Come Undone
Chapter 3
*
The next few weeks are torture.
I excuse myself from everything I'm invited to, becoming a virtual hermit, just so I can stay home. I even fake to Ron that I'm sick, some 'woman's problem' I tell him, so he eases off. I either clean the house or sit and read in the armchair facing the door; I don't want music or the television on because it might make me miss the sound of footsteps.
It's slightly neurotic I know, and I have to admit to myself that the feelings go beyond mere concern for a friend. Particularly because my dreams are intense, and every night they are of him.
But I'm not too concerned. I already knew my feelings for Harry danced pretty close to crossing the friendship line, but he's never felt like that about me, so it's been easy to bury. And the mystery surrounding him now, that's part of it too I tell myself. I've always loved a mystery.
So I just try not to think about it all too much - which I'm failing at, badly. I am happy that at least it's been easy to keep his visit from everyone. I promised him and I know I can't go back on that so I just don't. If anything, they're more concerned about me now, because I'm acting weird and hibernating. But no one really talks about him much lately; it's a bit too painful. Besides, I like to justify to myself that if Harry comes back again and I can get through to him, everyone else will be happy then. So, I keep my secret safe for now.
Crookshanks has started living upstairs for the most part because he can't stand me hovering over him; every time he jumps up I follow him, annoying him I know by saying 'What - what is it boy?". He's so over it he only sees me for meals and to be let out.
Kreacher and I shared a ridiculously joyful moment when I went to see him the afternoon after Harry came back. We went through every detail together; he was just as excited as me at his masters' reappearance I think. I'm so tempted to try and send Capella again but I just stop myself. Next time, I repeat in my head like a mantra. Next time.
But by the end of the second week, I'm feeling discouraged again. I've just finished putting away all the groceries I've brought, keeping the cupboards stocked at all times because I know that whenever he reappears, he'll be hungry.
Now I'm sitting in my armchair, reading the same paragraph of my textbook over and over again, not taking anything in. My mind is so preoccupied lately; I've been getting steady 100 per cents in all my tests.
I drift in and out of sleep. I hear a low miaow from Crookshanks and get up sleepily to let him out. But he's not by the door I realise drowsily; he's sitting on the couch, looking at the door. I come awake instantly and look at him properly, he's looking back smugly, purring now, and I even imagine him smiling slightly.
Then I hear it.
There's a thumping on my porch, like boots on the concrete step.
I dash to the door and wrench it open and sure enough, it's him.
He's bent right over, like he's out of breath and I put my hand on his shoulder and lean down.
"Harry? Are you okay?"
He stands up slowly and I realise he's laughing. I frown but it's infectious, my mouth pulls up in a smile too.
"Hi 'Mione." He laughs and grabs my arm, moving us both indoors. "Come on, let's get off the street."
We move inside, and this close, I can smell the alcohol. And cigarette smoke.
I turn to look at him, though he's still holding my upper arm, still laughing.
"Harry James! Are you drunk?"
He lets go of me, bends down to pat Crookshanks who's winding around his legs. He murmurs something to him, then straightens up.
"A little." He laughs. "Sorry."
He turns slightly and gestures to the door. "Lost my footing. Your flowers by the stairs are a bit ...dented."
The reality that he's here, safe, even happy, finally hits me and I fling my arms around his neck.
"I'm so glad you're okay."
He squeezes me back, and bends his face into my neck, which is covered by my hair.
"Mmm. Your hair smells nice."
I lean back and smile up at him. "You're drunk."
"And you" - his hands move lightly from my waist to my hips- "..are beautiful."
My smile drops immediately at that and I have to hold on to him, feeling like I'm swaying slightly. His easy, amused expression freezes suddenly and he clears his throat. He kisses me briskly on the forehead and sets me away from him, almost forcefully.
I try not to be offended and stand there, brushing my hands on my jeans for some reason.
"Hungry then?"
His grin comes back. "Starving."
*
It's easier, this time, being with him. My questions aren't bubbling up so fretfully in my throat, because he's come back. I can let myself think, as I watch him move around my kitchen, making his food, that this could be the start of some kind of ritual for us.
