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Waking up	By : Pegasus Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female Views: 2782 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the Harry Potter characters. I gain nothing from publishing this, no money, no fame, no fortunes.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
Cancer. He knew that the muggles often had no way to cure it. And the treatments they administered were often more destructive than successful. At least her appearance made sense now. Her sallow skin, sunken in eyes and puffed up face, the absence of hair she was trying to hide under a cap. They way she held herself when she walked. Not straight and lively but slightly bent forward and gingerly, as if suspecting any moment for her limbs to give way.
“Well, you won’t be able to walk back.”
“Yes, I will, just give me a moment.”
“Nonsense!” he quickly scoped her up in his arms and started off down the path again.
“No, wait! You need your strength to recover from the seizures.”
“Nonsense again! I am very much better than you are and if you don’t want us to spent the night on the cliffs than this is the best option, or do you imagine your father would be able to carry you back?”
“My father isn’t that old!”
“Is he able to carry you?”
“...No.”
“I have made my point then.”
He had had the chance to mutter a little spell while lifting her. She was almost floating in his arms, practically all he had to do was keep his arms under her. He would manage the small distance back to Lamorna Cove, drop her off by the cottage, leave her parents to fuss over her and be on his way back to his cottage. He couldn’t wait for the hot shower and the following steaming mug of strong tea. He would enjoy that.
“I’m sorry.”
“What’s that?”
“I said I’m sorry.”
“What for?”
“You just had really bad seizures and now you have to carry around on the cliff path.”
“As I said, I do not wish to spend the rest of the night here. And anyway, even if I had not had a seizure you would not have made it back to the Cove on your own.”
“Yes I would have, I did walk all the way to the beach by myself as well.”
“Physical strength is a limited resource. The more you spend, the longer it takes to recover. If you already spent what little strength you have left on walking there, you would not have made it back.”
“Goodness me…”
“What?”
“Are you always like that?”
“Like what?”
“Arguing purely on a logical level.”
“Of course. Logic is the only logical level of argumentation.”
“And why is that? Because it is derived from the same word?” she sniggered.
“No,” he said, rolling his eyes at her wordplay “because it is impartial, follows a continuous train of thought and is easily understood...at least to people with a minimum of intelligence. And, most importantly, it is free of emotions.”
“What’s wrong with emotions?”
“Nothing, if you can keep them well under control. But in my experience people tend to keep very little control on their emotions, which brings about all kind of unnecessary complications.”
“Dear me…”
“What now?”
“Do you really believe what you say?”
He couldn’t quite understand what she mend by that.
“Of course I mean what I say. Why else would I say it?”
“Another logical argument. You seem to be made up of logic.”
He detected the slight hint of sarcasm in her voice and glared at her. But again she seemed unfazed and just smiled back at him. He couldn’t understand, why the other day at the café she had ran out the door after his remarks and glares. And now she just looked up at him and smiled. He was losing his touch.
The rest of the way was mostly passed in silence except from the occasional remark about seagulls, flowers and some words to her parents. He kept silent. When they walked back into Lamorna Cove he carried her the last few steps to their cottage and then set her down while releasing the spell.
“You will manage from here I trust.” He made to turn around and be on his way.
“You can’t go yet. You must dry off and get warm again!”
“Believe me, carrying you for the better part of a mile has gotten me quite warm, thank you very much.”
“But who is going to take care of you?”
He snorted. “I was not aware I appear so helpless.”
“You really shouldn’t be alone now!”
“And why, pray tell, not?” This woman was trying his patience and it started to show.
“What if you get another seizure? What if it happens to be worse that down by the beach? Who will be there to look after you and make sure you’re OK?”
“I don’t need anyone to look after me.” He was turning to leave her by the door with her parents.
“Please!” There was an unmistakable intensity in her words. He stopped and turned to look at her.
The pleading was genuine! He could see the worry in her eyes. Though why a complete stranger should worry for him was beyond him.
“Please?” it was a quiet plea. And big brown eyes looking up at him with such earnest. He should just walk away. Really. Just turn away.
“Oh, alright. Stop bothering me already.”
She couldn’t completely hide the smile and probably didn’t want to, but it was not a triumphant grin, it was genuine relief. There was more to this than she let on. That was for sure.
The went inside and Sophie showed him the bathroom, equipped him with towels and some of her father's clothes and then left him to a blissfully hot shower. He did like the bathroom and shower. It was a lot more comfortable than in his place and the shower had some additional features he had never come across before. It took him a moment to figure it out but he did enjoy the message function and especially the one where thick drops came down from the shower ceiling as if it was rain. Muggles did have some good ideas.
He dried his hair with his wand and only turned the hair dryer on so they wouldn’t ask questions. But that thing would not get anywhere near his hair. His father had forbidden his mother to use her magic to dry his hair. In fact he had forbidden her to use magic at all. So she had to dry his hair with the blow dryer. She came too close to his head one day and some of his hair got sucked into the back of this demonic contraption. He remembered quite vividly the pain and the tears as well as the berating by his mother for being so snivellish. He could feel the old beast of anger and hatred came out of the dark again. He hated his father for all the things he had done to his mother and him… and he had resented his mother. She had never stood up for him or had tried to protect him. What on earth she had seen in this muggle son of a bitch was still beyond him. But he didn’t want to go back to that again. He had learned in the many hours of solitude spent in the cottage that he could simply leave these feelings. He did not have to linger on them. He could leave them, pack them away in the back of where ever it was that he kept emotions and concentrate on something else entirely. There was nobody there that taunted him or irritated him further. It was just himself with his emotions and the silence around him. So there was no need to be contemplating all these hurtful memories. He could just pack them away and be done with it. And this little technique had helped him to cope. It was also the reason why he cherished his solitude so much. And yet, when this little muggle thing had looked at him with her big brown eyes, he had simply given way. Was he unconsciously craving more contact with others? And what was it with him and girls’ eyes anyway?
