THAT SUMMER, Chapter 5
By Reija Linn
Harry
The next weekend after that night during which Bill told me about Tina, we went out for the first time. Oh, of course we had been to the grocery store next door, Bill went to work, and I had to go to Azhame's lessons, but apart from that we hadn't left the flat in the past three weeks.
Summer in Egypt was hot, hotter than anything I'd ever experienced in England. And when the winds blew, you had to shield your eyes from the sand that seemed to be everywhere except for the large cities, or at least the rich parts thereof. We wore long-sleeved white robes with hoods to protect us from the sun, and I had to carry sun-tan lotion around with me all the time. Bill was more used to the sun here, though he admitted even he was having a hard time in the summer, especially because of the Weasley-typical fair complexion (though his skin was darker than that of... the others. must be a side effect of having living in Egypt for so long).
The town was very interesting. Of course, I had known about the bazaars, the traders who shouted at every passer-by that their goods were the best, the women who wore veils as to conceal their faces, but it was quite different to see, hear, and, unfortunately, smell it all, than to just hear someone (Ron) talk about it.
And the pyramids! Of course, I had been to one of them before, although they were tombs, or maybe just because of that, Azhame held his lessons in one. Such large buildings, and all made by hand (yeah, through the hard-work of thousands and thousands of slaves and cheap workers, many of whom had died). Made for one single person, one single dead person to lie in eternally.
And so full of magic! I could feel a tingling in all of my body each time we came close to one. Some produced a slightly burning feeling in my scar - I reckoned that some of the old pharaohs had been powerful dark wizards, or perhaps their attendants, and had placed fierce curses on their resting places.
Bill also showed me several places that were reserved for magical folk - they even had a cool nightclub there, and an all-wizard pub owned by a tiny little witch named Shezra, who knew really everything there was to know about magical folk in Egypt, or so it seemed. She also was, I later learned, one of the pharaoh's own spies, perfectly placed for hearing every word that was on the streets.
She didn't serve butterbeer, though. But it would have reminded me too much, anyway.
When I went to have my lessons that day, Azhame was, if at all possible, even more grumpy than was usual for him. I decided to do my best during the lessons, and ask him later what was wrong, but he actually told me himself, after I'd gotten the extremely difficult Spirit-of-Akasha curse wrong for the third time.
"Ah, Harry. You are impossible to teach! Even my youngest pupil is better at that curse than you are! And this is still one of my easiest lessons! However am I supposed to present you to the pharaoh at the end of this summer?"
"The - WHAT?" The pharaoh in Egypt was far less likely to meet than our minister of Magic in England, I'd learned, and it was only through Dumbledore's connections that I had even been granted lessons by his personal protector.
"The pharaoh, don't tell me you don't know who he is. Oh. But I forgot to tell you. The pharaoh, who is an extremely busy man, by the way, has, by some reason unknown to me, been intrigued by your life story, and your current task. The Divine One seems to believe you could actually be the savior your home country is waiting for at the moment. Something about old prophesies... well. He has asked me to bring you before him as soon as you are ready, and has asked me how soon that would be, to which I foolishly answered 'before the winter will break'. However, at the rate you are learning, I will be long dead before that time arrives."
During the first week with Azhame, this comment would have angered me - if I had one extreme character fault at the time, and probably still, it was that I couldn't accept failure in my own person. I'd never learned to loose a competition or a challenge. And Azhame reminded me far too much of Professor Snape back at Hogwart's.
However, I knew at that time that Azhame was just trying to push me further, to help me extend my limits. I even got the insane idea that Snape could have been trying to do the same - until I remembered his favouring the Slytherins far too often. And meeting the pharaoh personally! At once I decided to double my efforts, though I'd thought I'd reached my maximum before, and I didn't miss my old teacher's half-smile as I got the curse right at the fourth attempt.
So Azhame was pleased, after all. Should have known extreme crankiness was his way of showing pleasure.
That same night, I dreamt of Ron again, but not as usual, replaying his death, but the time before. Back at Hogwarts. I remembered the jokes we made, I dreamt of the fun we'd had.
And I also dreamt of our first, awkward kisses behind the broomshed, and the first time he had crept under my covers in the middle of the night...
The first time we had touched, the first time we had explored our bodies, the first time we had...
But the pain was to great, the knowledge of later events returned, and I woke up in Bill's bed, in Bill's arms. Terrified, I noticed the vivid dreams had not been without the natural biological consequence.
I shifted uncomfortably, trying to wriggle out of his arms that were embracing me, making the situation only worse by brushing the evidence of my dreams against his upper thigh. I gasped at that, a sound that was unbearably loud in my own ears - was Bill asleep? He seemed to be. But what if he wasn't?
I could feel embarrassment rising up in me at the thought, especially as Bills arms tightened around me. He *had* to be asleep, right? And this was only a natural reaction on his part to my trying to extract myself from his embrace, right?
I didn't think then that I could stand the thought of him being awake, and having felt my arousal, even though it had only been the natural reaction to a dream. I felt guilty even at having such dreams, after what had happened. How could I be thinking about such things as sex, even as subconscious a thought as a dream.
