The Lewis House 100 страница

"Is that good?" Ginny asked quietly.

"I missed you so much," he blurted, and held her tighter.

She kept working. She loved him, and he wanted this, and she could do it now. The dragons had taken such a toll on him - he needed so much care and attention - and it wasn't just for him. Every fraction of the tension she released from Harry's body relieved her just as much.

"Do you have to work today?"

He nodded, and Ginny felt a pang of helpless anger.

"No. I wish you'd take a break."

Harry slumped closer to her with every movement of her hands. "I wish I could. I will soon - they're training more riders, and Charlie says it'll only be a week or two before we can start using them."

"And you'll really let someone take over your shift?"

"For a little while." Harry breathed out again, long and slow. "That feels so good," he mumbled, and his face went hot again, against her neck. "I have to give up riding for a little while. I can't keep up anymore, I can't even see all the Dementors that escape."

Ginny tried to block the thought that nagged her.

"It was so much easier before they all went mad and started trying to get out - I wouldn't complain if they'd just go back to how they used to be before…" He shook his head against her. "Never mind, I don't know. There's no way. There's no way to control them."

Ginny had a feeling she knew someone who could control them. But she was sworn to secrecy. Then again, Harry needed rest. He needed this. And all the dragon riders deserved relief. She just wasn't sure if there was any way to approach Malfoy that would make a difference - or if it was right to approach him at all.

"Harry?" She was surprised by how timid she sounded.

"What's wrong?"

She blinked. He knew her better than she realized. "It's just I don't know how to… I can't really say anything… But I think…" She stopped moving her hands, and she knew he was listening. "If I knew something - if I thought I knew something, and a… prisoner in Culparrat might have some information but I'd… signed a contract…"

Harry lifted his head. He stared down at her. "I won't ask," he said seriously. "But if you're saying that Malfoy -" Harry stopped. He rolled off her and sat up, and Ginny sat up beside him.

"I don't know anything," she said honestly. "But I think he might. Do you think I could get in to see him?"

Harry glanced at her. "Do you really think he'd tell you anything?"

"I don't know." Ginny met his eyes. "But I know I had an effect on him, whether he liked it or not, so I've got a better chance than anyone else."

"Then you have to try." Harry shook his head and smacked a fist on the mattress. "Ron was right all along," he muttered. "But how were we supposed to know? It still doesn't make sense, I still don't see how..."

Ginny bit her tongue, though it was very difficult. "You don't think I could strike a bargain with him, do you?" she asked. "Because if I can't at least promise Malfoy a shorter sentence, then I can't imagine he'd be willing to… but no, I know how strict Sirius has been about all that."

Harry laughed shortly. "If Malfoy's information has to do with the Dementors, Sirius won't stand by any rules."

"Yes. Well." Ginny took a deep breath and let it out. "Ron won't want to give Malfoy a reprieve. Not for any reason."

"No. Ron won't. And it's Ron who's in charge at the moment."

They looked at each other, and Ginny clasped her hands in her lap. "Harry… no matter what a relief it would be to put things back to normal, do you think we should offer Malfoy any sort of bargain?"

Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose and hunched over to lean his forearms on his legs and stare at his feet. For a long time, he seemed to be deep in thought and then - "I don’t know," he said. "I…" He laughed a little. "I'm sitting here trying to think of what Dumbledore would say."

"I do that sometimes."

He glanced at her. "Well… he'd probably just say to do what's right, and then he'd sit back and let us work it out."

"You sound like him already."

Harry blushed. "He'd say… to try to see things clearly. To take it all into consideration."

"For the greater good."

"Right." Harry frowned. "So, if Malfoy could contain the Dementors, or calm them down, then…"

"People on shore wouldn't be in as much danger."

"The dragon budget could get cut in half, and the Ministry could use it for other things."

"The dragon riders could have a rest."

Harry gave her a look. "That's not important."

"Oh yes it is."

"One less thing for the Healer to deal with, then," he countered.

Ginny smiled. "All right - and the Minister, too. And the guards assigned to the shoreline could concentrate on something else."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "All that for one bargain."

"Well… but we haven't weighed the consequences."

