A/N: As I have still not been able to re-upload the other chapters, here is the newest one. Hopefully you will enjoy getting a glimpse into Dusty's mind.
Chapter Nineteen
Dusty glanced around surreptitiously, and then closed his fingers around the slender bit of chalk. He crouched on the floor, etching a soft, sweeping curve of a face. It made a slightly squeaky sound against the wood slats.
The lines were faint, wispy, but they seemed to shine with-not life, exactly, but beginning. He didn't know whether anyone else understood exactly what he meant. He frowned, squinting one eye and wondering how to direct those fragile lines with his next stroke.
He could not forget, hard as he tried, how much he wished he were at the house, with that easel and chalkboard. In that quiet, with no threat hanging dangerously above his head as he tried to lift those lines from lines to life.
He slipped his tongue from his mouth thoughtfully. Under his guidance, the chalk uncovered a pair of eyes, kind and friendly.
He wished he had colors, then. Colors to let the lines breathe, stretch. The eyes gazed at him from the floor, waiting for him to give them a smile to match.
A soft smile, a slight dimple in the right cheek- he shifted on his knees. A neck, and shoulders, soft and sweeping, and then… he allowed curls to spill down the shoulders, somewhat wild no matter how he tried to straighten them. A torso, a small waist…
But the woman he had drawn was not looking at him. He frowned. There was something, someone else he hadn't found yet. He raised the chalk, and with careful deliberation, he began drawing another person to her right. An strong arm around the woman's waist. A face bent near hers, so close that the two smiles nearly touched, and a mess of hair. Round glasses, a thin scar.
He frowned. There were other things, hiding there. He raised the chalk, then lowered it. He felt, quite firmly, that he was not to find them yet.
He smiled halfway, his smile not quite stretching the whole way.
He'd find it eventually, when the picture wanted him to.
He reached beside him, and without hesitation, he splashed a cupful of water across the picture. The cloudy water swept across the woman and the man, but that didn't bother him.
The picture was still there, really. Hidden to everyone's eyes but his.
He mopped up the water with a handkerchief, slipped the chalk into his pocket, and crept out to the hallway to sit against the wall. He sat next to Yasmine. She was staring blankly at the opposite wall, looking unusually solemn.
"Dusty?"
He looked at her. Her eyes, dark like her long hair, seemed anxious. He nodded to show he was listening.
"We're moving tomorrow."
"I know," he said. The others had talked about it.
She looked around them, at the empty, hushed white hallways. The closed doorways that had always been closed, the muffled sounds of Healer activity.
"Are you scared?" she whispered at last.
He shook his head. "Not really."
She hugged her knees, resting her chin on them. "What do you suppose it will be like?"
"Different."
She looked at him, with that flare of gold-brown in her eyes that showed she was annoyed. "I know it's going to be different. But good different, or bad different?"
He shrugged.
"Suppose it depends."
She looked at the wet kerchief balled up in his hand, and at the chalk smudged on his cheek.
"What do you think it'll be for you?"
He considered this. Smiles of chalk entered his mind, images of real smiles waiting for him.
"Good," he said simply, "Happy."
She nodded, frowning thoughtfully.
"Do you think Jack's right?"
He shrugged. He rarely ever expressed opinions on Jack's ideas. Jack wouldn't be swayed from them anyway.
"Do you really think they might… adopt some of us and not the others?"
He shrugged again.
"I'm not sure," he said truthfully. "But they won't adopt us if we don't want it."
"I want it," she whispered after a long pause, "Don't you?"
He thought about this.
"We'd have to leave the others," he said at last. She fell silent.
"I know," she said after a moment, "But… I still want to. I want…"
She trailed off. Dusty rubbed his fingers against the kerchief. The white chalk disappeared off his fingers, leaving them damp and pink.
"So do the rest of us," he said finally, "we just want it together."
She looked at him, startled. He wiped his fingers against his jeans.
"Haven't you ever imagined a family?"
He shook his head. She sighed softly.
"You must've at least once," she prodded. He shook his head again.
"The picture hasn't come yet."
She stared. "What's that mean?"
He shrugged. And she looked away, letting it go.
He didn't expect her to understand. But no matter how often he tried to coax the lines into a picture of parents or anything like that, they went awry. He took this to mean he wasn't to find it yet.
"I wish I were more like you and Katy," Yasmine said suddenly, "nothing seems to frighten you."
He shrugged.
"Unfinished pictures," he responded. She looked at him, puzzled.
He smiled slowly.
"I don't understand you," she said resignedly, "but if that's the only thing that frightens you, I think you're lucky."
