The Lewis House 79 страница

Hermione leaned her head on Neville's shoulder, thinking how brave he really was. None of them had known about any of that. He had never said a word.

"Because no matter what I did, no matter how loud I was, no matter if I slapped them - and I did - they were gone. Just gone." Neville was quiet for a minute. He opened the door to the Grangers' room and brought Hermione to stand between her mum and dad's beds. "That's when I realized that they weren't coming back. I cried harder than I've ever cried in my whole life. And the next day… and I'm not saying it was overnight, I was building up to that for a long time… but the next day, it was like something had been lifted. And it's never come back."

Hermione put her free hand on her mother's. "Perhaps I should shout," she said.

Neville squeezed her hand again, and then he let it go. "Then I'll leave you to it," he said. "Pop by Hogwarts any time, Hermione. You've… you've got an open invitation to my office, all right?" He laughed a little.

Hermione looked up at him and held out his handkerchief.

"Keep it," he said, and softly shut the door behind him.

"That was Neville, Mum," Hermione said quietly. Tears filled her eyes again, and her first instinct was to hold them back, but she wondered if that was part of the problem. So instead she let them come; they blurred her vision and tumbled down her face. "Neville Longbottom. His parents are down the hall. I went to school with him, and he's just the n-nicest…" She bowed her head. "He was the second person ever to ask me on a date. He invited me to the Yule Ball, I don't know if I ever told you that. I turned him down. I was already going out with a famous Quidditch player. I know I told you that. I remember how mad Dad got about Viktor's age." Hermione laughed and sobbed at the same time.

"Viktor got married, you know. He's got a baby and everything. I wish I could show you the pictures he sent, they're so sweet." She touched her mother's face. "I love you so much, Mum -" she said, and began to cry openly. "The weirdest - things - bother me. There was a - song you used to sing - about a train - and I can only remember half the - words." She smoothed her mother's hair out of her face over and over again. "What if I have - a baby someday and I can't - remember the words? You have to - wake up and remind me." She bent down and kissed her mother's cheek - she wrapped her arms around her mother's neck and stopped talking. There was no more space in her breath for words. She knew that her face was all wet and disgusting but it didn't matter right now.

"Wake up," she finally managed. "Please, Mum, please. Please." Hermione straightened and took her mother by the shoulders. She had never let herself do this before, but she couldn't stop herself now. "I know you can hear me." She shook her. "I know you can hear me, you can't just be lying there, your eyes are open, damn it, you're not trying hard enough - wake up -" She shook harder. She shook until she knew it would have been painful if her mother had been awake, and when Mrs. Granger still gave no response, Hermione let out a half-scream of anger and whirled around to her father's bed.

"Dad, come on. Come on." She touched his face. It was smooth; the spell she'd cast had done a perfect job of keeping him clean-shaven. Hermione didn't want to see him with a beard and be reminded of how much time had passed, but it suddenly infuriated her that she had cast such a useless spell. What was the point of pretending? Why was she cutting their hair and cleaning their stupid teeth? They weren't coming back. They couldn't hear her, they didn't know her, and they weren't coming back, not ever. They would lie here and waste away and miss her wedding, and her career, and her life. They would never know what she became. They would never be proud of her again. They would never hug her, or laugh at her, or tell her not to worry so much, or ask her to turn her light on so that she wouldn't ruin her eyes while she read, or poke her between the shoulder blades and tell her to stand up straight. They were gone. Just gone.

Hermione doubled over and sobbed into her father's shoulder. She crawled into his bed beside him, unseeing, not caring who came in and saw her like this, and she wept into the front of his hospital gown as if she were a very little girl. She cried without limiting herself. She cried without shame. She cried until her eyes were sore and her voice was gone, and she didn't stop until her body decided that it was time. She didn't know how long she had been there. It hardly mattered. She only knew that it was dark outside the window and that the lamps had come on automatically. Or perhaps a nurse had come in and lit them. Hermione had paid no attention. Perhaps she would sleep here tonight. Perhaps it was all right to stay. Ron would worry, but she couldn't bring herself to get up just now. She hadn't felt so quiet and empty and peaceful in a long, long time. She wrapped an arm around her father's chest and sniffled into his shoulder.

