Authoress Ramble: Hello, ppl! Here's chapter 3. For those that wants to be put on my emailing list, please email me at enzymbia (at) Yahoo (dot) se.


CHAPTER 3

Harry's hand gently shook me awake a while later and he made the sign for step against my neck. I smiled as we stepped out of the bus, walking on the pavement. The sun warmed my skin and the wind ruffled my hair. Harry was spelling in my hand, mostly telling me about descending steps and left, right, left. The feelings of people's energies on my skin made me want to laugh.

You're having fun, right?

I nodded, missing a step down and stumbling. Harry grabbed my arm tightly and I had to lean on him not to fall. The smell of Harry's neck and the warmth of his body made me shiver and I pulled back. Bad thoughts, bad thoughts, away! To have Harry touching me seemed to become more of a challenge now that I was completely, utterly dependent on him.

Are you okay?

It wasn't all right. It would never be. I'd always be this dependent on someone, supposedly Harry, since it was only Harry that bothered to speak with me. I took a deep breath and nodded.

We're soon there. Now up these stairs. Seventeen steps.

I counted them, mostly unconsciously. He put my hand against a stonewall and let go of me. It's nice when people do that. The nurses used to just let me go and that was scary. It's sort of like being chucked out into space and you don't know what's going on, you don't know what's going to happen and you're all alone. Once a nurse left me at the top the stairs and I fell down, hitting my head pretty badly. So much for the theory that I might see or hear again if something hit me hard enough. Bastards. Then his hand is back on my arm and he guides me inside. I assume it's the door that makes the floor vibrate.

The door always does that, Harry signs, as if he'd known what I thought. You'll know if I go and if someone comes to visit. I can feel that vibration from my bed.

I'm concentrating hard on not thinking about Harry, bed and vibration – and I'm failing miserably. Then I shut my thoughts of, because you can't go there. You can't go wondering of with your mind when you're in a new place. Especially when you're thinking of – nox.

Shoes and coats to the right, Harry says, a small table about two steps forward and to the left.

'You need to show me where everything is, as precisely as you can,' I say, 'and I need to count the steps myself.'

So we begin. It's a small apartment, but it's still large enough to take three hours. I use the door as my counting point, as I've used my bed in St Mungo's. Fifteen steps forward and there's the bathroom door, two steps to the left of that the bedroom door, a step right of the bathroom door and the living room area. Two sofas to the left, table in front of it, low, try not to hit legs. Ten steps back against the door, but with a wall between, right, kitchen with a counter, table in living room, two chairs. And so we go on until I know the space as my own pocket.

Want something to eat? Harry asks.

Nodding, I turn and walk over to the sofa, sighing as I sit down. It's late and I know it. My mind is whirling with all the information. I'm dozing when Harry presses a sandwich into my hand and signs on my neck.

Glass of water in front of you, on the table.

'Good, I hate milk,' I say and take a bite of the sandwich. Chicken. Finally someone that knows how to cook! In St Mungo's I'll only get corned beef. Bleergh.

You look tired, Harry says. But you're beautiful when you're tired.

Yes, I'm tired and I want – wait! Did I hear him correctly? Did he just say I am beautiful? Me? Skinny guy, blond hair, way too pale skin to look healthy, pointy face, thin nose? I am not beautiful.

'What?' I say calmly, silently cursing my stomach that just dropped two floors. 'Beautiful?'

Beautiful. I wish …

'What?'

I wish you could see yourself.

Oh, Harry, what a fatal thing to say. Did you have to spoil the moment? I eat the last of my sandwich, drink the water and then turn to him, where he's sitting next to me on the sofa. The heat of him touches my skin as I concentrate really, really hard on him. And no, not that way. I slip my hand into my pocket and touch my wand, urging it to trickle energy all over Harry. I can sense him and his movements better this way.

Wh-

'Shh,' I whisper and reach out to touch his face. My fingers ghost the bridge of his nose and I notice it's slightly bent, as if once broken. Then I realize he's changed glasses. They're no longer round and taped together as the last time I actually saw him. These glasses are rectangular. I hold his face in my arms, his breath tracing my palm. I nearly lose myself when I trace his lips. Don't go there, don't go there, I scream to myself and pull back.

I think I feel a little sigh from Harry right before I do, but I can't decide if it's disappointment or relief.

'What's time like?' I ask in what I hope is a low voice.

Nearly eleven, Harry says and rises.

'Where will I sleep?' I voice the fear of my heart. It takes a good while before Harry returns. The boards of the floor sink and fall with every step he takes and I turn my head to that direction.

In my bed. I'll sleep on the sofa.

I don't like it. I hadn't expected anything, but this arrangement I detest. I don't say that, though. I just walk out to the entrance, get my bag and head for the bedroom. When I am about to close the door I shiver. It's like I can feel him watching me.

And when I finally climb in between the sheets, I cry myself to sleep. It hurts to be so dependent, it hurts to be at his mercy and it hurts to be so close to him when I can't get what I want. At that moment I realize what I want – and I admit it.

Harry.