The Lewis House 29 страница

"Go on, tell me," she began again, more confidently, "what happened?"

Harry blinked, and tried to figure out what she was talking about. He had a feeling he was missing something obvious. "When?" he asked tentatively.

She frowned. "This morning," she answered, looking confused. "Didn’t Oliver announce - I thought today was the day, but I must’ve got it wrong."

Quidditch. She wanted to know what had happened with the Cannons. The knots in Harry’s stomach intensified tenfold and he watched her eyes, knowing what he was about to see in them.

"Yeah, Oliver announced everything."

Ginny’s eyes lit up, a little, quite as if she couldn’t help it. "Oh, all right. And...?"

Harry steadied himself as much as he could. "I made Seeker."

"Oh! – Harry – congratulations!" Ginny’s eyes shone and she lost her reserve; she came quickly toward him and had her arms around him in seconds. "I’m so happy for you," she said, and she sounded it.

Harry didn’t know how to tell her the rest. "I’m not playing Quidditch," he blurted, wanting to get it out before she could get really disappointed. "Don’t get excited." He felt far-removed, as if he was listening to someone else say the words, and stood numbly as Ginny withdrew her arms and took a step away.

She studied him. "But you... made Seeker," she said. "You just said -"

"I know." Harry didn’t want to say the rest of it out loud; to spare himself, he thrust Charlie’s letter out, inviting Ginny to take it. She did so, warily. Her eyes skimmed its contents, and Harry waited for her to show her face again. He braced himself for the expression he’d been dreading.

She lifted her eyes – they were like little Pensieves, Harry thought suddenly. Everything showed right up in them. He didn’t even have to guess what she was thinking.

"You didn’t say yes," she whispered.

"Yeah. I did." Harry grabbed the letter, his defensiveness getting the better of him.

"Why? We all told you not to –"

"Because! This –" he shook the parchment "– is a hell of a lot more necessary than playing sports."

"Not for you," Ginny said, her voice shaking. "And you know it." She stepped up to him. "Change your mind," she said simply.

Harry narrowed his eyes at her. She had no right to be upset with him – he was doing the right thing, and if she couldn’t see it, well then, that wasn’t his fault. "I need to tell Oliver," he muttered, stuffing the letter in his pocket and pulling his wand.

"No." Ginny grabbed the other end of the wand before he could twist it. "Harry, if you didn’t answer that Ministry letter, then don’t you dare." Her eyes were furious now, and steely, and Harry was shocked to recognize her mother in her.

"I already did," he shot back. "Excuse me, please." He tried to pull his wand out of her grip, but she held fast.

"No – write again and tell Charlie you’ve changed your mind. Harry, you’re Seeker. He’s going to understand that if anybody will."

"Let go –"

Ginny looked as though she’d burst with frustration, but she didn’t hold on this time, when he yanked his wand away. She didn’t drop her hand, either. To Harry’s surprise, her fingertips fluttered up and hovered in the air, a few inches from his heart. She shut her eyes and tilted up her face, and Harry felt heat rise in his skin; it shot through his center and into his head. He didn’t know what she was doing. But the last time her face had been this close to his… He felt his breathing grow irregular as he waited for her to touch him.

"Ginny?" he dared softly, when she didn’t move again for several long seconds.

Ginny opened her eyes and snatched her hand away. "I’m going too, then," she announced.

It took Harry a moment to realize what she meant, and fear crept into the back of his mind at the look of total stubbornness on her face. She wasn’t kidding. "No, you’re not," he tried, but her eyes were flinty and her lips pursed.

"Play Quidditch, then."

Harry shook his head. "I can’t. I already told Charlie."

"Then tell him this, instead."

"No." Harry felt the old determination rise up on him, and felt suddenly sure that he’d made the right choice. He had a duty.

"Then I will come up there," Ginny repeated hotly, looking quite as if she was ready to get on a broom and go, right then.

Harry made an agitated noise. "What for?"

"I’m a good flier. And I’m good with animals."

"And you’ve gone mental," said a voice down the hall, "if you think Charlie’s going to let you near a dragon."

Harry whirled. Ron was looking right at him, pale with sleep except where Malfoy had bruised him, and spotted with freckles, his long arms dangling almost helplessly, his striped pajamas making him look almost like a first year, again. But his expression was not childlike. He looked unusually tired and unexpectedly resigned.

