Draught of Dreams

PART VIII

... I know you were looking forward to the holidays, darling, but it's best you wait to visit in the summer. Perhaps you can go to a friend's? Harry's maybe? I know how you adore his mother. Dad has rented a house near the new practice and is moving there with Hamlet next week. Don't you worry, things should return to normal in a jiffy. I'm thrilled the conditioner worked! Send one of those moving photographs when you get a chance. I love to see that pretty smile.

I stopped mid-stride when I spotted the figure perched at the edge of the Astronomy Tower. His legs dangled off the ledge through the gaps of the railing. Midday sun splashed onto his hair making it silvery and smooth like quartz, stark against the high collar of his dark coat.

I considered turning back and realized I didn't want to.

He looked surprised to see me but not in a bad way. "Hey, didn't know you liked this spot." He shuffled over so I could sit beside him.

The view was spectacular even though the grounds weren't green anymore. Treeless hills swept high in the distance. A sparkling serpentine river trailed between them, its reflection rippled rocky plains and fire-gilded clouds. Some floated just ahead. If I reached out my arm, I might touch one. Feel it mist between my fingertips.

"Only when I'm sad," I told him.

"And why are you sad?" he asked carefully.

"I think my parents are getting divorced." Speaking it out loud left a foul taste in my mouth. Making it too real.

He placed an arm around my shoulder.

There was no hesitation—not from him, nor from me. I hid my face in the lapel of his fine black coat. Butter soft against my cheek, readily absorbing my tears. He squeezed until my arms wound around him, holding on just as tightly. Tighter.

All thoughts evaporated except for how nice it was to have someone to speak to. To have a blasted shoulder or neck or spine to cry on.

He held steady against my muffled sobs. My muscles thawed. Rising and falling with his breath. Gradually growing deeper as time passed.

A cold gust of wind slapped my hair into his mouth and he chuckled despite everything, making me laugh too.

He removed a leather glove with his front teeth, and brushed the tears from beneath my eyes. His hand was toasty warm and assertive, no trace of hesitation when he touched me.

The way he looked at me... it wasn't him.

His hair lifted in the breeze, revealing a delicate fold between his brows. Blankety concern in his eyes. "How do you know?"

I handed him the letter without considering how personal it was. How I was giving him a window into my Muggle life, for him to mock or jeer at or judge.

As he read it, I cast a warming charm on myself to deflect the ferocious wind, and to spare myself the awkwardness of watching him read it. I couldn't bear to witness his reaction.

"Who's Hamlet?"

"Their new dog."

"They named him after ham?"

I laughed, endeared by his confusion. "It's a character from a Shakespeare play. He was a very famous Muggle playwright and poet."

"This isn't a guarantee of divorce, Granger." He handed the letter back to me. I folded it twice and slipped it back into my coat pocket. "Sometimes people need time apart before they realize they're better off together. My..." he stuttered, looking at me carefully.

Something on my face made him continue, "... mother left my father for a while. She lived in France on her own. Nearly a year. But she came back to him and they've been better for it."