I lean on my elbows as he talks to Crookshanks who's keeping up a steady stream of animated miaowing. He'd always liked Harry but I don't know when he became so shamelessly enamoured with him - he couldn't be more obvious if he tried.
"Do you want some?" He gestures at the frying pan and I shake my head, no. Truth be told, I have a full colony of butterflies in my stomach right now which wouldn't lend itself to digestion very well.
I get us both some Butterbeer though and we sit down again at my kitchen table. He's taken his jacket off but he has a long sleeved top on this time, I can't see his body art - just that small visible part at the neck which I can't stop glancing at.
"How've you been?"
I smile. How do I tell him I've been a mess? Tied up in knots wondering if he's coming back, confusing Ron who I've called it off with again and who thinks I'm going completely mad. Worrying my friends who wonder why I don't do anything with them lately. Worrying myself because sometimes I wonder if I'm going mad or at the very least a bit silly with preparing for this moment - stocking my cupboards, buying him a toothbrush and even pyjamas for gods sake, not that I think I'll be brave enough to give them to him. How do I tell him that?
"Fine."
He smiles and starts eating. We sit in comfortable silence for a bit. Then something nags me.
"How'd you get here?"
He tries not to let me see that his smile slips a little.
"The tube."
I frown slightly but don't comment further. I'm kind of glad he didn't apparate in his inebriated state, but I'm beginning to wonder if he uses magic for anything now.
He can see me thinking I guess, and he elaborates.
"It's a nice night out" he says by way of explanation but I know there's more to it.
I shake my head and let it go, as seems to be the theme lately.
"Will you stay?"
He nods. "If that's okay."
"Of course it is."
"I can...I mean, I'll hang around tomorrow if you want to... I don't know, go do something" he says casually. I want to hug him again at that but I just get up to go and make up the couch.
"That'd be great" I manage as I walk away.
I bring him a towel for a shower and after much debate with myself; I end up leaving the pyjamas out for him. I'm really pleased when he comes down the stairs in them, just a white v neck t shirt and lightly striped loose pants. He looks more like my Harry again, except for the one arm covered in the tattoo, reminding me how much I don't know about him now.
He pulls at his shirt.
"Thanks for this."
He seems a little more sober now. He sits next to me, our legs almost touching.
"So, you're really going to be here in the morning?"
I watch his eyes carefully because no matter how much I feel he's changed, I'm positive I still know him well enough to know if he's lying.
"Yup. I am. I was thinking we could go and maybe grab something to eat."
"And maybe you can start telling me a little bit more about what you're up to."
He laughs, but just shrugs in response. He leans back into the couch and I touch his arm.
"Get some rest then. I'll see you in the morning."
He squeezes my shoulder then I stand up.
He immediately lies down, his eyes already closing.
"Harry?"
"Mmm"
"I'll see you in the morning...?"
I'm still close enough that he catches my hand easily without moving, and squeezes it, reassuring.
"I promise."
*
Two hours later I'm still not asleep and so I repeat my routine from the last night he stayed. Making my way quietly down the stairs with a blanket, I'm relieved again, but not as surprised this time, to see him still there, and sprawled on the couch.
He was obviously too warm in my lounge room because he's taken his t shirt off. I can't help but smile. His physique is as impressive as last time; I indulge in a moment to appreciate and can't help but smile. I make a mental note not to turn my heating down when he's around.
Finally I move to my armchair but as I pass, I notice something by his foot. The blanket is only covering him from his waist to his knees, his feet sticking out the bottom.
His pants have ridden up and I can see something black attached to his ankle. Leaning closer I frown, trying to work out what it is.
I press my hand against my lips to stifle my gasp of surprise. There, strapped neatly into a black holster is a small handgun.
I turn to stare at him and then realise his eyes are open.
"It's not loaded."
Speech is failing me and I just stare at him, my mouth slightly open.
"It's just safer to wear it there for now."
I frown and finally find my tongue.
"Safer as in that it won't go off... or safer in that I won't see it?"