What shocked me even more was that the erection did not even fade. Not as I had realized where I was, not at the shock this had provided, and not at the knowledge that this was Bill lying in the bed with me, not Ron. Not at the scent of Bill, which was quite unlike Ron's. Not at the feeling of arms stronger than Ron's. Not at the dimmed sight darkness provided of long red hair, instead of short red bristles, or at Bill's features, that were, although he already had slight wrinkles around mouth and eyes and was suntanned, so much softer than Ron's. Ron had had a cheerful, open face, rather boyish-looking, while Bill's features were more feminine, though there was nothing effeminate about him either physically or in his behavior.
I realized, though, that every effort on my part to flee this embrace would only increase the chance that Bill would wake up and notice any of this, so all I did was lie there, trying to calm my own breathing, trying to silence the drum-like beating of my heart.
And hoping that he would *not* wake up, in spite of being sure that this loud, thundering noise that was my heartbeat could wake even the deepest sleeper.
Eventually, my erection subsided, though, my biological functions started to sound the way they were supposed to, again, and I could finally fall back asleep again.
The next day was a Saturday, so Bill, who, as an employee of a British company, even though placed abroad, was working by British standards, including regular weekends, had the day off, and my lessons wouldn't start until evening again. So we slept late, and had breakfast with leisure, deciding on how we were going to spend the day. I was, perhaps, a little more quiet as usual, after the last night's events, but I didn't think Bill noticed.
Just then, there was a knock at the door - yeah, no doorbell, an old-fashioned knocker. Bill went to open it, and moments later returned with a little girl of perhaps eleven, with a dirty face and filthy hair, but smiling broadly. She did not say her name, but I had learned that the kids who lived on the streets here, and that was as what I recognized her immediately - did not like being asked for their name.
"Master Azhame sents me," she spoke in broken English. "I am to says to Master 'Arry, that he is gone to Monday, and that Master 'Arry shall go over his lessons alone to then."
Relieved at having delivered her message in a way that I could understand, she now hungrily eyed our breakfast table. Bill spoke a few words to her in Arabic that I didn't understand, but I guessed (correctly) that he had invited her to eat something, as she bowed shortly and then started to lunge at the loaf of bread that lay on the table.
"Seems I have a day off," I noted to Bill, who actually replied with a half-smile.
"Well," he replied, "how about a beer or something at Shezra's pub, then, this evening? And we can go over your lessons together before that, if you'd like to."
"Sounds like a good idea."
Pain had not lessened yet. But we both knew we had to get a break at one point or the other, and at the time, an evening at the wizard pub sounded like just the right thing.
By Reija Linn
Harry
The next weekend after that night during which Bill told me about Tina, we went out for the first time. Oh, of course we had been to the grocery store next door, Bill went to work, and I had to go to Azhame's lessons, but apart from that we hadn't left the flat in the past three weeks.
Summer in Egypt was hot, hotter than anything I'd ever experienced in England. And when the winds blew, you had to shield your eyes from the sand that seemed to be everywhere except for the large cities, or at least the rich parts thereof. We wore long-sleeved white robes with hoods to protect us from the sun, and I had to carry sun-tan lotion around with me all the time. Bill was more used to the sun here, though he admitted even he was having a hard time in the summer, especially because of the Weasley-typical fair complexion (though his skin was darker than that of... the others. must be a side effect of having living in Egypt for so long).
The town was very interesting. Of course, I had known about the bazaars, the traders who shouted at every passer-by that their goods were the best, the women who wore veils as to conceal their faces, but it was quite different to see, hear, and, unfortunately, smell it all, than to just hear someone (Ron) talk about it.
And the pyramids! Of course, I had been to one of them before, although they were tombs, or maybe just because of that, Azhame held his lessons in one. Such large buildings, and all made by hand (yeah, through the hard-work of thousands and thousands of slaves and cheap workers, many of whom had died). Made for one single person, one single dead person to lie in eternally.
And so full of magic! I could feel a tingling in all of my body each time we came close to one. Some produced a slightly burning feeling in my scar - I reckoned that some of the old pharaohs had been powerful dark wizards, or perhaps their attendants, and had placed fierce curses on their resting places.
Bill also showed me several places that were reserved for magical folk - they even had a cool nightclub there, and an all-wizard pub owned by a tiny little witch named Shezra, who knew really everything there was to know about magical folk in Egypt, or so it seemed. She also was, I later learned, one of the pharaoh's own spies, perfectly placed for hearing every word that was on the streets.
She didn't serve butterbeer, though. But it would have reminded me too much, anyway.
When I went to have my lessons that day, Azhame was, if at all possible, even more grumpy than was usual for him. I decided to do my best during the lessons, and ask him later what was wrong, but he actually told me himself, after I'd gotten the extremely difficult Spirit-of-Akasha curse wrong for the third time.
"Ah, Harry. You are impossible to teach! Even my youngest pupil is better at that curse than you are! And this is still one of my easiest lessons! However am I supposed to present you to the pharaoh at the end of this summer?"
"The - WHAT?" The pharaoh in Egypt was far less likely to meet than our minister of Magic in England, I'd learned, and it was only through Dumbledore's connections that I had even been granted lessons by his personal protector.
