THAT SUMMER, Chapter 13
By Reija Linn
Harry
I know Bill thought it was the thought of Ron that had stopped me from going any further that night, and it was only very long after that I told him the truth.
Actually, though a little earlier I *would* have been unable to do this with Bill because of the thought of Ron, I thought I could feel him smiling upon us from somewhere far beyond this world.
No, the reason I stopped was not Ron, or feelings of guilt, but my fear of the future that I had felt so eminently earlier that night. For I knew, that once I gave in to this feeling, once I felt his touch, I could never go back to loneliness again...
Yet I knew it would be so. I could not imagine a future for Bill and me, that night, and could not bear the thought of loosing him again once we'd been together.
I knew then it was love I was feeling, not the same kind of love I had felt for Ron - that had been just as deep, but it had been different, had had more of the easiness of two friends with a long past who discovered somewhere along the way that they meant more to each other, the kind of love that develops during a long, long time, instead of this sudden, burning feeling I had with Bill.
For one insane moment I had imagined it might actually have a future, that he felt the same for me as I felt for him...
'Let's just forget it ever happened, okay?'
But no, it would never work. I could not blame Bill, after all, I had initiated what had happened that night, though it was he who had drawn me closer, who had kissed me first. I also knew I could never let this happen again, or it would kill me to ever be without his touch thereafter. For his touch was like heroin, and I knew that once I had gotten a full dose, I would be addicted to it for all my life, and would never find happiness elsewhere.
So I pledged to never let it happen again. And true to my word, I did not, throughout my time in Egypt, though each night when I lay in his arms, I could feel the desire well up in me like fire, like a demon demanding to be let out, like a prisoner rattling against the bars of his cell, screaming for freedom...
'Never alone,' that girl from the streets had told me, but if friendship and passion was all I could have from Bill, I would rather choose a long-term friendship, even across such a large distance, than a short submission to passion followed by silence, as it would probably be. For that was the flow of affairs, of course you promised to write, and meet each other, but eventually, when the flames of passion faded, the letters would become scarce, and the visits set further and further off, until it petered out.
And I would not let that happen to Bill and me.
So I kept my silence about my reasons, let him believe I was still mourning Ron, as I should have been, and acted as if the whole thing had never happened. Eventually, I could almost believe it never had, for Bill showed no sign of contemplating that night, and never tried to initiate anything again.
Neither did it come between us, though, which I had feared that night. Bill was to me as always - friendly, comforting, warm, funny, thoughtfull and considerate, and never shied away from my friendly embrace at night, or avoided me in any way. For this, too, I was gratefull.
And though sometimes, late at night, the thought nagged at me whether perhaps Bill *was* feeling more than friendship, I never again dared to approach him in any way, be it with words or physically, for fear of rejection. It reminded me of something Ginny, of all people, had once told me about her early infatuation with me.
'Sometimes, when you are sure there is no possibility of a real relationship with someone you love, it is easier to love from afar, never daring to find out for sure, but never being rejected. At least that way, the one you love will still be with you in your dreams. Sometimes it is easier not to face reality, though in the back of your mind, you know it exists.'
And true to this, though I knew there would be no future for us, in my dreams there was a place beside all anguish and pain, where Bill and I were together. Not to be, sure, but a pleasant dream, nonetheless, especially as real life kicked in more and more and my return to England was almost imminent.
Two weeks had passed since that night when Azhame informed me that he had arranged for my meeting with the Pharaoh in two days, and for once since then, I had other things on my mind than Bill, who went through the same exercises with me again and again and again, though I had long perfected most of them as far as ever I would. He even took the time for a practise on broomsticks, which is a hundred times more trying since you have to concentrate on spell-casting and flying at the same time, though he teased me for being a perfectionist. We both knew, of course, that it was serious business - Voldemort was not one to be fooled by simple tricks - but humour was the only way of going through all of this without turning insane.
Finally, the day arrived when I was to meet the wizarding Egypt's leader. Azhame was worse than ever, leaving no spot untouched from his critical eye, from a crease in my robes to a spot on my shoes, he critisised almost everything about me - not that that last point would have mattered, for I was asked to leave my shoes at the entrance to the palace of the Pharaoh, since sacred ground was only to be tread on with bare feet (which, as Azhame noted irritably, had by far too long toe nails). I hardly expected the Pharaoh to examine my toe nails, but wisely said nothing, I was feeling too nervous myself, anyway.
