Memory Lane

Chapter 31

I cross another possibility off the crushed-petal grid and note with some irony how much farther Granger's gotten than I have. No surprise there, and she'd be even faster with a wand.

"How many vials do we have left?" she asks after a prolonged, working silence and I turn to count.

"Two dozen or so," I say, and she pulls a face. Twisting her hair up off her neck, she grabs one of the wooden spoons to spin into it, stabbing it down the middle with a practised sort of manoeuvre.

"I used to do it with a wand," she explains. "It's hot in here."

It is. Lots of heated cauldrons and hours of labour. It's getting on towards dinnertime and I wonder if she's hungry. We didn't have much for lunch. "Shall we take a break?"

Reluctantly, she agrees. "Go on, then. A quick one. Put a shirt on, though."

"This can't possibly be a turn-on, Granger. I'm covered in blue ink," I state matter-of-factly, not concerned at all about staying shirtless.

I lead us into my sitting room off the lab and call for Suz, asking for something to eat - no bisque this time, if she pleases, no, no, it was lovely, just something different - and I hear Granger muffle a laugh behind me.

This room is mine, technically, but there's nothing overtly personal in it and hopefully Granger isn't uncomfortable. She can still tell. "Is this part of your rooms?"

"Yes, this is my wing, generally. I don't spend a lot of time in here, in particular, but it's more comfortable to sit and eat in than the lab. Also, must be cautious around the cauldrons, you know." I risk a wink at her and she flashes a quick, crooked smile.

"How are your quarters?" I prompt. I haven't asked before, assuming that between my mother and Suz, she's set up quite well. But I'd like to hear her assessment of it.

"Just fine," she sighs, and I don't get any details.

"I heard you had a discussion about house elves with my father a while back. Were you able to impart any educational views?"

Now, she gives a real smile. "Actually, maybe. I don't know. He's hard to read, your father. But he's not as terrible as I assumed he was. Less... hateful."

Well, she'd met him twice, to my recollection. Once in Diagon Alley when we were all very young in a public altercation with the Weasley family, and once in the Department of Mysteries, which went rather poorly.

"My father is more of an opportunist than anything else. Although he does hate Arthur Weasley, for some reason. I think he sees Arthur as having a lack of ambition, and he can't respect it."

Granger nods thoughtfully. "So, if Ginny were sitting here, instead of me..." she raises her eyebrows suggestively.

"... what? That wouldn't have happened for any number of reasons. No, he probably wouldn't have been motivated to stick his neck out for a Weasley, but also, they only bothered because it's you." I shift a little uncomfortably in the chair. "I don't - I didn't fancy Ginny."

She absorbs this in silence as Suz brings in a tray piled with tiny cut sandwiches on all sorts of different breads. It smells divine and my mouth starts to water. Also, I can't see anything on the tray that Granger could tie back to bodily fluids re: our potions and lotions.

"What was I like there? How did I act with my memory gone?" she suddenly asks. "Was I like... this?"

It's natural that she'd wonder. I wonder what I do and say during drunken escapades I can't recall, and is it really so different? I stare at her, thinking about this, for so long she starts turning a little red. "Yes and no. Give me a minute."