"I wish you could have a good cry," she murmured, and kissed his cheek. His eyes were wide open and frightened. They had been like that for years. They would be like that forever. "At least then you could have a good night's sleep." She stroked the lifeless skin just under his eyebrows, and passed her fingers over his forehead, wishing she could smooth away the terrified lines. "Couldn't you, Dad?" She didn't know what she was talking about. She was babbling. "You could cry and cry, and let go of this residual and all those horrible memories. You could rest. You could get out all the fear and you could empty out all the curses, and you'd be so calm and quiet, and your eyes would close, and you could sleep…"

She trailed off, so far gone that she almost didn't hear what she was saying.

Almost.

"You could… Dad… you'd really feel better, wouldn't you? If you had a good cry?" Hermione propped herself up on her elbow and looked down into her father's terrified face. "Dad?" she whispered. "What if… what if I could find a way to give you that? What if I could…" She passed a hand over his unblinking eyes, hearing her heartbeat thud in her ears. "Because there's a weeping hex, isn't there? Lacrimosum. I remember learning it…" She sat up and slid off the bed, her mind whirring along with her heart. "A hex won't do it, but that's the basic idea, if I could make you weep, if I could give you a sort of… release, then perhaps you could let go of the residual… at least you could shut your eyes…"

"Tears are a gift. Tears unblock, they cleanse and create space. Dry your eyes child, and sit up again when you are ready."

Hermione stood between the beds, Delia's voice in her mind. She looked from her father to her mother and she knew that she was right. She knew it deep in her bones. She didn't have to ask Ron. She didn't have to ask Delia. This was the path she had been meant to find - this was the spell that would clear a space for Ginny. And even if there was nothing that Ginny could do, Hermione would have the relief of knowing that her parents were no longer in their state of frozen pain.

"I love you both so much," she whispered, feeling alive all over. "But I have to go home and start working. Right now."

~*~

Harry lay on his back on the sofa with a pile of jelly slugs on his stomach. He tossed another one into the air, caught it in his mouth, and washed it down with Butterbeer. It was hard to drink the Butterbeer while lying on his back, but Harry managed not to choke.

He should have been cleaning the Notch. It was a revolting mess. When he had lived with the Dursleys Harry had always been extremely clean, and out of respect for Remus and Sirius he'd kept his things tidy at Lupin Lodge. But now that he had a space of his own, and could do what he liked, it gave him a sort of rush to leave his things lying around. He still half-expected that Aunt Petunia would appear and shout at him to clean it up, and it was always a surprise when Ron didn't say anything. It had been several days since either of them had lifted a finger to clean the living room or kitchen - though Harry had noticed with some amusement that Ron's room, at least, was always spotless.

Short of tidying up, he supposed it would have been a good idea to eat an actual meal, take a shower and go to bed; he was, after all, hungry, dirty and tired. But just now there was something relaxing about drinking Butterbeer and catching jelly slugs in his mouth, and he wasn't in the mood to do anything clever. He'd turned down a trip to the pub with Ron, knowing that it was going to involve intense legal discussions, and he hadn't bothered asking Ginny to come over. She'd been perpetually busy since Valentine's Day, with schoolwork and Healing and Malfoy.

Harry flung a jelly slug at the wall and watched it slide down to the carpet.

"Harry?"

He sat up straight, and the jelly slugs went everywhere.

"Can I come in?"

Harry was thrilled to hear Ginny's voice - thrilled and horrified - why had she chosen to come over tonight? The house was disgusting, he hadn't washed, and what did she want, anyway?

"Yes - wait, just a minute -"

There was nothing he could do about the way he smelled, but he quickly banished five days' worth of plates into the kitchen sink and picked the jelly slugs off the sofa and floor. He piled them on the table.

"Coming -"

He turned down the lamps a bit and lit a fire instead - the darker the room was, the better it would look - then adjusted his glasses, pushed a hand through his hair and ran to open the door.

Ginny stood there with her schoolbag, looking rather nervous. Clearly she had bothered to shower; her hair was still damp. "Sorry, are you busy?"

Harry realized he was blocking the door. "No, that's all right." He let her in and shut the door behind her. "I just wasn't expecting - sorry about the house."

"I don't care about that." Ginny put her bag on the sofa and sat beside it. "I just have to study, and Hermione's trying to Think, so I thought I'd come over here. Do you mind if I stay?"

Harry shook his head.

"Mind if we have music?"

Harry flicked on the wireless, which was tuned to the sports channel. He left it there long enough to hear that the Falcons were beating the Harpies, then switched it to music.