He smiles dryly and pulls himself up to sit. Bending to reach his ankle his undoes the holster and releases the gun. I watch in mute horror and fascination as he holds it gently in his hand.
"Both" he finally answers. He releases the magazine from its chamber and shows me there are no bullets inside, then replaces it.
"The Kel tec P-3AT, the world's lightest semi automatic pistol." He pulls back the sliding mechanism on top, twice methodically, checking the barrel is empty. "Double action, .380 auto cartridge, six round capacity." It's as if he's talking to himself as his fingers run smoothly over the small black gun.
"Recoil and practical accuracy comparable to much larger guns but, " he flips it in his hand and holds it out to me handle first, "small enough for a concealed carry."
I realise he still knows me as well as ever, because he's appealing to my curiosity. It's warring inside of me with my concern right now but I do take the pistol, surprised immediately at how light it is.
He watches me as I stare at it and I know he's just waiting for what I'm going to say now.
When I speak, it comes out in a whisper.
"But Harry...Is this... legal?"
He bites his lip.
"Hermione....there's only so much..." He changes his mind. "It's just in case, okay? Don't worry about this - or me. I didn't want to worry you."
"What do you mean 'don't worry!' How can I... where is your wand??"
He looks guarded and somehow resigned. But he answers.
"I don't carry it anymore."
"What??"
He smiles. "I don't want to. I... I want to live my life normally. Without magic."
I'm stunned into silence. He reaches forward and gently takes the gun off me. I gladly relinquish it, and just watch him, feeling numb as he places it on the coffee table, and then takes off the ankle holster. He rubs his leg for a moment and then lies back, his arms behind his head.
"There's nothing to worry about - okay? I'm fine. I'm not in any trouble."
My frown is heavy in sarcasm. "Yeah, trouble and you have always been distant strangers."
He grins and shuffles up, shifting his legs across and patting the couch; his movements serving as an invitation for me to tuck myself under the blanket at the opposite end. So I do.
He throws one of his pillows down to me.
"Get some sleep."
I fit my legs down alongside his. The couch is so long his feet only come to my hip but I feel the warmth from his body keenly. My last thought is of how on earth he expects me to sleep with this latest revelation - coupled with the sensations his close proximity is causing me, but despite that, the warmest, best sleep I've had in a long time, settles over me in minutes.
*
I wake up to the smell of bacon cooking.
I look around and see him in the kitchen, shirt on again. I glance at the coffee table and see the gun is gone too; I'm not sure where.
I stretch out long and slowly feel the excitement building from my stomach and coursing through me to my toes.
A whole day with him. I didn't want it to start just so it wouldn't end.
*
And the shadow of the day
Will embrace the world in grey
And the sun will set for you.
*
It's a strange day.
We spend a lot of it in a semi comfortable silence which reminds me acutely of our time alone together when Ron left us on the Horcrux hunt.
After breakfast, we walk. Down to the park and then on to a pub for a warm lunch. It's a Saturday and there's some football on in a small television hung high in a corner.
"Do you miss it? Magic?"
I speak up once the waitress has gone, taking our order to the kitchen.
He looks up into mid air, thinking on my question. His voice is quiet when he answers.
"No."
"How...how can that be? It was everything to you - I don't understand."
He looks solemn and something makes me reach across to take his hand. He flinches noticeably but he doesn't pull away. Instead he takes a drink of his beer with his other hand. A group watching the football cheers loudly and it makes me jump, he waits for the noise to die down before he answers.
"I don't expect you to understand. But I just hope you can...respect it maybe?" I search his eyes, but they're guarded again. "I changed a lot Hermione. I didn't realise how much until...well until it was too late."
He's watching the television now and a muscle flexes in his jaw. Again I have that feeling that I shouldn't push it further for now.
"Okay." I sigh. "As long as you keep being honest with me. Well as honest as you can be" I say, shrugging my shoulders.
He looks back to me then, and smiles.
"You know, I don't think I've ever told you." He places his other hand over mine and looks at it. "I couldn't have asked for a better friend than you. You're..." He glances up and the smile is gone, he looks terribly sad. "I really don't know what I did to deserve you."