"You really did make Seeker?" he asked quietly. "For the Cannons?"

It was worse than anything Ginny, or anyone, could have said to him. Harry felt his heart crash into his shoes. He nodded.

"And you really... aren’t taking it."

Harry opened his mouth to explain, then realized it was useless. "I’m sorry," was all he could say. "I’m sorry, Ron."

Ron was quiet a moment, and then he turned and went back into their room, shutting the door behind him.

Harry stood there, struck dumb, until he heard Ginny sniffle. He couldn’t turn around and risk seeing her cry; instead, he looked straight down the corridor and fixed his eyes on the wall. "You have to understand," he told her, but the words came out more like a plea than he had intended. "I can’t just... it’s not my fault if..."

"Then you have to understand, too." Ginny’s voice was thick, but determined. "If you’re going, I’m going."

"But you’ll have classes," Harry said weakly, instantly remembering the dozens of times that he, Ron and Hermione had skived off theirs, in order to help each other.

Ginny didn’t answer; she was evidently through with the discussion. Harry heard her footsteps disappear down the stairs.

Feeling no great urge to follow her this time, Harry gave his wand a hard twist, and Disapparated to find Oliver.

~*~

Hermione sat in her bed, propped up against the pillows, idly running the feather of her quill across her mouth and back again as she decided what to write. She had been unable to say anything for several minutes, choosing instead to watch out the window at the moon and wonder about everything, her heart heavy and turbulent all at once.

It had been a long day. A long day. She’d watched Harry return from telling Oliver his decision, and watched Ron’s face close off, and her heart had gone out to both of them. She still didn’t understand what Harry thought he was doing, and both she and Ron had tried to talk him out of it, but he had only snapped at them that everybody needed to get off his case.

She looked across the room, to where her one small bag was packed and sitting against the opposite wall. Tomorrow morning she’d be getting off Harry’s case, deliberately, for the first time since she’d met him – never before had she willingly parted from Harry or Ron. The only thing left to pack for Cortona was her diary, which sat open on her lap.

Deciding what to pack had been one of the most difficult decisions that she'd ever had to make. The Thinker wasn't expecting her. She'd received no formal invitation, but realized that what she chose to bring with her would probably be considered some sort of a test. She'd read as much as she could and after several long walks alone had decided that the best thing to do was to pack as little as possible. For a girl used to carrying four or five books around with her – just in case – it had been a monumental choice to make.

In the end, she'd packed several rolls of parchment, a few quills and several bottles of ink, a spare set of robes and a few select toiletries. No books. She’d decided that in order to think, she would needed to free herself completely. Books were her crutch in life and she had to learn to get around them. Of course, she hadn't realized she’d packed Hogwarts, A History into her bag, and had only become aware of what she'd done after going through the bag for a third time, trying to figure out why it was so heavy.

Ron was still downstairs. Hermione glanced nervously toward the door and then towards Ginny's empty bed. Ron was still downstairs, but he hadn’t said goodbye to her yet, and she knew he wouldn’t waste his last night with her. He’d be up here soon, and they’d have the room to themselves. The thought gave her a funny little chill of anticipation and fear - Ron, on the few opportunities she’d had to curl up and sleep beside him, had been solid and warm at her back. Kissing him was such a lovely wrench all over, every time. He was so protective, so infuriating, so safely hers.

So hard to refuse.

Finally moved to write something, she licked the nib of her quill to start the ink flowing and wrote:

***

HQoW

Gwen?

Hmm?

I'm just sitting here, thinking.

About what?

Everything. I'm nervous.

Well, that's perfectly natural; you're getting ready to try something you don’t completely understand. It’s an adventure. Anyone would be nervous.

I’m nervous about something else.

Has something else happened with Ron? Have the Malfoys pressed formal charges?

No, they’ve just told the Daily Prophet that they will. Nothing solid yet.

Perhaps they won’t follow through on it – there were witnesses, after all.

Draco Malfoy, even with a cracked head, will still find a way to bother Ron and Harry for as long as he lives. Especially Ron. I can’t imagine that he won’t attempt to get him in trouble, now that he’s got the chance. I can’t go to Cortona.

Why not?

I can’t leave Ron.

Hermione… we’ve been through this before.