The Pharaoh himself was an awe-inducing sight. His robes were of black silk, lined with deepest ocean blue and ornamented with gold and jewles, his crown - not round, like the European ones, but more like a cap, strangely reminding me of the head ware of bishops, had a snake of gold protruding from it, that cast a shadow upon the face that looked old and young at the same time - hardly any wrinkles, but with the cool serenity of the older and wiser wizards, though he probably was not much older than Bill. His skin was dark, and like bronze, and his eyes were framed with black coil. He had a very superior air around him, even without all the gold and jewels and silk, that alone would have made me fall to me knees, even if Azhame hadn't told me to do so at least a dozen times during the hour before.
"Divine One," my old teacher spoke - he had also fallen to his knees beside me - "this is my pupil you wished to meet... Harry Potter, from England, who is destined to fight the Dark Lord Voldemort, whom the serpents have spoken of.
"Harry Potter. I have heard much about you, boy. They say at the temple you are gifted with the serpent-tongue?"
"Yes, my lord," I answered, as Azhame had instructed me to.
"Indeed, the Gods have gifted me, their kin, with this, too, as they have every Pharaoh for the last five thousand years. I would like to have a demonstration of this gift, young one."
The Pharaoh did not ask, but I had been prepared for this, too. It was a long tradition that a Pharaoh was regarded as one of the Gods himself, and a God did not ask, he ordered - I could accept that, for respect's sake.
Only as the music stopped did I notice there was a young girl, clothed in slightly translucent sky-blue robes in which gold and jewles were embedded, too, in one corner of the room, sitting before a harp, from which the music had come - the Pharaoh's wife, I knew, from what Azhame had told me. At a sign of the Pharaoh, she moved towards me, and pulled from the insides of her robes a large snake that had coiled around her neck and shoulders.
"This is Sesheta, our Mother of Snakes, who is regarded as the bearer of the Goddess Sesheta."
Sesheta, I knew, was the Egyption Goddess of esoteric knowledge and foresight.
"Sesheta, is this the boy you have spoken to be the nemesis of the Dark Lord Voldemort?"
"Yes," the snake spoke, "you are indeed the boy. Though you will not defeat the fiend alone, he who pretends to be akin to our kind but who uses us as he would any human or animal or even God. Nagini, who is of our kind but who has fallen to his power, had told me about him, for I hold the thoughts of all of our kind. With this, I was blessed and cursed by my mother Sesheta, She-Who-Knows-All. Tell me, human, have you found you're Chosen, who will join you in your battle to come?"
"Yes," I answered, knowing I was speaking parcel-tongue without hearing it myself, and with a surety that surprised me myself. "Though I don't know what the term means."
If snakes could laugh - and I was sure they couldn't, mind you! - I could have sworn this one did, then. "Your Chosen, young human, is the One the Gods have decreed for you, the one without whom you are but one half of a whole. If you meet your Chosen, you know, eventually. And as every being on this Earth from which we have all risen must fulfill their destiny, it can never be accomplished without the One who resembles this other half. That is why so many spirits return to this earth after they have died, in a new body - for they have never found their Chosen. If you have, consider yourself lucky, little one."
It felt strange, this all being told to me by a snake, but then, who was I to judge Egyptian custom?
The rest of this meeting passed swiftly. I demonstrated some of the spells I had learned from Azhame - taking care to use only those that would not destroy anything inside the room - and upon the Pharaoh's question, recounted the story of my life.
When The Pharaoh finally dismissed me, Azhame offered to bring me to the entrance of the palace again. I knew I would not meet my old teacher again, since our lessons were now finished, and felt sorry for this, in a strange way. I would miss his bickering, I realized.
It was then that he spoke the first - and last - words of praise I ever heard from him.
"I am proud of you, boy. You have learned well, and I hope you will be able to fulfill your destiny with what I have taught you."
With these words he left me there, still a little shocked at these kinds words.
The shock had hardly worn off when I arrived back at Bill's place.