Harry frowned in thought, and Ginny watched him, already feeling relieved. He knew just how to think about this with her - he understood the essence of things without needing explanations.

"Malfoy could cause a lot of damage if he was free in the world," Harry said finally, blowing out a breath. "A lot."

Ginny sighed. "I know. It's never going to stay peaceful forever -" She touched Harry's hand when he winced. "Well… it's not," she said quietly. "Years ago there was Grindelwald, and then Voldemort came to power twice, and before all that there was -"

"I know." Harry's eyes were dark and resolute. "I just… hope it's a long time."

"So do I."

They looked at each other for a moment that seemed to stretch forever, and in it Ginny felt the war and all that it had meant. The idea of fighting another one made her feel so weary that she shifted closer to Harry, let her head fall against his shoulder, and closed her eyes. A moment later she felt her hair pushed aside, and his hand was on the back of her neck, his fingers opening and closing on her skin.

"Malfoy could easily help another Dark wizard rise to power," Harry said quietly. "And he'd do it."

"Yes, he'd have all that money," Ginny agreed, though half her mind was concentrating on the way Harry was touching her. "He could use it to blackmail people. He could support any horrible thing he wanted - he could turn out just like his father."

"He will." Harry's fingers stopped for a moment. "He practically has, just look at him." He made a noise of disgust. "The whole time he was at Azkaban it was like he didn't feel a thing - how can you feel nothing around those Dementors? How can you be human if you don't feel them?"

Ginny swallowed the protest that rose in her. What she knew of Malfoy's emotions was privileged information.

Harry went on. "And his money's not the only worry - the Ministry would be acting inconsistently if they let him out. It wouldn't look good for your dad - or for Sirius and Ron."

"That's true," Ginny said. "Not just that, but all the other prisoners would want to work out bargains too, and there would be a lot of trouble - there might have to be new trials."

Harry's fingers began to move again. "Well…but not if it were all kept quiet."

Ginny half-smiled and settled closer to him. "Funny, you didn't sound quite as much like Dumbledore just then."

"No, he kept things quiet." Harry's hand slid down to rest on her back, and Ginny raised her head to look at him; he had tilted up his face and was studying the ceiling, as if searching for Dumbledore there. "Believe me, he kept loads of stuff to himself."

They were silent together for a little while as the light turned from blue to gold around them. The sun was rising. Harry suddenly gasped, checked his watch and jumped up. "I'm late." He grabbed his wand from the bedside cabinet. "We'll talk more about this - tonight?"

Ginny looked up at him from her seat in the middle of the bed. "I'll try to be awake."

Harry paused before Disapparating. He lowered his wand and looked at her. "No," he said. "You get some sleep."

"Well, but I want to go and check on the Grangers anyway -"

"No," Harry repeated, more firmly. "You get some sleep. You can check on them tomorrow, and I'll talk to you tomorrow night, instead."

"But Harry -"

"No." He reached out and smoothed back some of Ginny's hair, sending a ribbon of lovely sensation into her head and straight down through her. She closed her eyes and sighed. She was tired. And his fingers were so gentle on her forehead… skimming across her temple…

"I love you." The words slipped out of her for the thousandth time as Harry brushed back the rest of her hair.

"Go on, get some rest," he said quietly. "Lie down."

Ginny didn't protest. Exhaustion and Harry were far too persuasive; she curled up on her side and heard him close the window shades. The room went dark.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he whispered. Ginny felt the soft weight of blankets on her body. She felt his hands tuck the covers around her, and then his mouth touched her cheek as the world began to ebb away.

"Be careful, please," she mumbled. "Be safe."

There was an almost inaudible sigh, followed by a soft pop! and a pang of loss… He was gone. She was in her bed alone without him. Sleep descended around her, heavy and black, and Ginny tensed, expecting nightmares.

But the nightmares didn't come. Instead of a dungeon chamber, there was a wide, moonlit sky and the crash of the sea at her feet, and Harry was on a dragon above her, soaring through her head - silhouetted against the moon on a dark spread of wings. Ginny lay back on the sand and watched him fly, and she knew with strange, comforting certainty that as long as he was nearby, no darkness could touch her.