I know, I KNOW. I know. And it’s all true. If I don’t go, and I never find out what this is, then I’ll think about it forever and I’ll hold it against him in the end. I don’t want to resent Ron. But I don’t want to be away from him, either – and not just for his sake, Gwen… I don’t know how to do without him, anymore. He’s been the other part of me for such a long time, I don’t think I’ll know quite who I am, on my own.

I know.

Oh, I’m such an idiot. I’m crying.

You’re allowed.

No, I’m really not. He’ll be up here any second.

Up here? As in 'up in your room’?

Yes.

But where's Ginny?

Well… I had a long talk with Ginny today, after Harry told everybody about Quidditch and all, and she asked me if I was excited to be leaving and I just started to cry. I’ve got a hair trigger today, I guess. Anyway, I ended up telling her that I wasn’t sure I could bring myself to leave Ron after all. And she said not to worry, that she’ll write me and let me know everything that happens, and she said that she’ll look out for him… And then she told me she'd arrange it so that we would have all night to talk and be with each other.

How did she do that?

She didn’t say how she was going to do it, but just now she pretended to fall asleep on the sofa. I was so embarrassed – it felt so obvious to me. But I told Ron and Harry that I was coming upstairs to finish packing, and I just ran up here. I know Ron will follow me.

Yes. Don’t you want him to?

Of course. I'm just... you know. Afraid.

Of what?

Of...

?

My self control. Or lack thereof. Oh, Gwen, do I have to spell it out?

Not at all, that’s quite sufficient. I wouldn’t worry, Hermione - you and Ron have talked that out. I’m sure he’ll respect your wishes.

Gwen, don’t say anything. But the trouble is, I’m not sure what my wishes are. I want... him. And then again, I’m just not ready — if I were, then I wouldn’t be worrying over it like this. I wouldn’t be asking myself if it’s the right time - my mother always said "If you have to ask the question, then you already know the answer."

I wish I could talk to her.

Oh, Hermione. I’m so sorry.

But I can’t. So you have to tell me. You have to tell me how I’ll know when it’s time.

The truth?

Of course.

You’ll just know.

*

I knew you’d say something completely bloody unhelpful like that.

Yes, I do what I can.

Honestly.

You know, you really ought to use that language in front of Ron - that would certainly distract him from... various other pursuits.

Oh yes, aren’t you clever. Well, I’m glad you’re so entertained since I - Oh, Gwen. I have to go.

What?

He’s on the steps, I hear him - oh no. Oh yes. Oh help.

Oh, the number of times you have shut me on an unbelievable cliffhanger.

Goodnight Gwen!

Good luck, Hermione.

***

Hermione closed the diary and quickly put out the light. She would pretend to be asleep – yes, that was it. Ron would come in, see she was asleep, and slide into the bed beside her. He’d hold her in his long arms, and everything would be just fine; she willed her heart to stop racing and tightly shut her eyes when she heard the door creak open.

"Hermione?" came Ron's voice, in a whisper.

She didn't answer. She heard the door slowly shut, then footsteps padded across the wood floor. She knew he was standing over her, trying to discern whether she was awake or not. He didn't speak again, but a moment later Hermione felt the bed sag next to her where Ron had just climbed into it. Her breath began to shorten into flighty little gasps and she knew it was a giveaway that she was awake, but there was nothing she could do to regulate it. She felt a thrill, waiting for him to dare something. It was dark. Ginny had made it clear that she wasn’t coming upstairs. And this was their last night together for three months. What had she said to him, the day they’d fought? Wouldn’t you want to make the most of it...

"Don’t go." Ron’s voice was right next to her ear, he was pushing her hair aside and she was trying to figure out how not to make any noises that she wouldn’t want the rest of the house to hear.

"Please stop saying that," she whispered back. "Ron – are you trying to hurt me?"

Ron might have thought she meant that he was hurting her by telling her not to go, but that wasn’t it. Hermione was actually in pain – because what Ron was doing to her jaw line with his mouth was more or less killing her – but in such a way that she wouldn’t have dreamed of stopping him.

"Are you trying to hurt me?" he murmured back.

She wondered if he meant the same thing.

Instinctively, she turned her head and found his mouth with her own – it was amazing, the way he seemed to be able to anticipate what she was going to do with her lips, and arrive in the right places. Her head was spinning. It felt like a landslide, and all they had done was kiss. Hurriedly, unsure she’d be able to stop herself if they ventured any further, Hermione broke away and breathed heavily for a moment.