"That's all right, you can keep the Quidditch on -"

He shrugged and hovered at the end of the couch, unsure whether he should sit next to her. Sometimes after working, she complained that she was too open to be near him. It didn't seem to stop her from being near other people, but Harry tried to put that out of his head. It was good that she was here. He didn't want to talk about the rest of it. "I don't want to listen to the Falcons win another game. I still can't believe they beat the Cannons."

"Yeah, I know, it's a shame," Ginny agreed, taking a stack of books out of her bag. Her eyes strayed to the front of Harry's shirt and she snickered. "What did you do?"

Harry looked down and realized that the jelly slugs had left a large and colorful mark on the front of his white T-shirt. "I - well." He tried to get the slugs off the table before Ginny could see them and make the connection, but she was already laughing again.

"Oh, were you eating a nice, healthy dinner off yourself?"

He smiled a little. "No."

"Seriously, is that all you've eaten?"

Ginny looked at him with real concern for the first time in a while, and Harry heard Malfoy's voice in his head as clearly as if he were on dragon back. If only your girlfriend had time to take better care of you…

"I wasn't hungry, all right?" he said stiffly, and went towards his room, not sure why he was suddenly so annoyed. "I need a shower."

Ginny looked confused. "I can go," she said, putting a hand on her books. "I know you have things to do, I can study at home."

"No, no," Harry said quickly. He didn't want her to go. He just wanted to be clean, and to sit near her, and to stop thinking about Malfoy. He should have been able to stop - he knew how ridiculous it was - but the idea hung over him like a black cloud and he couldn't shake it. "I'll be right back - stay and study as long as you want." He heard Ginny sigh behind him as he went into his room, and he wondered if she'd still be there when he came back.

It was strange to get into the shower, knowing that she was out there. Harry brought all his things into the toilet and undressed there. He didn't want to walk down the hall in a towel, though the idea of her seeing him like that made him rather warm. She had, once. By accident, on his birthday. And then she'd given him that book - he still read through it every so often - with the pages and pages of memories from everyone else, and just a few words from her. I am here, she'd said. At the time, it had seemed an enormous statement, but lately Harry had found himself wishing that she had been a little less vague. It would have been nice to have something to point to, to reassure himself.

He shook his head and turned on the water. He was being stupid. After all they'd been through together he didn't need to ask her for explanations. He wouldn't do it. He didn't know what was the matter with him.

Perhaps it was left over from the Dementors.

He took a short shower, keeping the water as hot as he could stand it, and he felt much better when he got out. Like something had been burnt off. He threw on clean jeans and a T-shirt and went back into the living room without bothering to dry his hair, a heavy feeling in his stomach. Perhaps she'd gone home.

It was such a relief to see her still sitting on his sofa that Harry stood in the doorway for a moment and looked at her. She had clipped her hair back, but she'd missed a big piece and it fell over her shoulder, making her look messy and distracted in a way that Harry liked. She frowned into the massive book that lay open in her lap, keeping her fingers on the page of another open book that sat next to her.

"To successfully divine with runes using the Caslutra Method, the history of Caslutra's reign must be fully understood by the diviner," Ginny read. She shifted her eyes to the other book. "The Caslutra Dynasty - a hundred years of terror in wizarding Egypt. Oh, like I want to read about that." She hefted the book into her lap, on top of the other one. "Come on, Harry, sit with me," she said, without looking up. It always gave Harry a shock when she knew he was there without actually looking at him. "You can tell me what you remember about all this."

"I'll never be able to sneak up on you, will I?"

She glanced up, looking a bit guilty. "I didn't mean to invade, I could just feel you there. I can try not to do that." She shrugged and looked down.

Harry opened his mouth to protest - he hadn't meant it that way. He'd been joking. But nothing he said to Ginny lately seemed to work out, and he had a feeling that if he tried to correct it, he'd just dig himself deeper. So he changed the subject.

"Want anything to drink?"

"That's all right." She kept her eyes on her book. "Just let me know if you need to go to bed, and I'll go home."

Why did she keep talking about going? Did she want to go? Why had everything been so difficult lately? Harry couldn't read her at all, and he wished he could remember something about Ancient Runes so that he'd at least be able to help her study. But seventh year had been a blur. He still wasn't quite sure how he'd passed any of his classes, and he had a feeling that someone had seen his name on his N.E.W.T.s and been afraid to give him bad marks.