She stretched out in the sand, feeling very safe, and she fell asleep again within her dream, lulled by the circles Harry made in the sky and endless thrum of the sea.

~*~

Awake.

It was the most beautiful word in the English language. Better than alive, because it implied both life and awareness, and one was nothing without the other. Awake. Awake.

Hermione stepped out of a long, hot shower and wrapped up in Ron's bathrobe. She liked the feeling of it on her skin, and the way it engulfed her and made her feel warm all over. His touch, by proxy. He was so good. He had been there through all of it, and he had stood guard last night, and he had held her hand all morning, through the interviews and assessments run by the mediwizards at St. Mungo's.

"It's a miracle," they'd said. "Unprecedented. Impossible."

Hermione looked into her face in the mirror. She was small, and her hair would be frizzy again when it dried, and her Cortona color had long faded. But her eyes were fiercely bright. And she felt such incredible peace. She would write a long letter to Delia, today. A really good one, with no self-effacing in it.

"Hermione?" Ron knocked softly on the door. "Can I come in?"

"Yes."

He did, and he stepped up behind her and wrapped his arms around her. It was much better to be engulfed by him than by just his bathrobe, and Hermione relaxed against his chest. Ron rested his chin on her damp hair. "Tired?"

"No." She smiled a little at his reflection. She hadn't slept so well in a long, long time. "Are you?"

He searched her eyes in the mirror. "No," he said finally.

"Yes you are, you were up all night." She rubbed her thumbs over his hands. "You don't have to come back with me tonight, I'll be fine."

"I want to come." He kissed her head. "I have to get them… used to me. It must be a shock, you know, you're all grown up and there I am… I don't know." Ron's ears were pink. "I don't want your dad thinking I'm just some idiot."

Hermione reached over her head and took Ron's face in her hands. They made such a funny picture, in the mirror. "You made him laugh," she said quietly. "He's going to love you."

Her father would actually know Ron. And so would her mother. Not as a boy, but as the man she loved. Hermione was suddenly struck by such painful happiness that she turned and kissed Ron with all her heart, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Get dressed," he said hoarsely, after a little while. "I have something for you, and we have to go and get it."

Hermione studied his face, intrigued. She had sort of expected him to push the bathrobe to the floor and carry her to his room. "Go where?"

"Just get some clothes on."

"I want to go back to hospital -"

"They said you could go back at six, it's only two. I'll have you back with time to spare."

Hermione agreed. She dressed quickly; it was still rather amusing to her that so many of her things had migrated to Ron's room and that she had half a wardrobe to choose from here. She pulled on her jeans.

"Here -" Ron tossed her a shirt. It was oversized and orange and long-sleeved, with a big black double C emblazoned across the front.

"You're taking me to a Quidditch match?" she asked, a bit dubiously.

"No, but all your stuff's in the laundry basket, and that's clean."

That was fair enough. Hermione pulled the shirt over her head and rolled the sleeves to a manageable length.

"Ready?" Ron asked and, when she nodded, he handed her a tiny slip of folded paper. "Meet me on the lawn at this address," he said, and touched her face. "Trust me."

He Disapparated.

Hermione unfolded the paper with curious fingers. 42 Old Crown Road, Gillingham.

Her hands trembled. Why… why did he want her to go to her house? He knew that she had only been there once since… And now that her parents were awake, now that she could try to forget all of it, she never wanted to see that place again. She wanted it gone - she should have sold it. She knew she should have sold it.

Trust me.

She did. But he was asking her to do something quite difficult and painful on a day that should have been pure joy, and she didn't understand his motives. If it had been anyone but Ron, Hermione would not have gone. But she Apparated into the driveway of her old house and gazed at the front steps where Ron already sat, looking strangely at home.

There were so many flowers in bloom. And the grass had all grown back, lush and shining green. It really had been a long time since she had been here… she didn't even remember all the trees that lined the yard, and she wondered if her memory was playing tricks on her. All in all, the house was more beautiful now than it had ever been - at least from the outside - the paint hadn't so much as chipped; it was perfect blue, and the white shutters gleamed.

Ron watched her walk up the drive, then stood and touched his wand to the door, making it swing open.

"Ron…" Hermione stood at the bottom of the steps and shook her head. "Please. Not today."