"The pharaoh, don't tell me you don't know who he is. Oh. But I forgot to tell you. The pharaoh, who is an extremely busy man, by the way, has, by some reason unknown to me, been intrigued by your life story, and your current task. The Divine One seems to believe you could actually be the savior your home country is waiting for at the moment. Something about old prophesies... well. He has asked me to bring you before him as soon as you are ready, and has asked me how soon that would be, to which I foolishly answered 'before the winter will break'. However, at the rate you are learning, I will be long dead before that time arrives."
During the first week with Azhame, this comment would have angered me - if I had one extreme character fault at the time, and probably still, it was that I couldn't accept failure in my own person. I'd never learned to loose a competition or a challenge. And Azhame reminded me far too much of Professor Snape back at Hogwart's.
However, I knew at that time that Azhame was just trying to push me further, to help me extend my limits. I even got the insane idea that Snape could have been trying to do the same - until I remembered his favouring the Slytherins far too often. And meeting the pharaoh personally! At once I decided to double my efforts, though I'd thought I'd reached my maximum before, and I didn't miss my old teacher's half-smile as I got the curse right at the fourth attempt.
So Azhame was pleased, after all. Should have known extreme crankiness was his way of showing pleasure.
That same night, I dreamt of Ron again, but not as usual, replaying his death, but the time before. Back at Hogwarts. I remembered the jokes we made, I dreamt of the fun we'd had.
And I also dreamt of our first, awkward kisses behind the broomshed, and the first time he had crept under my covers in the middle of the night...
The first time we had touched, the first time we had explored our bodies, the first time we had...
But the pain was to great, the knowledge of later events returned, and I woke up in Bill's bed, in Bill's arms. Terrified, I noticed the vivid dreams had not been without the natural biological consequence.
I shifted uncomfortably, trying to wriggle out of his arms that were embracing me, making the situation only worse by brushing the evidence of my dreams against his upper thigh. I gasped at that, a sound that was unbearably loud in my own ears - was Bill asleep? He seemed to be. But what if he wasn't?
I could feel embarrassment rising up in me at the thought, especially as Bills arms tightened around me. He *had* to be asleep, right? And this was only a natural reaction on his part to my trying to extract myself from his embrace, right?
I didn't think then that I could stand the thought of him being awake, and having felt my arousal, even though it had only been the natural reaction to a dream. I felt guilty even at having such dreams, after what had happened. How could I be thinking about such things as sex, even as subconscious a thought as a dream.
What shocked me even more was that the erection did not even fade. Not as I had realized where I was, not at the shock this had provided, and not at the knowledge that this was Bill lying in the bed with me, not Ron. Not at the scent of Bill, which was quite unlike Ron's. Not at the feeling of arms stronger than Ron's. Not at the dimmed sight darkness provided of long red hair, instead of short red bristles, or at Bill's features, that were, although he already had slight wrinkles around mouth and eyes and was suntanned, so much softer than Ron's. Ron had had a cheerful, open face, rather boyish-looking, while Bill's features were more feminine, though there was nothing effeminate about him either physically or in his behavior.
I realized, though, that every effort on my part to flee this embrace would only increase the chance that Bill would wake up and notice any of this, so all I did was lie there, trying to calm my own breathing, trying to silence the drum-like beating of my heart.
And hoping that he would *not* wake up, in spite of being sure that this loud, thundering noise that was my heartbeat could wake even the deepest sleeper.
Eventually, my erection subsided, though, my biological functions started to sound the way they were supposed to, again, and I could finally fall back asleep again.
The next day was a Saturday, so Bill, who, as an employee of a British company, even though placed abroad, was working by British standards, including regular weekends, had the day off, and my lessons wouldn't start until evening again. So we slept late, and had breakfast with leisure, deciding on how we were going to spend the day. I was, perhaps, a little more quiet as usual, after the last night's events, but I didn't think Bill noticed.
Just then, there was a knock at the door - yeah, no doorbell, an old-fashioned knocker. Bill went to open it, and moments later returned with a little girl of perhaps eleven, with a dirty face and filthy hair, but smiling broadly. She did not say her name, but I had learned that the kids who lived on the streets here, and that was as what I recognized her immediately - did not like being asked for their name.
"Master Azhame sents me," she spoke in broken English. "I am to says to Master 'Arry, that he is gone to Monday, and that Master 'Arry shall go over his lessons alone to then."
Relieved at having delivered her message in a way that I could understand, she now hungrily eyed our breakfast table. Bill spoke a few words to her in Arabic that I didn't understand, but I guessed (correctly) that he had invited her to eat something, as she bowed shortly and then started to lunge at the loaf of bread that lay on the table.
"Seems I have a day off," I noted to Bill, who actually replied with a half-smile.
"Well," he replied, "how about a beer or something at Shezra's pub, then, this evening? And we can go over your lessons together before that, if you'd like to."
"Sounds like a good idea."
Pain had not lessened yet. But we both knew we had to get a break at one point or the other, and at the time, an evening at the wizard pub sounded like just the right thing.