Worried that it wasn't the best thing to do, Harry ventured over to the sofa and sat gingerly beside Ginny's schoolbag. "I don't know how much I can help you with this," he said honestly. "But I can hold one of those books, or something." He felt the stupidity of the offer as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

Ginny, however, didn't seem to think it was stupid. She smiled a bit, pushed the schoolbag to the floor, and unloaded one of her books onto Harry's lap. She moved closer to him in order to see both books at the same time, and the loose lock of her hair brushed against his arm. It was amazing that something so little could give him such a wonderful chill. It was good to feel her at his side. Harry held his breath and slipped his arm around her waist. He waited for her to say that she couldn't handle the contact.

Instead her body relaxed. Her head fell softly onto his shoulder.

"You're okay?" he asked.

"For a little while, I should be."

Harry let out his breath, and rested his cheek on her hair. He tapped the book in his lap. "Is this homework, or are you just studying for the N.E.W.T.s?"

"It's for an essay. But it's not due until next week." Ginny's hand sneaked between his back and the sofa, and her fingers curled round his waist. "Let's not read," she said quietly. She turned up her face and kissed his jaw.

Harry breathed in through his nose and shut his eyes.

"You smell nice." Ginny kissed him again and moved her fingers on his waist. Her other hand came up to his face, and she slid her fingers into his wet hair and sighed.

Harry leaned into her hand, grateful for the sensation and very glad that he had showered. It had been weeks since they'd sat close together like this. Weeks since she'd kissed him. He'd hardly touched her at the Cannons' match. It had felt strange to be on a double date in front of his friends, and he had had no idea of how to behave on such a romantically charged holiday - and he had felt pressured to perform, somehow, as he had watched Ron with Hermione. Ron was so relaxed about all of it, and Hermione knew him so well that nothing between them was ever forced or tense. They had been friends for such a long time that their relationship seemed to Harry to be easy.

Nothing about Ginny was easy. Being with her made life better, but positioning himself next to her was a challenge every single time. He always felt self-conscious. She seemed comfortable, and he envied her for it; he tried to stop thinking about it and just let go, but so far he hadn't been able to. Never entirely. And finding things to say to her, especially lately, was almost impossible. He'd been incapable of saying anything good since she'd started working with the dragons, and silence now seemed the safest policy.

A nagging voice in his head told him that his real problem had nothing to do with Ginny. It was his fault, whatever it was. But he didn't know how that could be possible - he'd been doing everything he knew how to do, and he still wasn't getting it right.

He breathed in the scent of her - like shampoo and wood smoke, tonight. The smell of the fire had got into her hair. She was tracing the tip of her nose against his cheek, sending little shocks down his neck, letting him know that she wanted to be kissed. This was the only easy part - when talking was unnecessary and he could tell exactly what he was supposed to do. When the air was charged like this, when the silence felt heavy and he felt drugged, when he could feel every breath she took against his skin and when her chest rose and fell, brushing his arm…

He turned his head and slid his mouth into place, and a deep, satisfied sound came from both of them. Harry felt Ginny's face go hot; she slid her hand across his chest and rested it in the center of his T-shirt.

Unthinkingly, he mirrored her touch with his hand on her body.

Ginny took a sharp, choked breath against his mouth. "H… Harry…"

He wasn't sure what he was thinking. But it felt good, she felt good, and he silently begged her not to stop him now, not to tell him she couldn't stand it, not to cry out in sudden pain and jerk away from him.

She clenched her fingers on his T-shirt and pressed towards him.

It was all the invitation Harry needed. For a long time he held his breath, keeping his eyes closed, keeping his mouth on hers. But they weren't kissing now. She breathed jerkily against his lips, holding tight to his waist, making no protests. It was all so simple. There was no doubt here, no wondering how she felt for him or whether they trusted each other enough. Ginny was his, and she cared for him, and somehow he had already known what she would feel like and how she would move. Had he done this before - known her before? He'd never heard her sound like this, and yet the noises were familiar. The fantastic, frustrating, pounding tension in his body was familiar, too, and it drove out everything that had been threatening his peace of mind. He forgot that he had hardly spoken to Ginny in the past two weeks, and that just a few minutes ago he had felt awkward and unsure. Hands were better than words. He had the feeling again - he'd had it before, with her - that he was flying. That he had found something he knew how to do without stopping to think. It was the thinking that ruined it. The thinking and the talking.

"We have to talk," she gasped.

