Chapter 22
Harry woke with a splitting head-ache. Disorientated for a moment, he realised with distaste that he'd cried himself to sleep last night…
Disentangling himself from his wife's bedcovers, a sudden rush of panic hit him. Checking his wife for signs of life, he felt almost overwhelmed by relief… She was still alive…
Irrational as it seemed, Harry felt that if she'd passed away after that confession from last night, it would've meant that he had let her down somehow… That his betrayal would've been the cause of her death… But the fact that she was still there… still breathing… An odd sense of being forgiven fell over Harry.
After all, Cho must know he didn't mean for the things that he felt to happen… She knew his loyalty… So she must've forgiven him… Tucking his wife in again, he left the room to fulfil his morning rituals.
Passing a window overseeing the grounds, though, he saw the flowers ice had painted on the glass. Now Harry may have been a fanatic morning swimmer in the lake… but he didn't fancy freezing to catch his death. Turning around to find his bathroom, he set out to talk to Miss Granger that evening after dinner.
*
Hermione had been flustered throughout the duration of day, though nothing betrayed it on the outside.
After Mr. Potter's offhand comment last night, Hermione was forcefully reminded of the events that had taken place more then seven years ago. Not that those were always very far from her mind, especially when she snuck down in the mornings to steal her cheap look at his body… It was just that hearing him say the very same thing about the firelight, about the atmosphere that had almost become sacred to her…
Even the elation to have come upon Lily's bedroom the past evening, hadn't been able to drive away the images in her dreams. She had snuck into her daughter's room after Mr. Potter and Longbottom had left the mansion. There she had been able to kiss her daughter's sleeping face for the very first time… Long after she detailed the emotion of having been able to make a loving gesture towards her daughter for the first time in her journal, she had fallen asleep to dream of the night Lily's father had taken something of Hermione's she had never been able to win back…
Hermione didn't like to admit it, but what she told Lily was the bitter truth… The way she saw it, a person had a body, mind, and heart… The body was captured by society, rules of conduct didn't allow it to be free by any large extent. The heart… Oh, it answered to no free will. The heart could be easily captured and be held prisoner… No, freedom was not something for the heart. The only and true freedom could be achieved inside the mind. It was the one thing others couldn't control, it was the only thing that couldn't be imprisoned, save by its own free will…
Hermione had learned this lesson the hard way, many years ago. It was her iron will that had dragged her mind out of the despair her heart was feeling. It was her mind that learned and travelled inside her imagination, thrived to achieve more, that had kept her going. Never her heart… No, her heart hadn't been completely hers ever since she'd known she conceived. Ever since that third night… And what had been left of it after that, had shattered the moment her daughter had been born… The moment her daughter had left her life like the father had… There had been little left to break when her own father got himself killed, only hollowness…
Her heart and her body had never been free from that moment in time on. Her mind, however… She knew how to be strong, how to achieve her own little victories on life… And thank Merlin for that. Because if she'd left her heart's as well as her body's desire to reign her life, that all-consuming desire to have her daughter back… to have one more moment with the man that haunted her dreams… she wouldn't have survived with her sanity…
So, although the lesson with Lily went quite well, Hermione couldn't help the constant afterthought plaguing her.
For the first time at Godric's Hollow, she despaired in her ability to keep her feelings to herself. But she had promised, and she would honour the promise… Mr. Potter's and hers secret bond would remain just that… secret…
*
Harry hadn't found his day to go by as smoothly as he'd thought in the morning. Plagued by sudden flashes of awareness, he was more determined then ever to have that talk with Miss Granger.
It had been quite irritating… The sudden belief that the smell of an old book could somehow trigger the memory of the smell of her skin… only she was more sweet and salty… it drove him mad… especially when even the feel of the leather covered armrests of his chair made him remember how he'd enjoyed touching her…
And remember her he did … in the firelight… The way the shadows had played on her skin, and the light had made her wild hair shine like gold… It was all engraved in his mind, and through years of suppression in vain, those memories were showed clearer than ever every time he closed his eyes…
But that wasn't all… It wasn't just that night, but also what had led to it. The rare conversations they'd had… especially the one when they had been on the windy beach, overlooking the see, when he had been wondering about her feelings. The first time he'd seen her smile… The way he knew exactly what she'd meant, how she wanted to be able to scream… and how he too, wanted to be able to let go entirely…
After her lesson today, Lily had told him how Miss Granger had told her about the magic of firelight… And he didn't know how he was supposed to feel about that.
At dinner that night, Harry had been thankful for Ginny's unstoppable chatter about the letters she'd received from her eldest brothers Charlie and Bill… By the incessant information Ginny was providing, Miss Granger must feel like she knew the two gentlemen as if she had been the one growing up with them…
*
Hermione had spied Mr. Potter retrieving Lily from her lake house after retiring from dinner that night. The girl was almost asleep in her father's arms when he carried her up the stairs to her bedroom. Bidding her time in the shadows, she waited for Mr. Potter to leave and snuck in to tuck Lily in. Brushing the brown-red hair out of the way, she again let her lips brush the smooth skin of her daughter's forehead. Reverently, she pulled up the covers a bit more, and whispered a soft goodnight.
After carefully closing Lily's bedroom door, she hastened her pace towards the classroom. She hadn't yet been able to clear up all the mess they'd made with the cards today, and she wanted the room to be in impeccable order for the next morning.
Arriving at a brisk pace, she was startled quite a bit to see Mr. Potter seated at the desk she taught at. He was going through the cards, and without looking up he acknowledged her presence by asking her:
"Miss Granger… Is this how you intend my daughter to learn how to write? The images show her what the word is. Correct me if I'm wrong, but wouldn't she just interpret the images, rather than really read the word underneath it? She's just guessing, right?"
After collecting her bearings, and unconsciously smoothening her skirts, she answered clearly: "Yes, of course she's merely interpreting the pictures… for the moment it is little more than a guessing game to her… After a while, though, she will be able to read, without needing to see the images…"
While her answer was calm, she felt anything but. For the first time, she realised that Mr. Potter really mustn't have liked her. He tolerated her presence here, but the way he avoided looking at her, the way his voice often sounded harsh when he talked to her, like just a moment before… It was so different from the way his voice had sounded in her memory. Or maybe her memory had just been playing tricks on her…
Unable to just stand there, she started busying herself with gathering the cards on the desk in a neat pile. Relieved when he chose to stand and distance himself from her, she scanned the room for more mess. With a beating heart, she saw him stand in front of the fire lit hearth, in the otherwise dark room. The last cards that needed to be retrieved were laying on the ground… The ones that Lily had brought with her at the fireplace for their silent moment.
Startled out of her inability to join him at the fire, she heard him sigh:
"Lily told me you spoke to her about the magic of firelight? Why?"
Busying her hands idly with the several objects on her desk, Hermione ignored the strange change in tone he used to utter that question. She wasn't going to break her promise, and she certainly wasn't going to tell her seven-year old daughter what had happened in the firelight nine months before she was born… So he better not be accusing her of anything.
"I think it is a good thing to end the lesson by ignoring the rules of time for but a moment… It breaks with the studious work and allows the mind to come to rest in a gentle fashion…"
By that time, Hermione had collected the courage to walk towards the fireplace without hesitation. Kneeling to retrieve the last scattered cards, she heard his voice again… This time, it was the tone she remembered, the soft baritone she had yearned to hear once more…
"I need your help, Miss Granger…"
***
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