Yet another A/N: Here's a warning-acting on some advice, I've combined and slightly rewritten a few of my earlier chapters. Nothing pertinent to the overall arch of the story has really been altered, so it isn't entirely necessary to read them when I post them (which, for the record, I haven't yet.) After this chapter, you may notice that there are fourteen chapters, rather than seventeen. Don't worry. Nothing's changed, just keep on reading. I hope you enjoy getting to know… Jackie and Yasmine.
Chapter Seventeen
"Jackie, don't run!" Yasmine tugged at Jackie's small hand as Jackie tried to make a dash for the stairs. Jackie gripped Oats' soft paw tightly and made a face at the older girl.
"Why not?" she demanded, "Dusty said there was a room for me upstairs."
"Hermione!" Harry called, hurrying down the staircase, "They're here!"
"Yes, I know-" Hermione called from somewhere upstairs, sounded exasperated, "My goodness, Ben, just hold still! A little clean water's not going to hurt you. Of course it had to be the last full paint bucket we had--stop sniggering, Adrian, I know you tipped the thing over-don't give me that look; I was standing right there watching you!"
Harry shook his head and grinned in greeting.
"Hi, Yasmine-Jackie. If you like, we can go see your rooms."
"Told you," Jackie said smugly, and pulling away from Yasmine's hand, she darted up the staircase, Oats clutched in her hand. Harry grinned at Yasmine's look of dismay.
"Don't worry about it," he said good-naturedly, waving a hand, "It's your house, too, you know. Come on, then-"
He motioned towards her, and hesitantly, she followed Harry up the huge wooden staircase, running a hand across the polished banister and trying not to look shocked. It was the biggest house she had ever encountered, perhaps as big as the mansions she had read about. She touched the stone wall on her other side, feeling the cool bumps of each stone under her fingertips. If she tried, she could picture this as a castle. She stared at Harry's back, examining him carefully.
He didn't exactly look like a prince or anything particularly unusual, though she did notice he had a rather boyish look about him. He'd fit better with Robin Hood and his merry men, she decided as they neared the last step. He didn't have broad shoulders like the pictures in the old battered book at St. Mungo's, but he looked lean and moved quickly. That was how she pictured Robin, anyway, except with fair hair and blue eyes, instead of that unusual shade of green. And no glasses, but that didn't matter.
He turned and grinned at her, and she noticed the famous lightning bolt scar on his forehead. It was thin and rather hard to miss.
"Coming?"
She blinked and realized she was still standing three steps below the landing. She turned slightly red and hurried up the last three steps.
"Just-looking around," she said, and he grinned again. It was a sort of crooked smile, she noticed, as if one side of his mouth wanted to smile more than the other end did. Just the sort of smile for the merry thief living in Sherwood Forest, she decided, kind but rather mischievous.
"This isn't working," sighed a voice from the second door down the hallway, on Yasmine's right. Harry snorted with laughter.
"Hermione, Yasmine's here, and Jackie's probably in her room by now-"
Yasmine took a few cautious steps forward, peering through the doorway. It was a rather roomy bathroom with two sinks and soft yellow walls, with matching towels, though they were currently strewn across the countertop.
Hermione, she thought, what a lovely name.
Ben was standing in the bathtub. Every inch of visible skin was covered in white and soapy water. Adrian was perched on the end of the bathtub, stifling laughter, and not very well, either.
Hermione, the woman who had been with Harry before, was wielding a sponge and looking extremely frustrated. Her curly brown hair was back in a very messy ponytail, and her nose was wrinkled slightly.
"Hello, Yasmine," she said, wringing the sponge over Ben's head and releasing a stream of soapy water. "I'm sorry I couldn't come to the door, but someone decided to pull a bit of a prank today."
Adrian pressed his hands hard over his mouth, muffling his laughter. Ben scowled, and Yasmine was surprised to see that the white moved with his mouth.
"That's all right," Yasmine said, as Hermione scrubbed at the back of Ben's ears. She looked back at Harry. He was lounging against the doorframe, arms crossed and mouth twitching.
"Well, Hermione," Harry said in amusement, "I reckon I've never seen a paint bucket fall with that much accuracy."