Harry froze, his hand still on her, and opened his eyes. Ginny had pulled her face back slightly and she was breathing hard. He felt every breath rise and fall against his palm. She had to be joking. Talk - now?

"I need to know what's going on," she said, still sounding out of breath.

Was he supposed to move his hand off her for this conversation? Harry gave her a pleading look.

But Ginny wasn't finished. "Everything's been strange lately, and I can't just… we can't just…" She looked frustrated. "I'm sorry, I don't really want to think about it either, but we have to."

It required great strength of will, but Harry dropped his hand into his lap and sat back. "Think about… what?"

She gave him a look that suggested he was being rather stupid. "About us," she said. "About the way we've both been acting. Don't you think it's been strange?"

Harry shrugged.

"You don't think so?"

He shrugged again. "I don't know. We're fine tonight, aren't we?"

"Yes… but haven't things been a bit strained?" Ginny tilted her head and gave him a shrewd look. Her cheeks were still very pink beneath her freckles. "I've hardly had a word out of you for a month."

Harry wanted to remind her that it had hardly been a month; he'd taken her to the game for Valentine's Day not two weeks ago. But he only pressed his mouth shut and shrugged.

"And now suddenly everything's fine? It isn't, and I can't just -" Ginny lowered her eyes and turned pinker. "We need to sort things out first. Or I won't feel right."

So it was an ultimatum. He had to talk or nothing else would happen. Harry knew things had been strained between them - she was right about that - but what good did she think talking would do? Was talking going to stop her from riding Malfoy's broom? Harry wanted to ask, but he had a feeling that if he brought that up it would backfire on him. "I don't know what there is to sort out," he said, trying to keep his voice neutral. He withdrew his arm from around her waist.

"Well." She pulled her arm back too and kept her eyes on her lap. "I know my situation at work isn't the best. I know it's bothering you."

Harry instinctively leaned back.

"Not because I can feel it bothering you, Harry," she said, looking up at him. "There's no need to try and get away from me, I'm not going to feel things anymore without your permission."

"Oh." Harry stayed back. "I didn't know if you could help it."

"Well I've had lots of practice lately." She shrugged. "I can't always help it - not with you. But I'm fine right now, and I can hold off pretty much everyone else all the time."

Even Malfoy? Harry wanted to ask. He'd read, in one of her books, about how Healers could be as attracted to their enemies as they were to their friends. It was something about the draw of deep energy, regardless of whether the energy was positive or negative. And she'd said before that it was difficult to keep Malfoy's feelings away from her. Harry didn't like the way it all sounded. It sounded too much like the way she dealt with him.

"What are you thinking?"

He jumped. "Nothing."

"Harry…" Ginny sounded disappointed. "Just tell me."

He occupied himself pulling a stray thread out of the back of the sofa cushion. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Why not?"

He glanced at her, then went back to pulling the thread. "I just don't."

"But I'm trying to talk to you. I want to talk to you."

He was well aware of that. "Well I'm sort of tired," he said.

She watched him for a minute. "So that's it?"

"It?"

"You're not going to say anything else?" Ginny crossed her arms over her chest and looked very uncomfortable.

"I don't know what to say, Ginny." It was true. He had tried, several times, to tell her how much it bothered him that she worked so closely with Malfoy, but she never listened to his side of it. She always came back with explanations, and he ended up feeling like he was wrong for being bothered. But he didn’t know how to stop being bothered. There really wasn't much else to say.

And he couldn't say it. Not truthfully. Harry knew, very dimly, that the real problem went much deeper than his irritation with her working relationships. Ginny stirred something else to life in him, something much darker and more uncomfortable, something he had always kept at bay. But it was easier not to think too hard about the things that swirled in him, deep beneath the surface. Easier to blame it all on Malfoy. Easier, safer, and much more familiar.

Except that meant blaming it on Ginny, too.

"All right." Ginny didn't sound angry, but she leaned down and picked up her schoolbag. She reached over Harry's lap and grabbed her book on Egyptian history, and stuffed it in with her other things.

"Are you going?" Harry wished she wouldn't. He wished there didn't have to be a talk. Everything had been perfect, for a few minutes.

"I'm sort of tired myself," she said, and stood. "I'll see you tomorrow, all right?"

Harry nodded. He had a bad feeling that if he didn't try to say something right now - to stop her from leaving - then it was going to be a while before he had another chance.

Дата добавления: 2015-11-04