He decided that even with this hellish muggle invention his hair should be dry by now.
He had very seldomly worn any other colours than black, white or grey, so her father’s blue jeans and red t-shirt were a challenge. But it wouldn’t be for long and they wouldn’t know about his wardrobe so it mattered little, really.
Coming out of the bathroom he found his way into the cosy living room in which a fire was happily crackling and a tea set was waiting patiently on the couch table.
“There you are! No don’t you feel a lot better already?”
He had been brought up with manners even though he not always chose to use this particular knowledge. But he did not want to be rude this time.
“Yes, I feel a lot… dryer… thank you.”
Why he was holding back, was beyond him. She was infuriatingly nice. Like sweets that get stuck in your teeth and make you sick from all the sugar.
“Would you like some tea?”
“Yes, please.”
She put a cup in it’s saucer and placed it from the tray on the table.
“Sugar, milk?”
“Milk, no sugar, thank you.”
She poured the tea.
“Why did you ask how I take my tea?”
“So I know what you would like in it.” She said, reaching out for the little milk jug.
“You… don’t take tea often, do you?”
He tried to put it as politely as possible…
“What do you mean?”
She looked up, about to pour the milk into the steaming tea.
“You don’t add milk to the tea.”
“What? You just said you want milk, no sugar?”
“Yes, but you add the milk before you pour the tea!”
She looked at him with an unbelieving expression.
“Does it really matter? Or are you just having me on?”
He was about to mutter something along the lines of barbarians with no culture, but managed to hold back by taking a deep breath.
“Of course it matters…” he tried to explain patiently. “By adding the milk first and then pouring the tea on top, the milk is slowly warmed to tea and thus manages to develope the creamy taste which is desired. If you first pour the tea and then add the milk into the hot tea, there is no chance for the flavour to fully develop.”
“Right… hmmm… I’ll just try again with another cup, shall I? You are right by the way, me and my family usually drink coffee instead of tea.”
Poor souls… he had always felt pity for those pour continentals that had never managed to learn the fine and cultivated palate it took to appreciate good tea. He had no doubt the tea she served came from those little bags so many muggles preferred. He found them abhorring. Making tea was an art and he was a master. That he knew.
“Is it terminal?”
She stopped dead and looked up at him, then looking over at her parents who were seated on the couch waiting for their mugs and busying themselves with their tablet computers.
She looked back at him and answered: “Yes.” Then hurried to continue with the tea.
“How long have you left?”
This guy had nerves! Or no sense of tact whatsoever. Why couldn’t he just keep his mouth shut? If he continued her mother was bound to break out in tears again.
“Some time.”
Maybe he would just let go now.
“”Some time” is a very imprecise answer. Or where your hea.. I mean your doctors not able to specify it more accurately?”
“I’m not sure I would have wanted to know, even if they could have told me.” she answered with an edge in her tone.
“Not if you are afraid of dying.”
“Well, isn’t everybody afraid of it?”
“No, not everybody.”
Oh really? And you’re going to tell me know that there is nothing to fear about it and that you are not afraid of it at all?”
“In fact, I did once nearly die. And I was terribly disappointed when I woke up again still alive.”
“What?” she was really getting angry now and that idiot didn’t even notice.
“I was injured and thought I would not wake again when I closed my eyes. I was grateful for it, not afraid.”
“I don’t believe it! You have experienced the mercy of being allowed to live on and behave as if it was a curse!”
“It was a curse to me…”
“You ungrateful idiot! I cannot believe it! I am dying! I would give my left arm if I was allowed to live! And you, you were allowed to live on and are complaining about it?”
Oh dear, it seemed he had really made her angry.
“I didn’t com…”
“Do you know how many people are right now saying goodbye to their loved ones? KNowing that they will never see them again? All of them would be happy and grateful for a little more time. Just like me. In a few weeks time I will never see another sunrise again. Never see the sun setting again. I will never hear the sound of the waves again, or feel the wind in my hair. I will never again see my parents faces or feel their hugs and their kisses. I will never see my dog again, my beautiful, wonderful dog! And you are complaining about having to live on!”
She had shouted at him and ended her speech in tears, falling back on the armchair she was in. Her mother was by her side instantly and gathered her up in her arms to comfort her.
He felt strangely touched by her despair. No, he felt her despair. And it burned in him like a searing pain. Her father caught his eye.
“I think you should better go now.”
“Yes… I will take my leave.”
He rose and was about to turn but couldn’t quite tear his eyes from her crying. She had completely broken down. And he was sorry. He felt it deep inside him. He hadn’t wanted to make her cry. A new kind of guilt. But guilt all the same. Maybe it was all he was good for.
He turned and went home to his cottage.
- 5
- 6
- 7
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Waking up