"Oh Harry."
It's all I can manage. I stare at the table for the moment, examining the feelings rushing through me. I'm glad, so thrilled that he feels that but a distant part of me is saddened by it too. Why? A sly and taunting inner voice tells me quietly that it's because I want more. More than being the best friend he has. I want to be more than that.
But it's always been like that with him hasn't it, I admit. I want more. But I settle for anything he can give me. And at the moment, that's not a lot.
But it's enough.
*
We decide to go to Grimmauld Place and pay a visit to Kreacher. I haven't expected us to run into Ron today, or anyone else in particular, but I wonder if he is worried we might. He doesn't seem to be. We walk slowly and I'm not sure if I'm imagining it but it feels like he's drawing out our time together too.
We walk and tube to Grimmauld, and I quite enjoy the novelty of not travelling by magic. He laughs at me as I put the ticket into the turnstile with poorly hidden delight. I used to take the tube with my Mum occasionally, but I haven't for years.
Kreacher is overwhelmed to see us. He insists on fixing food, and we both humour him, even though neither of us is hungry yet. But we have something to drink and spend the afternoon in the kitchen, picking at the feast Kreacher prepares.
We barely talk at all because even memories aren't safe. When we've tried, inevitably the subject of Ron, and or, worse, Ginny promises to come up and I think neither of us would really know what to say then.
Eventually Harry goes up to his room, returning in new clothes and with a small bag. It makes me remember that I have no idea where he's going or when he'll be back again and I feel slightly sick all of a sudden.
"Do you remember your promise? Last time."
He glances at me and I wonder if he's forgotten. I press on.
"You said we could send Capella." The beautiful bird ruffles her wings from her perch at the mention of her name.
He nods. "I did." He stands there and watches me for a moment. Then suddenly he goes over to her and bends to her white head, patting her gently as he speaks to her in a low voice.
He walks back to me, slowly, the way people do when they're approaching you to say goodbye. When he gets to me, he buries his hands in his pockets and smiles.
"Just not too often okay?"
I stare at his chest in front of me, wondering if these goodbyes will get any easier. I place my palms flat on him, looking at them instead.
"Well, just not too long then. Okay?" I look up at him finally.
He stares back, his face serious and unreadable.
"Not too long" he repeats. Then he slides his hand to my neck, his thumb resting along my jaw. We stay like that for just a second before he leans to kiss the opposite cheek quite hard, gripping my neck and pulling me in to him. He kisses me once and then presses his face into my hair. Then abruptly he drops his hand and walks past me without another glance.
When I turn, he's at the door. He raises a hand to Kreacher and then looks at me.
"Bye."
My reply is resolute.
"See you soon."
*
The next wait is less torturous than the last, for several reasons.
The first is that I know he's coming back. I don't know how exactly, I just know, I'm sure now.
The second is that Ron starts seeing someone else.
I don't think it's really serious. He met her through his job at the Ministry. From everything I hear, she seems more interested in Ron's fame than anything, but he's happy - and off my back. We can have lunch as friends now and the last time I paid a visit to the Burrow there was no awkwardness between us. I was glad Ginny was at Quidditch training at the time though. There has been no thaw in the slight tension between her and me.
Lastly is the fact that a week after he goes, I send my first letter.
It takes me a long time to figure out what to write and I'm not hopeful of getting a reply. But once I finish I sit back and reread it, happy with the final draft.
H,
So I know it's only been a week but there's only so much suspense I can handle...I need to see if this works. C is dying to prove herself too; though K is paranoid she'll get hurt again. I really hope this finds you, and you can let me know you're okay - wherever you are.
Things with me are good. Training is going really well, my scores are creeping up again. I'm assisting at St M's from next week so that should be interesting.
I miss you. How long will you keep us waiting this time?
Love,
H.
I leave the names out as a precaution. I figure he is being secretive for a reason, and I don't want to put him, or anyone for that matter, in any danger.
It's another two weeks before I get an answer.
H,
Yes it works. I thought one week was pretty restrained of you actually.