By Reija Linn
Harry
I know Bill thought it was the thought of Ron that had stopped me from going any further that night, and it was only very long after that I told him the truth.
Actually, though a little earlier I *would* have been unable to do this with Bill because of the thought of Ron, I thought I could feel him smiling upon us from somewhere far beyond this world.
No, the reason I stopped was not Ron, or feelings of guilt, but my fear of the future that I had felt so eminently earlier that night. For I knew, that once I gave in to this feeling, once I felt his touch, I could never go back to loneliness again...
Yet I knew it would be so. I could not imagine a future for Bill and me, that night, and could not bear the thought of loosing him again once we'd been together.
I knew then it was love I was feeling, not the same kind of love I had felt for Ron - that had been just as deep, but it had been different, had had more of the easiness of two friends with a long past who discovered somewhere along the way that they meant more to each other, the kind of love that develops during a long, long time, instead of this sudden, burning feeling I had with Bill.
For one insane moment I had imagined it might actually have a future, that he felt the same for me as I felt for him...
'Let's just forget it ever happened, okay?'
But no, it would never work. I could not blame Bill, after all, I had initiated what had happened that night, though it was he who had drawn me closer, who had kissed me first. I also knew I could never let this happen again, or it would kill me to ever be without his touch thereafter. For his touch was like heroin, and I knew that once I had gotten a full dose, I would be addicted to it for all my life, and would never find happiness elsewhere.
So I pledged to never let it happen again. And true to my word, I did not, throughout my time in Egypt, though each night when I lay in his arms, I could feel the desire well up in me like fire, like a demon demanding to be let out, like a prisoner rattling against the bars of his cell, screaming for freedom...
'Never alone,' that girl from the streets had told me, but if friendship and passion was all I could have from Bill, I would rather choose a long-term friendship, even across such a large distance, than a short submission to passion followed by silence, as it would probably be. For that was the flow of affairs, of course you promised to write, and meet each other, but eventually, when the flames of passion faded, the letters would become scarce, and the visits set further and further off, until it petered out.
And I would not let that happen to Bill and me.
So I kept my silence about my reasons, let him believe I was still mourning Ron, as I should have been, and acted as if the whole thing had never happened. Eventually, I could almost believe it never had, for Bill showed no sign of contemplating that night, and never tried to initiate anything again.
Neither did it come between us, though, which I had feared that night. Bill was to me as always - friendly, comforting, warm, funny, thoughtfull and considerate, and never shied away from my friendly embrace at night, or avoided me in any way. For this, too, I was gratefull.
And though sometimes, late at night, the thought nagged at me whether perhaps Bill *was* feeling more than friendship, I never again dared to approach him in any way, be it with words or physically, for fear of rejection. It reminded me of something Ginny, of all people, had once told me about her early infatuation with me.
'Sometimes, when you are sure there is no possibility of a real relationship with someone you love, it is easier to love from afar, never daring to find out for sure, but never being rejected. At least that way, the one you love will still be with you in your dreams. Sometimes it is easier not to face reality, though in the back of your mind, you know it exists.'
And true to this, though I knew there would be no future for us, in my dreams there was a place beside all anguish and pain, where Bill and I were together. Not to be, sure, but a pleasant dream, nonetheless, especially as real life kicked in more and more and my return to England was almost imminent.
Two weeks had passed since that night when Azhame informed me that he had arranged for my meeting with the Pharaoh in two days, and for once since then, I had other things on my mind than Bill, who went through the same exercises with me again and again and again, though I had long perfected most of them as far as ever I would. He even took the time for a practise on broomsticks, which is a hundred times more trying since you have to concentrate on spell-casting and flying at the same time, though he teased me for being a perfectionist. We both knew, of course, that it was serious business - Voldemort was not one to be fooled by simple tricks - but humour was the only way of going through all of this without turning insane.
Finally, the day arrived when I was to meet the wizarding Egypt's leader. Azhame was worse than ever, leaving no spot untouched from his critical eye, from a crease in my robes to a spot on my shoes, he critisised almost everything about me - not that that last point would have mattered, for I was asked to leave my shoes at the entrance to the palace of the Pharaoh, since sacred ground was only to be tread on with bare feet (which, as Azhame noted irritably, had by far too long toe nails). I hardly expected the Pharaoh to examine my toe nails, but wisely said nothing, I was feeling too nervous myself, anyway.