He looked down at her, and all the comfort in the world was in his blue eyes. "Haven't you ever thought about where your parents would go, when they woke up?"

Hermione winced. She couldn't let them come back here. They had loved this house - her father had done the interior woodwork himself, and her mother had taken such care with the gardens and the carpets and everything else. Hermione had loved this house too; she'd grown up here. Here she had discovered that she was different from other children, long before she had ever known that she was a witch. Here she had been loved and taught and nurtured. But the bad memories would make it very difficult to live here, in spite of all the good ones.

"I haven't thought about it much," she admitted. "I just concentrated on getting them awake. I… don't want to see in there."

Ron reached his hand out. "Come on," he said. "I promise it's all right."

She put her faith in Ron, and her hand in his, and let him lead her into her childhood home, steeling herself for ugly burns and rotten stench and the horrible, lingering shadows of Death Eaters.

But it smelled… clean. Last time she'd been here, it had smelled like burnt plastic and smoke, and something evil. But that was gone, and the house was silent and cool - almost sweet - as they walked through it. There wasn't even any dust. The curtains had been drawn and everything was beautifully organized - even her mother's china cabinet sparkled as if it had just been cleaned.

The china cabinet that had been smashed through.

Hermione stopped walking and stared at it. She had a sudden, dim suspicion. "Ron…"

"Shh." He pulled her towards the library and Hermione resisted a little, but followed behind him. She braced herself to see the worst of it. Here it had happened, here there had been wreckage and burns, shelves destroyed, books in torn disarray, fingernail marks in the arms of her mother's chair… She peered in, her heart throbbing painfully. It was a horror room, it was a nightmare place.

It had been rebuilt.

Hermione stared for a moment at the bright, peaceful tidiness of the room where she had first become a reader. This… this was what it was supposed to look like. She walked in without Ron, her hands over her mouth. There was not one scar, not one trace, of the thing that had happened here. Her father's shelves were straight and polished. The wood of her mother's chair was smooth and unmarred. The books were in lovely rows, the carpet was no longer scorched, the whole place was right.

"Oh… oh, Ron…"

"Go and see your room."

Her heart beating like a bird's, Hermione raced out of the wonderful library where she had learned to think, and hurtled up the steps to the little room where she had learned to dream.

"My letter," she managed in a tiny, shaky voice. Her Hogwarts letter. They had burnt Mudblood across it.

It had been restored.

And everything else was in its place, just as she had left it when she had gone away to Hogwarts for her sixth year, before everything had gone so horribly, desperately wrong. It was normal. It was hers. It was serene and uninvaded. Hermione walked around in a daze, touching things and gazing out the window, and trying to contain the unbearable love that was swelling in her heart.

She turned to find Ron watching her from the doorway, tears standing in his eyes.

"You did this," she managed.

He nodded faintly.

"You… Ron. You paid for this."

He glanced down. Nodded again.

"The trees outside and the china and the shelves and - my mother's - my letter - Ron -" Hermione couldn't stand up under the kind of love she felt. She found herself sitting in the middle of her carpet, reaching up her arms, and Ron came to her at once.

He knelt and pulled her into a powerful hug. "It's all right?" he finally said, his voice scratchy. "I just thought if it were normal then they wouldn't mind living here."

"But when did you start?" she whispered, holding him tight. "How long ago?"

"With my first paycheck."

Hermione's throat clenched. She pulled back and stared up at him. "But you had no way of knowing they'd wake up."

His eyes were still swimming. He sat back cross-legged, so that their knees touched, and he pushed her hair behind her ears. "I thought there was a good enough chance," he said, and took her chin in one hand. He lifted it and looked at her. "You… I can't remember when you've put your mind to something and not managed it."

So much faith. Hermione crawled into his lap, twined her arms around him and buried her face in his shoulder. Ron kept playing with her hair. And they were in her room, where she had never, never expected to feel at home again - but he had made it safe and whole and clean. Like only he could.

"Thank you," she mumbled. It wasn't enough. But for once she was at a loss for words; she couldn't begin to say the things he deserved to hear, and she imagined he knew it all anyway.

He rocked her just as he always had when she had needed comfort after visits to St. Mungo's - but this time it was all happiness. So much happiness that it hurt.