He was at her ear right away – he wasn’t letting her go anywhere. "I’m going to miss you," he said in a low voice that made her shiver. Still, she managed to smirk slightly in the darkness. For someone who had never managed to do his homework, Ron certainly knew exactly what the answers were, in certain circumstances.

"I’m going to miss you, too," she whispered back, keeping her head turned away so that all he could get at was her neck. He did a good job of it.

"No you’re not," he mumbled, "you’re going to get all carried away out there."

"No." Hermione sat up abruptly. He sat up as well, and looked at her. The moon was bright enough to light up his eyes in the darkness; she reached up a hand and trailed her fingers on his face, over the bruise that Malfoy had left there. It killed her to look at it and know that someone had hurt him deliberately – someone right across the street and in her reach, someone she could out-duel in five seconds flat. Ron thought he was the only one who wanted to punch people.

"I’m really, really going to miss you," she said softly. "I want you to know that." She brushed his hair back from his forehead and looked at him.

Ron shut his eyes and leaned into her hand. "What will you miss, then?" he asked.

"You, making me laugh."

"Do I make you laugh?"

Not even meaning to prove it, Hermione laughed and dropped her hand from his hair. "Oh, please," she said, "you know you do."

He opened his eyes and looked into hers. "What else?"

Hermione thought a moment. "Your arms," she ventured quietly. She knew it was a dangerous thing to say – she wasn’t surprised when he wrapped them around her. She gave a soft little cry and pressed herself close to him. "Your arms, just like this – this... just this."

They breathed together, feeling each other’s chests rising and falling.

"Can you believe Harry?" Ron finally said, tightening his arms around her.

"No," Hermione sighed.

"Not wanting to play Seeker. For the Cannons."

It amazed Hermione, the way Ron could make the Chudley Cannons a part of their most intimate moments. She hid a smile in his shoulder. "He just wants to do the right thing," she said, after a moment. "You know how he is."

"Yeah, he’s an idiot."

"Ron… just look out for him."

"Of course." One of his big hands played with her hair. "If I can… that is, if I’m here. Depending on what happens."

"Nothing bad will happen to you." Hermione kissed his neck, and left her mouth against his skin, trying to ignore the cold fear that touched her heart at the idea of Ron on trial against Malfoy. She held him tighter. No one would take him away from her. Ever. "You’re innocent."

"Yeah. And Sirius’ll make sure everybody knows it." Ron paused. "I can feel your heart beating," he murmured absently. The words went through Hermione like a shot. He really did know what to say in certain circumstances. She slumped on his shoulder, feeling tears come into her eyes.

"What is it?" he asked, surprise in his voice, when suddenly Hermione was sniffling quite audibly.

"I d-don’t want to leave," she said, in a very small voice.

Ron didn’t answer.

It angered her that he wouldn’t answer – he knew what she needed him to say. She needed him to tell her that she had to go, that he knew she had to go, that it was part of who she was and he understood it. But he wouldn’t. He wasn’t going to encourage her. Did he think that it had been an easy decision to make? Did he think she wanted to leave him, especially under the circumstances? It wasn’t about that. It wasn’t about him. And she couldn’t explain herself any more than she already had.

Hermione began to detach herself from him, taking down her arms and turning away to stand up and go to the other bed, but Ron was too quick for that. He caught her, held her there, and buried his face in her hair again. Before she could protest, his mouth had found her ear – her cheek – her lips - her neck again and then her collarbone, never letting up. She fought to stay angry but he’d lit a small fire where the anger had been, and his hands were running up and down the length of her back - his mouth touched the hollow of her throat - his hair tickled her chin.

"Ron…" Her earlier sniffling was forgotten, it had been replaced with sharp, inward gasps of air. She grabbed hold of his shoulders and dug her fingers into the muscles there as he lowered her back onto her pillows, blue eyes naked in their intent. She whimpered slightly, not sure of her own strength, and wondered if she even wanted to say no. It was the last night. It was Ron. She knew she loved him.

Ron was pulling her nightdress aside, opening two of the little buttons, revealing her shoulder. Hermione felt his breath snake beneath the cotton neckline, and she nearly fainted with pleasure when he kissed her skin, brushing his lips from side to side, covering the whole exposed area. She clung on and pressed her eyes shut, saying nothing to stop him, until Ron slowly trailed his mouth toward the place where her chest began to slope forward.