The Pharaoh himself was an awe-inducing sight. His robes were of black silk, lined with deepest ocean blue and ornamented with gold and jewles, his crown - not round, like the European ones, but more like a cap, strangely reminding me of the head ware of bishops, had a snake of gold protruding from it, that cast a shadow upon the face that looked old and young at the same time - hardly any wrinkles, but with the cool serenity of the older and wiser wizards, though he probably was not much older than Bill. His skin was dark, and like bronze, and his eyes were framed with black coil. He had a very superior air around him, even without all the gold and jewels and silk, that alone would have made me fall to me knees, even if Azhame hadn't told me to do so at least a dozen times during the hour before.
"Divine One," my old teacher spoke - he had also fallen to his knees beside me - "this is my pupil you wished to meet... Harry Potter, from England, who is destined to fight the Dark Lord Voldemort, whom the serpents have spoken of.
"Harry Potter. I have heard much about you, boy. They say at the temple you are gifted with the serpent-tongue?"
"Yes, my lord," I answered, as Azhame had instructed me to.
"Indeed, the Gods have gifted me, their kin, with this, too, as they have every Pharaoh for the last five thousand years. I would like to have a demonstration of this gift, young one."
The Pharaoh did not ask, but I had been prepared for this, too. It was a long tradition that a Pharaoh was regarded as one of the Gods himself, and a God did not ask, he ordered - I could accept that, for respect's sake.
Only as the music stopped did I notice there was a young girl, clothed in slightly translucent sky-blue robes in which gold and jewles were embedded, too, in one corner of the room, sitting before a harp, from which the music had come - the Pharaoh's wife, I knew, from what Azhame had told me. At a sign of the Pharaoh, she moved towards me, and pulled from the insides of her robes a large snake that had coiled around her neck and shoulders.
"This is Sesheta, our Mother of Snakes, who is regarded as the bearer of the Goddess Sesheta."
Sesheta, I knew, was the Egyption Goddess of esoteric knowledge and foresight.
"Sesheta, is this the boy you have spoken to be the nemesis of the Dark Lord Voldemort?"
"Yes," the snake spoke, "you are indeed the boy. Though you will not defeat the fiend alone, he who pretends to be akin to our kind but who uses us as he would any human or animal or even God. Nagini, who is of our kind but who has fallen to his power, had told me about him, for I hold the thoughts of all of our kind. With this, I was blessed and cursed by my mother Sesheta, She-Who-Knows-All. Tell me, human, have you found you're Chosen, who will join you in your battle to come?"
"Yes," I answered, knowing I was speaking parcel-tongue without hearing it myself, and with a surety that surprised me myself. "Though I don't know what the term means."
If snakes could laugh - and I was sure they couldn't, mind you! - I could have sworn this one did, then. "Your Chosen, young human, is the One the Gods have decreed for you, the one without whom you are but one half of a whole. If you meet your Chosen, you know, eventually. And as every being on this Earth from which we have all risen must fulfill their destiny, it can never be accomplished without the One who resembles this other half. That is why so many spirits return to this earth after they have died, in a new body - for they have never found their Chosen. If you have, consider yourself lucky, little one."
It felt strange, this all being told to me by a snake, but then, who was I to judge Egyptian custom?
The rest of this meeting passed swiftly. I demonstrated some of the spells I had learned from Azhame - taking care to use only those that would not destroy anything inside the room - and upon the Pharaoh's question, recounted the story of my life.
When The Pharaoh finally dismissed me, Azhame offered to bring me to the entrance of the palace again. I knew I would not meet my old teacher again, since our lessons were now finished, and felt sorry for this, in a strange way. I would miss his bickering, I realized.
It was then that he spoke the first - and last - words of praise I ever heard from him.
"I am proud of you, boy. You have learned well, and I hope you will be able to fulfill your destiny with what I have taught you."
With these words he left me there, still a little shocked at these kinds words.
The shock had hardly worn off when I arrived back at Bill's place.