She stood up and wandered into the room. He stared at the wall.
There was one picture he had never managed to finish, and Dusty had never tried to draw it again. He had almost been glad when an irritated Healer Smitt had discovered it and mopped it away.
It was the picture of himself. For some reason, he was always alone, and this frightened him more than anything. For he would search and draw and he even tried to imagine, but his picture always remained solitary.
And his slow, slow smile was always lonely.
He hugged himself, huddling against the wall at the thought.
Dusty stared at the blank wall.
When you draw a picture of yourself, you always discover things about yourself that you don't like to think about.
And Dusty never liked to think about his loneliness.
~*~
The next day was filled with the flurry of activity. Harry and Hermione and Ron and Ginny came early the next morning, ready to help move the few belongings of each child over to the big house. Jackie, who was too small to pack her own things, merely hopped on Ron's back as he picked up the suitcases and Flooed back over to the house. Ginny helped Yasmine pack Jackie's things, and Hermione made sure that each boy hadn't forgotten anything.
After a hectic half an hour of moving, every child finally made it into the house, all of their things sitting in their respective rooms. Immediately, Adrian and Ben were able to coax Jack and Dusty into playing a game of catch, and Katy offered to show Yasmine the workroom. Ron handed Jackie off to Harry, who obligingly offered to continue their game of dolls. (He ignored Ron's slight snigger and put Jackie on his shoulders, making her laugh.)
"Well, Hermione, I don't particularly envy you," Ginny commented, looking amused, "You've got your plate full enough as it is."
"I'll manage," Hermione said briskly, striding out onto the porch to watch the boys in the backyard, "your mother did it, didn't she?"
"Yes, but she had my dad, too." Ginny pointed out, "And we were all her own kids. Don't tell me you don't want a family of your own, too?"
Yasmine and Katy froze by the screen door at the words.
Hermione paused, and Yasmine instinctively grabbed Katy's hand. Already fear had clawed at her stomach. Surely this was far too early for this to be happening; Hermione wouldn't give up on them for a family of her own, so soon?
Hermione let out a breath. Yasmine held her breath and squeezed Katy's hand.
"Well," she said carefully, "I won't pretend I haven't thought about it, but… that's a while off yet. I'm not in a serious relationship or anything-"
"Harry seems pretty serious," the girls heard Ginny mutter, but Hermione ignored her.
"Besides, I still have my training to finish, and I have my hands full enough as it is."
Yasmine relaxed and looked at Katy.
"Wouldn't it have been awful if…?" she whispered, unable to finish.
"She wouldn't have." Katy whispered back firmly, though she looked slightly shaken, "She's just moved us in."
She pushed open the screen door.
"Come on, Yaz, let's play catch."
~*~
The next evening, Dusty sat on the kitchen floor as Hermione busied herself with dinner. Adrian tossed a pair of cards in between them.
"Pairs. Now you have to play a higher pair."
Obediently, Dusty peered at the cards. Two threes. He glanced at his cards, and picked out two jacks. He placed them on top of Adrian's cards.
"Your turn, Yasmine."
She frowned, then placed two aces on top of Dusty's cards. Adrian whistled, impressed.
"Pass, then." When the other two looked at him in puzzlement, he explained, "I can't play higher than that. What about you?"
Dusty shook his head. "Ace is the highest card."
"Not in this game," Adrian corrected, "twos are the highest cards. Hearts is the highest suit, so the two of hearts is the highest card."
Dusty glanced at his cards.
"Pass."
Jack, who looked somewhat happier than he had yesterday, passed as well. He reached out and stroked Crookshanks' back, making him purr.
"So now you start again," Adrian said, motioning to Yasmine, "With a run or a pair or three matching. If you can play four of a number, that beats anything. You can play a single card, too."
"Adrian, do you know where Ben is?" Hermione asked, as she stirred the tomato sauce simmering on the stove. Adrian smirked.
"In the shower, Hermione."
"I see." Hermione said, half-smiling. Poor Ben still had white hair. She tossed a handful of fresh, aromatic basil into the sauce, stirring and adding some garlic, "And the girls?"
"Katy's playing with Jackie." Yasmine put in, placing three queens on the pile of cards. "She promised she'd play dolls."
"Dolls," Adrian said, with a note of disgust. "Cards is much better. Pass."
"I pass." Dusty said, as Hermione began buttering a crusty loaf of French bread. Jack tossed three twos onto the floor.
"Hermione," he said, addressing her for perhaps the first time since the first time they'd met, "can I have a piece of bread now?"