C did perfectly. Please tell K she's in no danger. She drops the letters somewhere safe.
St M's will be lucky to have you. You're going to be an amazing Healer.
Two days.
I miss you too.
H.
It's written in biro, on lined paper. His writing is just as I remember it from school though, even though it isn't written with a quill and ink. I must read that letter a thousand times. I decide it isn't safe to carry it with me though; Ron or Luna or someone could stumble across it, so I have to unlock the drawer of my bedside cabinet whenever I want to read it. Which is often.
Two days he said.
And he was telling the truth.
*
Sometimes when you and I collide
I fall into an ocean of you
Pull me out in time don't let me drown.
*
I know he's coming because Crookshanks is antsy for the whole hour beforehand. I don't know how he knows, but I've given up questioning anything about that cat.
All I can do is wait.
He's slightly intoxicated again this time. I smell it on him when I wrap him in my hug; I notice he lifts me off the ground a little while I'm burying my face in his neck. When he sets me down again I look at him properly and my smile drops, he has a bruised eye and a split lip.
"What happened!"
I automatically go to touch it and he leans back avoiding my hand. He smiles and shakes his head, shrugging out of his jacket.
"Nothing - just a scuffle. No damage."
"But..." I trail off because I automatically want to apply paste or fix his lip but that would require magic. I remember a muggle first aid kit my Mum gave me when I moved in - for some strange reason; she still doesn't really understand about Healing - and I grab a chair to reach it from the top cupboard while he opens the fridge.
I interrupt his cooking minutes later to apply some primitive antiseptic cream on his cut lip.
"Wait...don't.."
"It's a muggle remedy. Don't have a fit" I mutter as I dab it on his lip. He rolls his eyes but tolerates my ministrations, standing still.
"This is recent. Like, tonight recent."
"Mmm."
I make a tsk noise. "'Mmm' he says."
He grins at that, and then grimaces as the lip breaks again.
"Hold still."
He presses his lips together but he's still smiling slightly. I sigh.
"What am I gonna do with you."
"I don't deserve you, you know that right?"
"Yes."
I set the table for him and wait, to sit and watch him eat, to barely talk, I know. I don't care. He's here and it's enough. I pour a glass of wine.
"So. How's Ron."
I just about choke on my drink. I stare at him, eyes wide, eyebrows raised.
He doesn't look fazed at all. "What?"
"Uh...well...we haven't talked about him since... since you started visiting. Why the turn around?"
He shrugs, stabs at the food on his plate.
"Dunno. Just wanna know if the grumpy bastard is alright I guess."
I tell him, everything Ron's been up to work wise, how he tried out for but didn't get into the Tutshill Tornadoes.
"And he's really mad about it because Ginny's doing so...."
I cut off mid sentence which is probably the worst thing I could do but I can't help it. I think his face flushes and I curse myself inwardly. But he recovers and carries on.
"It's okay. How is Ginny?"
I shake my head. "Not so good. She still misses you. I ...I wish you'd just write to her or something."
He drops his fork with a clatter, and takes a long drink.
"There's no point Hermione. There's nothing more to say."
I frown but drop it for now. I don't really want to talk about Ginny anyway.
"Why do you come and see me Harry?"
He stops chewing and looks at me. Finally he starts again, and I can see him thinking.
"I just... I needed ...a bit of sanity." He smiles and I think he's trying to be offhand. "And I know you'll let me in."
"Any of your friends would let you in. They all miss you."
He concentrates on his plate.
"Yeah, but you let me in...unconditionally."
I think about that for a moment and realise he's right. I wonder if that's a good or a bad thing. I decide to change the subject.
"So, the fight - did you win?"
He laughs, and dabs gingerly at his lip.
"Two drunk bastards fighting? No one wins."
I just shake my head.
We go about our routine and after his shower he lets me retouch his wound.
"I wish you'd let me do this properly."
He mimics me in a silly voice and I hit him on the shoulder but can't help smiling. He grins and stands there, jiggling a bit, itching to sit down. He smells good now, and the grey singlet I brought him hugs his chest and narrow torso too nicely. I roll my eyes. Stop - I admonish myself slightly.
