodness. Let us in, would you? I need to use the loo.” Gripping the doorframe for balance, Hermione pushed past Harry into the warmth of the Notch, and disappeared down the hall on unsteady legs, discarding her cloak on the floor as she went.

Harry followed her with his eyes, which were open wide. “She’s not really drunk?”

“Oh, but she is. Just wait till she gets going again, I’m sure it hasn’t worn off.”

“How much did she have?”

“Five shots. And not even an hour ago.” Ron was pleased to see a grin spread across Harry’s face.

“She’ll never live this down.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Oooh, you’ve got a fire going, thank goodness, it’s desperate outside.” Hermione had returned to the room. She flopped on the sofa and spread out entirely, kicking her legs up over the arm of it and pushing off her shoes with her toes. They dropped to the wooden floor with two loud thumps. “What shall we do? Let’s do something. Let’s play something. We could play chess and I’ll win – I feel marvelous – but I’m starving. Have you got anything to eat?”

“Look at her go,” Ron muttered happily to Harry. “It’s amazing how long she can talk without breathing, isn’t it?”

Harry looked at him, and Ron saw, for the first time in a long time, the beginnings of active mischief glimmering in his friend’s eyes. He bent toward it on instinct. “What are you thinking, Harry?”

Harry’s mouth twisted into a half-smile, but he didn’t answer directly. Instead, he pulled his wand and muttered “Perscribus.”

Ron’s mouth dropped open in appreciation. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Wish I’d thought of that half-an-hour ago. Come on.”

Harry went to the sofa, lifted Hermione’s feet, and sat under them. Ron did the same with her head – she looked up into his face and smiled.

“Hi.”

“Hi. Hermione, can I ask you something?” Ron shot Harry a glance. Harry stretched his arm out along the back of the sofa, dangling his wand behind it in his fingers unobtrusively, so that only the tip of it stuck up over the cushions, a foot from Hermione’s face. The Recording Charm was in effect.

She shut her eyes and exhaled loudly. “Yes, yes, yes,” was her singsong answer.

Ron and Harry caught eyes and both suppressed their laughter.

Ron cleared his throat. “Excellent. First off, I just want you to acknowledge that we’re not catching you off guard – you haven’t been drinking too much, have you?”

“No! Honestly!”

“Because I wouldn’t want you getting upset later on, about anything you might say.”

Hermione huffed. “Ron, stop it. I’m fine, I’ve told you and told you, I’m perfectly all right – Harry, I really am hungry, is there anything?”

“Sure, there’s lots of stuff,” Harry said easily, a smile twitching at his lips. “You’ve got your wand, haven’t you? Why don’t you just Summon something?”

Hermione pulled her wand at once and pointed it into the air. She flicked her wrist much too hard, losing her grip and flinging the wand over Harry’s head. Harry reached up and caught it.

“Damn!” she exclaimed, reaching out her hands. “Can I have that back and try it again?”

Ron nearly convulsed – getting Hermione to curse on record was too good to be true, and capturing her messing up a Charm was even better. He gripped Harry’s wrist briefly.

“One down,” Harry said under his breath.

“Nice,” Ron agreed, distracting Hermione by Summoning a packet of Cauldron cakes from the kitchen and giving them to her. “Now," he muttered to Harry, "I’ve got one more thing I need for posterity, and then we can just ask whatever we want.”

“What is it?”

“Lockhart.”

Harry grinned. “Right – go for it.”

“Hermione?”

“Mmmm?” Her mouth was quite full of Cauldron Cake, and she couldn’t answer. She merely raised her eyebrows up at Ron, in response.

“When you’ve swallowed there – I was wondering if you still wrote Valentines to Gilderoy Lockhart every year? Or did you stop?”

Дата добавления: 2015-11-04