She hesitated.
"Oh, all right," she said, handing him a piece of bread on a napkin, "Dinner's in about an hour."
He shrugged.
"Thanks, anyway. Does that mean I start?"
Suddenly, a resounding crack echoed throughout the kitchen. Hermione jumped, and Crookshanks let out an irritated mew.
Harry glanced around the kitchen, and, seeing Hermione, he sidestepped the card game and joined her in standing by the stove. He bent, sniffing the fragrant sauce appreciatively.
"It smells excellent, Hermione."
She smiled. "Thanks, Harry. How was your day?"
He leaned against the counter. "All right. Tiring. It's harder to organize the D.A. again without you."
"I'm sure you're doing wonderfully," she said, turning a bit pink. "What's hard about it?"
Harry reached out and gently swiped a splatter of sauce off of her cheek. "There's the age difference, for one. It's not just Hogwarts; it's adults, too."
He noticed her touching her cheek.
"Sauce," he said in explanation, and she nodded. "But there's some talk of expanding the D. A. outside of Defense. You know, basic healing or emergency transfiguration work. Things that you might need."
"That's a good idea," she said, wrapping the bread in foil. "Who else is working with you?"
"Actually, Professor McGonagall." Harry said, as she turned and put the bread in the oven. "And Kingsley. Oh, and Neville. He and I are sort of at the top of the organization."
"You've gotten a good group together," she commented, standing next to him and absently placing the lid on the sauce. "But you do look tired."
She regarded him with concern, and she reached out and put a arm around his waist. He looked surprised (Yasmine, who was watching, noticed that it was the very pleased sort of surprised) and put an arm around her shoulder.
"I'll be all right," he said after a long pause, vaguely aware of how closely she was standing to him, "I've had worse."
"I know you have," she said, smiling fondly at him, "I was there, remember?"
"If I forgot, I'd have died a while back," he said lightly. There was a pause, in which the two just gazed at each other.
Dusty, for his part, was studying them closely. The position the two were in was almost like the picture-her smile, his smile, and how close they were. But something wasn't quite right, as though they were not quite as… free. Hermione seemed a little less comfortable than in the picture… and there was still something missing. Something little, he realized, something barely there-
"Anyway," Hermione said after another long pause, drawing away from his arm and opening the fridge, "I take it you've set a place to meet?"
He started.
"Oh, yeah," he said, after a moment, "Kingsley's letting us build a place for it. Sort of an all-purpose building."
"Well, I can't expect you to meet in the Room of Requirement," Hermione said, "Are any other D. A. members coming back?"
"The Patil twins-actually, Padma's married Ernie McMillan, so she's a McMillan now-said they'd like to come if they can, although they're both rather busy. And Cho (she's engaged to Michael Corner, did you know?), and Ginny of course. Luna, the Creevy brothers, Seamus, Dean… lots of people in our year said they'd like to come, as the last year was a bad one."
"Padma, and Ernie. Who would have thought?" Hermione shook her head, "And the war hasn't been over for even a year yet. Though I suppose wizards tend to marry young-"
"I suppose you don't?" he said casually, pretending to check on the sauce. She was silent for a moment.
"Well," she said after a pause, "that all depends."
He put the lid back on the pan, nodding.
"It depends on who's asking, doesn't it?" he said, and despite himself, he looked up. Their gazes met, and she found herself at a loss for words. His green eyes bored into hers, and she felt herself blush quite unexpectedly, her heart suddenly fluttering furiously in her chest.
"I… suppose it does," she said in a rather unsteady whisper. He swallowed, and a split second later, he had jumped and stuffed his fingers in his mouth.
"Oh, dear," Hermione said, taking his hand and examining the burns, "you really shouldn't lean on the stove like that."
She reached up to the cabinet above the stove, taking out a small tube of salve and rubbing it softly over his still-damp and smarting fingers. Her small fingers moved lightly, gently, and he found himself staring at her mutely.
Hermione felt his gaze acutely, and her cheeks burned, though she noted that the sensation wasn't particularly unpleasant. In fact, it was a rather enjoyable feeling-
She stopped her train of thought sternly.
With her wand, she tapped the layer of salve, and Harry examined his fingers.
"Good as new," he said, almost hoarsely. "Thanks, Hermione."
Hermione nodded, looking flustered, and turned away as one of the pots on the stove began to boil.
Yasmine gazed at them.
She was beginning to wonder if Katy had been right.
Dusty helped Adrian gather up the cards and smiled an unhurried smile.
The picture was beginning to come into focus.
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