"What."
"Nothing. When are you leaving?"
"First thing."
I'm disappointed; I thought he'd at least have another day.
"Sorry, I shouldn't really have come. It's getting a bit..."
I narrow my eyes at him and he looks away; I can see he's said too much. He sits on his couch and I put my hands on my hips.
"Are you ever going to tell me what you're up to?"
He makes a face as if he's considering. "Not if I can help it."
I throw the used cotton bud at him. He's smiling again, and he swings his legs up on the couch. He reaches down to his ankle and pulls the gun out of its holster, stripping it down, checking it and removing the magazine, laying it all on the coffee table. I just watch him as he does all this brazenly, not worried about me seeing anymore.
I fall into my armchair. I'll end up here anyway.
He arches an eyebrow at me, but just lies back.
"You comfortable there?"
"Wake me when you head out."
He nods. I turn off the tv and we both settle down to sleep.
"Harry?"
"Mmm?"
"Thanks for writing me."
His reply comes after a while, through the darkness.
"Thanks for writing me first."
*
I don't sleep well, because I'm anxious about my plan.
Every time he stirs I wake, and whip my head around to him. He mumbles in his sleep, I make out a few clear words; 'not ready', 'have to cut it' - strange murmurings. And one name. A girls name, he says it a few times.
Angie.
It burns my gut in that familiar way from school. Whoever Angie is, I hope she's good to him.
After that, I perform the Dreamless Sleep charm again.
I'm still awake when I hear him get up, quietly get dressed and go and make some tea, for me. Pre dawn light is only just creeping through the curtains. He finally moves over to touch my shoulder.
"Hermione."
He waits patiently while I pretend to wake and then hands me the mug of tea.
"How long this time?"
"Longer."
"Harry."
"Sorry. But you can write." I glare up at him and he amends his sentence. "I'd like it if you write."
I nod. "Okay."
"I've really gotta go."
I go to put my tea down but he stops me.
"Don't get up."
He bends and lightly holds my face, kissing the top of my head and holding his lips there for a few seconds.
"I'll see you."
I mumble a 'see you soon' and then he's gone.
I abandon the tea and throw my blanket off quickly, bounding up the stairs two at a time. I chuck on my jeans, a jumper and shoes almost without breaking stride and get to my beside cabinet and unlock it, pulling out the gossamer thin material in there that I took from Grimmauld Place last week.
Seconds later I'm on the street, wand in hand, under the Invisibility Cloak. I whirl my head around and just see his back as he turns the corner of my street in the distance. I hurry to follow.
There is, after all, only so much mystery this witch can take.
*
I run to the corner he disappeared around, gripping the cloak around me.
When I round the corner I just about bang into him.
I swallow my surprised squeak and cover my mouth, stopping just in time. I try to still my breathing while I back away a bit.
He's standing still, just looking around, calmly. His eyes belie his apparent calm though, darting everywhere - up to windows, up and down the street, looking for ...something. He reminds me of an animal, paused to smell for a predator.
Then he shoves his hands in his pockets and walks, head down, but eyes still searching. I follow fairly closely; glad I put soft soled shoes on.
He crosses the street and I have to walk faster to keep up with his stride. I almost miss when he ducks into an alley at the last minute.
We break through on to a parallel street and I realise for the first time, we're heading in the opposite direction of the tube.
Then he stops by a car, pulls some keys from his pocket and pushes a button. The car flashes a welcome and all the locks come undone.
I don't know anything about cars. But I know this is a nice one, not too flashy - but expensive. It's black, with a black leather interior.
I watch in amazement and frustration as he steps down into it and turns the key. The car roars into life, the engine is quite throaty at first, and then settles to a low rumble.
It mirrors the angry burn in my chest as Harry checks his mirrors, then peels away into the street, gone in seconds.
"Fuck it." I'm not much for swearing myself but sometimes it's the only thing that sums it up.
*
Lyrics credit: Shadow of the Day by Linkin Park, Sway by Bic Runga.