"Oh, don't you start," Hermione muttered, turning on the water. It thundered and steamed as it poured from the spout onto Hermione's sponge, "It's partially your fault, you know."
Harry put on a face of injured innocence.
"My fault?" he repeated, with mock surprise, "Now why would you say that?"
"Because, as you well know-Ben, stop moving, for the last time-you let Adrian go into Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes the other day, where you bought him prank paint!" Hermione let out a noise of frustration, and upended the soap bottle over Ben's head. "I'm sorry, Ben, but this doesn't seem to be working."
Ben made a face at Adrian, spluttering as she turned on the shower. "It's okay-it's not… not your fault!"
He spat out some soap and snapped, "It's not funny!"
Adrian smirked.
"I think it's awfully funny, Ben. You should have seen your face-it looked like someone had fried an egg on it-"
"Ben, hold still!" Hermione grabbed his arm (which was still covered in paint) and restrained him from wrestling his younger brother.
"Have you asked George about a solution?" Harry hadn't finished his question before Hermione jumped back from the bathtub, yelping, "Now, honestly, who let him install the showerhead?"
"Thank you for using Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes Sprinkler Showerhead," recited the showerhead as it spurted water at an already drenched Hermione, "We hope you come back to try our other-"
Harry stifled a laugh and handed Hermione a towel, brushing aside the hair plastered to her face. "That's a new one."
"That's the last time George works on this house," Hermione muttered, grabbing her wand and drying herself off with a quick flick. "I swear, if he tries anything else-"
"Have you asked about a solution?" Harry repeated, hanging the towel up on the rack as Hermione dried the floor with another flick of her wand.
"Oh, naturally," Hermione said, picking up the sponge again and doggedly scrubbing at Ben's arms, "but according to George, the only way to get it off is to wash. And unfortunately, it's going to take a good three hours to get it off. Not that we've seen any progress."
She sighed and gazed at Ben, who matched her miserable expression perfectly as he gazed glumly back.
"The only other thing I can think of is to let him sit and soak in the bathtub for two and a half hours," she said wearily, "but I don't know if that would work."
"I'd like that better," Ben muttered, glaring at Adrian, "as long as he gets out of here."
Hermione sighed.
"Well, it's worth a try, then," she said, picking up the half-empty soap bottle and starting the bathwater. "You might as well just throw those clothes away, Ben, as I don't think I'm going to get the paint off of them."
She dumped a liberal amount of soap in the bathtub.
"And you, young man!" she said, staring frostily at Adrian. He wilted. "You will be sitting in your room for the same amount of time that Ben has to be in the bathtub. After that, you'd best be ready to apologize to your brother."
Adrian slid off the edge of the bathtub, looking somewhat subdued, and shuffled out the door, past a somewhat wide-eyed Yasmine. He stopped and looked up at Harry.
"It was funny all the same, wasn't it?" he said in a loud whisper.
"March!"
He jumped and hurried out of the room.
Harry managed to keep a straight face as Hermione herded the rest of them out of the bathroom, though his eyes watered and hiding his laughter was rather painful.
"I'm sorry that you had to watch that, Yasmine," Hermione said, as they walked further down the hallway. "They're very good boys, really, but I'm afraid our friend George Weasley has taken it upon himself to instill mischief into Adrian at an early age."
She noticed Harry's determinedly straight expression and added, "And you're not helping, Potter, so don't you start that."
Yasmine shrugged. Something painful had begun in her gut, almost like hunger, only it-wasn't. It was just that sort of longing, though, as she watched the four others interact, as though she had just been presented with a great feast and then been swept away, without getting a single bite.
"Oh, that's all right," Yasmine said truthfully, "I don't mind it."
Hermione smiled at her. She looked rather pretty when she did, Yasmine noticed. She could almost imagine her in a storybook- or in a Greek myth, perhaps-a naiad or a dryad… a natural, earthy beauty with that curly brown hair and soft brown eyes…
"Look, Yaz, I found my room!" Jackie popped her head out of the first doorway, beaming. "It's pink!"
Yasmine looked back at Harry and Hermione, watching them exchange smiles. There was something in the way Hermione looked at him… and she felt a pang again, a sort of painful gray feeling fogging her mind for a quick moment.
"Come on, Yazzy!" Jackie tugged at her hand impatiently, and with one last look back at the two adults, Yasmine followed Jackie into the room.