"Ginny thinks my dad is permanently blind," she said, after a long time, "so until my mum's completely recovered, they'll need me here." She sat back and let go of Ron's neck, to look him in the face. "When they're rehabilitated enough to leave hospital, I'll want to live with them and help them. Until they can look after themselves."

Ron was quiet, and then he nodded. "Well, I thought you might want to do that, so I had my dad put this house on the Floo network." He shrugged. "And at least we can Apparate, right?"

Hermione stared at him. He was… he'd thought of everything. She smoothed his hair away from his face, and dragged her fingertips down his cheeks. "You're a wonderful man," she said softly, and loved how fully it made him blush. "Do you have any idea how much I love you, Ron Weasley?"

He glanced rather skittishly at her, and took an unsteady breath. "I love you too," he said, but his voice was jumpy. "I… want to…" He took another deep breath, looking suddenly pale and ill.

Hermione peered at him. "Are you all right?"

At once, he went bright pink again. "Look," he said, but then he pressed his mouth shut and shook his head.

"What?"

"Hermione…" He licked his lips.

"What?"

"Well, give me a minute!" He blew out a breath, sat totally still for several seconds, then suddenly plunged a hand into his pocket and came up gripping something small and black.

It was a very little box.

Hermione's stomach clenched. She felt her mouth go dry.

"You drive me insane," Ron said, and his voice cracked. "You have for… ever. And I know I'm not perfect."

She couldn't breathe. She couldn't even look at him. Her eyes were on the box, and she was terrified.

Exhilarated.

"But I'm useless without you, there's no point in -" Ron shook his head and displaced her from his lap with sudden ferocity.

Hermione sat startled on the floor as Ron got onto his knees to stare down into her face. She met his eyes - barely - afraid she was going to burst. Was this - was he really - here and now? Without warning?

Yes.

"I want to be the one who looks after you," he said heatedly. "And I want you to look after me. There's no one else, Hermione, you're it, you always were. I want you for good."

He pushed the box into her shaking hands, and his were shaking too.

"Not soon, it doesn’t have to be now - I know we're too young and you've got your parents and perhaps you're not finished at Cortona - I don't know. But I don't care."

He helped her to open the box; he yanked the ring out of the cushion - they fumbled uselessly together, both of them too unstrung to manage it, and then the silvery circle was on her ring finger and Ron had gripped her hands and pulled her onto her knees to face him.

"Just promise me that someday… say that when we're old enough and when you're ready - Hermione -"

Her eyes were locked to his. She waited, listening, still too shocked to be sure.

"Marry me," he rasped.

She tried to work her mouth - she nodded - she pulled her hands out of his and held his face in trembling fingers -

"Yes. Yes -"

Ron sealed his mouth over Hermione's with a muffled cry of happiness and she pressed her hands to his face, feeling the ring between her finger and his skin. The promise that had always been there, the thing she'd always known, was spoken now. Forever now. This was a man who cared so much about her that he would restore her parents' home - this was a man who had never hesitated to stand up and fight for what he believed in - this was a man who loved his family and his friends - and this man would be her husband. Hermione knew it made no sense to cry.

"I don't - deserve you -"

He kissed her hungrily. "You've got that backwards," he muttered, and hugged her so hard that she gasped and threw her arms around him in reply.

Over his shoulder she saw the flash of her ring, and she held it up behind his back to stare uncomprehendingly at it as he kissed her neck. An engagement ring. She was… his fiancée. How strange. Hermione gazed at the delicate band and the two little diamonds - though they weren't that small; however had he managed… or were they diamonds? She brought her hand closer and squinted at them, surprised to see that they were really a figure eight of glass, built right into the band. An infinity symbol? But that wasn't it either…

"Ron!" she exclaimed, when she realized what it was. "Where did you find this?"

He pulled back and looked dazedly at her. "Huh?" He ran a thumb along her cheekbone.

Hermione held her hand flat between them, palm down, and stared at her ring, enchanted. Set into the silver band was a tiny, working hourglass, full of sparkling white sand. She tilted her hand from side to side and watched time slide back and forth.

Дата добавления: 2015-11-04