Hermione’s eyes flew open. This was more than they had done together yet and she could feel where it was leading.

"Ron, no – we can’t – not with everybody home – not yet – don’t – " The words were out of her mouth before she’d made the choice in her mind, and she felt a strange sense of relief, knowing that she still had possession of herself.

"Shh," Ron whispered, and the sensation of sound made goosebumps on her skin. "Don’t worry, I wasn’t going to try that, I know you want to wait."

"Well then what are you –"

"Tell me to stop if you want." He lifted his face to touch his lips to hers. "Honestly I will. But if you’re really leaving tomorrow," he muttered, the words against her mouth making her shudder, "just let me give you something to remember me by..."

He gave her several moments to think, then pulled back and hovered above her, waiting for her answer. Hermione searched his face, and her heart.

She nodded briefly, watching his expression shift from hope to disbelief before she shut her eyes again. He’d stop. She knew him.

The next thing she felt was a kiss so powerful that she nearly lost her hearing – Ron’s mouth had deep hold of hers and she forgot that there was such a thing as breathing.

"I love you," he gasped, when he broke off, and began to trail his mouth down her neck once more… and over her collarbone… and then across skin that he’d never touched or seen.

Hermione jerked and clapped a hand over her own mouth – whatever sound she wanted to make was certainly not coherent speech. Her vocabulary was gone; her brain had shut off. Ron was inside every one of her senses, and she gave herself over to all of it, trusting him to keep his word.

He did.

~*~

The next morning was unusually cold for so early in September - or maybe it was just that Hermione hogged blankets like a champ. Ron reached over and tugged some back, trying in vain to get them to cover his body and his feet.

"Stop wiggling around," Hermione mumbled, and fitted back against him.

"You’ve got all the covers pinned under you."

Hermione rolled toward him at once, bringing the blankets with her. She threw them sleepily over the top of him, and lay her head on his shoulder. "I’m sorry… were you cold all night?" She tucked an arm around his bare chest, and sighed. "I don’t want to wake up."

"Don’t then." He kissed her hair. It surprised Ron, how comfortable it was to sleep next to her, and be with her. It felt strangely grown up, but so entirely natural that he couldn’t believe they hadn’t been allowed to do it for years. They’d never dared try, at the Burrow, but last night he’d had a chance to find the right angle against her, figure out where to fit his arms, and sleep without losing contact with her body. It was something, to wake up next to Hermione Granger, with a leg draped over her hip. Really something.

"I have to." She pulled her arm away and made to get out of bed.

Ron made an instinctive, whining sort of sound, and quickly rolled toward her, clutching her there with her back pressed to him.

"Ron…"

"No."

"You can’t keep me here like this forever."

"Guess that’s true… go on, then, get up."

"It’s a bit difficult with my arms pinned."

"What, can’t Little Miss Thinker work out a way to escape from the local bartender?"

Hermione started to laugh. "You make us sound sordid."

"We are."

"Oh, stop it." She wriggled, trying to get away. "Ron, honestly, let me go."

"First, promise you’ll write me the second you get there."

"Of course I will." She yanked at her arms, but Ron kept them fastened in his own and grinned into her neck. She could outdo him with a wand, but hand-to-hand combat was definitely his territory. "I’ll kick," she threatened, after a moment.

Ron grabbed her legs in a vise with his, enjoying that this was the nature of the game. "Don’t give the enemy a warning," he taunted. "Didn’t Moody teach you anything?"

Hermione giggled and uselessly fought him, but their playfulness didn’t last long. Within minutes, she had given up and sighed. "Ron… the longer we wait, the harder it is."

His heart gave a terrible thud. Feeling suddenly sick to his stomach, Ron relaxed his grip and let Hermione get up. She took her clothes and robes and knapsack, doubled back for her diary with an arch look at him, and left the room. Moments later, he heard the shower running.

She was really going to leave.

He lay on his back, listening to the water run, thinking about the previous night in slow, exacting detail. He wanted to carry it around with him every day, while she was gone. It had been past imagination. And it was going to have to get him through until Christmas.

His thoughts were so engrossing that he never heard the water shut off, and it was another half-hour before he heard two separate doors shutting along the hall. Everyone else was awake. He should probably move, before Ginny came up here and tried to get into her room.

Дата добавления: 2015-11-04