Harry put an arm around Hermione's shoulder and squeezed gently.
"Oh, come on, Hermione… you have to admit he looked funny," he prodded teasingly, and Hermione smiled reluctantly.
"Yes, he did, but Ben looked so miserable that I couldn't laugh. Really, Harry. I can't believe you took Adrian into the shop and bought him something."
Harry chuckled.
"I didn't think it could do much harm. It was only prank paint."
He took her hand and pulled her to look in the doorway. Jackie was on the floor, playing with a soft plush doll Hermione had placed carefully on her pink bedspread. Yasmine was watching, though her expression was hard to read.
"Yasmine?"
She turned, and Harry let go of Hermione's hand as he sat beside Jackie.
Hermione smiled and motioned to her.
"Would you like to see your room?"
She nodded. "Yes, very much."
Hermione opened the door next to Jackie's and led Yasmine walk in. She heard the girl let out a soft gasp.
Hermione entered the room and stood beside her.
"I heard you liked to read." Hermione said quietly, as Yasmine touched the bookshelves cautiously. Most of the books looked rather old. "Just like me."
Yasmine looked up at her. Hermione's smile was warm, invitingly kind. And again she felt a wistful feeling flit across her.
"Most of these are my old books," she went on, motioning to the bookshelves lining the walls, "There's some for Jackie, too-picture books. But-there's two on the bed I'd like you to look at."
Yasmine glanced at her uncertainly, then moved over to the bed. Resting on its rich red covers were two battered books.
"Little Women?" Yasmine read, picking up the first, rather thicker one. She eased open the cover, running a finger down the pages and gazing at the picture on the cover page. "I've never heard of this before."
"It's by an American Muggle by the name of Louisa May Alcott." Hermione explained, "It's about four girls-all sisters-named Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy. It's a wonderful book about a family that sticks together, even when things change."
At the mention of families, Yasmine was reminded of the families she had seen at the Children's Ward that day. The way the kids argued and yet seemed to completely accept each other, the way the parents watched over their kids with that gentle, steady authority and ownership, and how much she had wanted to ask, more than anything, what exactly was wrong with her.
But there was no use thinking about it, Yasmine reminded herself firmly. Or at least she meant it to be firmly, but her throat had swollen shut suddenly and she found herself feeling rather sick.
Yasmine looked up at her, and sat slowly down on the bed.
"It sounds nice," she whispered, feeling tears well up in her eyes. Embarrassed, she swiped a hand across her eyes and stared down at the pages. She had to keep talking-if only Katy were here; then perhaps Hermione's full attention wouldn't have been focused on her. "And what's the other one?"
She picked it up and opened the second one.
"There's nothing in it," she said, puzzled. "Just empty pages."
She looked at Hermione for an explanation, and Hermione smiled.
"That's for you to write in. Katy told me you like to write stories."
Yasmine stared at her, and something seemed to snap inside her, as if there had been a harness around her emotions before. She shut the book firmly, surprising even herself with her brash actions.
"Not anymore," she said flatly. Hermione looked at her in surprise as Yasmine stood up, turning away. "I don't want to write again."
"Why not?" Hermione asked, surprised.
Yasmine turned around.
"Because… because they're all-" her eyes looked dark, stormy, and Hermione cautiously moved forward to touch her arm.
"They're all lies," Yasmine said finally, defiantly. Even as she spoke, she felt as though she had just insulted someone very dear to her and very great, almost as if the books could hear her. "Every-every…orphan in them gets a family, and it's not true. It's not. They get a mother or a rich grandfather or a grandmother or a father, and it never happens in real life."
She saw Hermione's eyes soften in understanding and she felt a flare of anger boil in her gut. She turned away, hiding the hot tears that were trembling in her eyes. "You don't understand. No one does."
"Yasmine-"
"You don't know what it's like!" Yasmine burst out, a few tears escaping before she could stop them. Her throat seized up, and a sob bubbled up in her voice, "You have a family-you and Ben and Adrian and Harry-I saw it! And you don't mind stories about families or orphans, because you have a family. But I don't, and I hate them!"
She felt an angry sort of triumph sweep over her, rather like she imagined a villain would feel when confronted with her enemy, and she held her chin up high. Of course, she would start crying when she finished, but it was rather hard to stop. She couldn't imagine any villain looking or feeling victorious with her face all puffed up and wet, and this spoiled her defiance immediately. She only cried harder.
She stiffened as Hermione wrapped her arms around her, saying helplessly, `Yasmine, I'm sorry-"
Yasmine could only vaguely register the anger that burned in her now. Everything inside her was so dreadfully and miserably mixed up, and she felt as though she were drowning in the hot, wet haze that falls on someone who has been crying very hard for a short period of time.
"So is everyone else," she managed to choke finally, trying to get away from her embrace, "Everyone else is sorry for me, and I'm sick of it. I'm tired of it. They never do anything about it."
Just after she'd said that, she realized whom she had spoken to.
She scrubbed her eyes on Hermione's soft blouse, realizing how tightly Hermione was holding her. She could hear the soft thud of Hermione's heartbeat against her ear. The crying must have done her some good, she thought somewhat miserably, for now she felt much more in control. But now I'm trembling all over, and I've got a terrible headache…
"Never mind," she whispered feebly, feeling hot shame flood her heart. "I… thanks for the books."
Hermione's hand stroked her hair once before she let go.
"You can take as many as you like back to St. Mungo's with you. You'll be moving in soon."
Yasmine nodded, again feeling waves of embarrassment travel over her before she turned away, pretending to examine the bookshelves.
Hermione opened her mouth, as if to speak, then thought better of it. Yasmine's dark hair covered her face as she bent, seemingly engaged in one of her old books.
"Just let me know if you need anything," she said quietly, before gently shutting the door behind her.
It took Yasmine a second to realize she was alone.
She scrubbed her eyes again and put down the book. She glanced around the room, taking in the welcome sight of all the old books lining the bookshelves.
She wandered over to the bed and crawled into the soft, freshly washed covers. The pillows were just as Katy had said they were, "puffy, but not too puffy, you know."
Katy had been so terribly excited when she had gotten back. Yasmine had known her long enough to notice how bright her eyes got when something wonderful had happened.
Except there had never been so much mystery in the excitement before. Yasmine had waited eagerly for her turn to visit. Turns had been always been decided by who won a certain game in the group. Of course they would pick chess this time, a game Yasmine had never quite understood. The old, second-hand pieces that some well-meaning, wealthy person had sent to complete the chess set never seemed to like her much. She supposed this had something to do with her attempt to give each of the pieces funny names, even though that had been a long time ago. So she had lost to Katy and beaten Jack. (This had been deliciously satisfying at the time, but Jack didn't seem to care all that much, and it's not really all that fun to beat someone who didn't want care if they won, and didn't put very much effort into it.) Jackie, who wasn't old enough to know how to play yet, had been assigned to take Yasmine's turn with her. (That had been an almost-collective decision, as everyone agreed that Yasmine was the most responsible of the group. Jack had disagreed, but then, they always disagreed.)
Needless to say, it had been extremely difficult to coax any satisfactory description from either of the two who had previously visited, as Dusty merely smiled his careful smile and said, "It was nice."
Katy was a bit easier, and though she talked a good deal and willingly answered all the questions she could, she wasn't able to describe anything in detail. She had only said that she thought Harry's eyes were green, maybe blue, and didn't Yasmine notice when he had first visited? So even though Yasmine had studied the two grown-ups as best she could, she still couldn't imagine what they were like, only that they were kind and good at listening and clever with tools.
But now, Yasmine felt unsettled. She supposed she had, as Jack would put it, "made a right old mess of things, like girls always do." She gazed at the ceiling, feeling ill.
She supposed Hermione would go tell Harry about what had happened, and she was probably quite upset with her for yelling and insulting her. Yasmine's insides squirmed at the thought of what they would say to Healer Smitt. Most likely they would go off about how terribly ungrateful she had been, though something deep within her told her that they weren't the kind of grown-ups to complain.
She sat there for a long time, staring at the ceiling and imagining all kinds of consequences that might occur. Would she be left behind at St. Mungo's while the others came and lived here? Yasmine pictured herself living alone in the old hospital ward, with only Healer Smitt for company, and shuddered. Healer Smitt was nice enough, as far as adults go, but hardly someone who really enjoyed a kid's company.
There was a knock at the door.
"Hey," chirped a voice from outside. Without waiting for an answer, Adrian pushed the door open and trotted inside.
He blinked.
"You girls really like your naps, don't you? Katy slept when she came, too." he said, "Hermione says lunch is ready."
Yasmine sat up and pushed back the covers.
"I wasn't asleep," she said hastily, "she doesn't mind if I eat lunch with all of you?"
Adrian stared.
"Why would she?" he said incredulously, "You can't think that you'll be eating by yourself when you come live with us? If you don't get downstairs, the sandwiches will be gone before we get there."
She slid to the floor.
"Come on," Adrian said rather impatiently, "I'm not allowed to let you stay up here. Or else Harry says he won't let me eat, but I think he was joking, or at least Hermione says he is. `Course, she glared at him rather awfully when he started laughing, but I think she was trying not to smile. And I'm already in enough trouble, besides, because I dumped paint on Ben. I don't see why it was all so terrible, since it's all off except for his hair-he looks like an old man, except he hasn't got a beard like my grandfather did."
"All old men don't have beards," said Yasmine, following him out the door. Adrian shrugged.
"Well, the only ones I've ever met did," he said matter-of-factly as they reached the staircase. He darted downstairs, taking two at a time. Yasmine hurried to catch up with him. He paused, glancing toward the kitchen.
"What?" Yasmine said curiously. He grinned.
"I don't know. I think girls are strange. That's what Harry says, but I don't mind you and Jackie and Katy and Hermione, but that's it."
He paused.
"You don't like me very much, do you?"
"What makes you think that?" Yasmine said in surprise. He shrugged.
"Just the way you stare," Adrian said frankly, "without any expression, like you don't know exactly where you are."
Yasmine stared at him, frowning.
"Ginny has a friend," Adrian started walking again, apparently unaware of how potentially insulting his remark was, "named Luna. She gets the same look, but less angry-looking. Hermione says," and he made his voice like a girl's, or what he fondly imagined was like one, "Really, I don't know where her mind is, half the time, much as I love her."
Yasmine stifled a laugh.
"Then there's that," Adrian started walking backwards and looking at her at the same time, "as if you're afraid to laugh. It's much better if you laugh out loud, you know."
Before Yasmine could reply, Adrian backed right into Hermione.
"I hope you're being kind," she said to Adrian, catching him before he tumbled to the ground, "And my goodness, be careful. You haven't got eyes at the back of your head, you know."
"Harry says you do," Adrian said, scampering into the kitchen, "leave some of the ham ones for me!"
"Oh, he does, does he?" Hermione said rather loudly, and Harry was heard stifling another laugh.
"I'm getting blamed for everything," he complained.
Hermione shook her head.
"Yasmine, the sandwiches are on the counter. I'll get you something to drink."
Yasmine followed her into the kitchen. Harry was leaning up against the counter, one hand holding a sandwich and Jackie in the other arm. "Turkey or tomato?"
"Turkey, please," she said hesitantly. He handed her a sandwich.
"Plate, Harry," Hermione said absently, without turning around. Harry winked. Yasmine stifled another laugh, and Jackie giggled.
"Harry, I'm serious," Hermione turned around and handed Yasmine a glass of lemonade. Harry grinned and handed her a plate.
Yasmine looked at Hermione uncomfortably.
"Is something wrong?" Hermione asked, leaning on the counter. Yasmine flinched.
"I… expected you to be angry."
Hermione looked surprised.
"Why would I be angry? Did I seem angry?"
"Well," Yasmine said, taken aback. She thought about it, then admitted, "no. You didn't."
"Well, I wasn't," Hermione said, handing Harry a napkin and motioning to the corners of his mouth. He swiped at the mustard obediently. "If anyone had the right to be angry, it was you, and I don't blame you in the least. You were right-I don't fully understand."
Yasmine felt a pang of guilt.
"Well, no, not completely!" she blurted out, "I'm sorry."
"And I am too." Hermione said warmly, "I do hope you come back to writing sometime-we all need a bit of imagination."
Yasmine felt herself smile.
"Maybe… I will. Just maybe."
Hermione smiled.
"I'll look forward to it."
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