Covet by Verity
Chapter Four: Rewrite History
Standard disclaimers apply.
.o.o.o.
The truth was that he had not expected to ever see her again, in the best of circumstances. In the worst - he'd meet her at the other end of his wand.
Her presence filled him with a hot anger that choked and paralyzed him. She had come here uninvited. She had, too, come into his life in this way uninvited, but against her will, so he hadn't blamed her for it. Now she was here again and he did not know what to do.
Her hair, curling out from beneath a scarf, was rich chestnut, the white of her neck alabaster.
(The curves of your lips rewrite history.)
"Wake up," he said at last. She stirred and looked up at him beneath heavy-lidded eyes. He wanted her and wanted her to disappear at the same time. The force of desire shook him and sat heavy in his chest. How could he want her now, after all of this? "Why have you returned?"
"I..." she looked away, towards the walls of books. "There was nowhere else to go," she said at last.
"I am here of my own free will."
"That's no answer."
"You did not have to treat me so kindly."
He regarded her for a long moment, then turned sharply and left the room.
.o.o.o.
The next day was no easier. She lay on the couch, reading, and the sight of her engrossed in her book prevented him from retreating into his own. He could not forget the way she had touched him. Her long legs were lean and supple beneath the short skirt of her school uniform. The very thought disturbed him and robbed him of appetite. He could not speak to her.
The house-elf brought in dinner and they supped in silence.
Finally, she spoke. "I see that you are interested in the Great Work. I could not help but notice the shift in contents on your shelves."
There was little point in denying it. "I must attempt it in the coming spring."
She looked surprised, and then a little scared. "Is this how Vol- your master intends to secure his end, then?"
"Your friends have done much to weaken him." He sighed. "I do not believe it is his ultimate aim, however."
"Isn't the Stone what he's always desired?"
"Oh, that I do not doubt. But this is simply the easiest manner of ensuring my fall from grace. I have risen too high amongst his company."
"Are you not capable of completing the Great Work? I mean... it has been done. You are the most skilled, er..." She looked at her plate.
He took a sip of his pumpkin juice. "It is not a question of my skill, as you should know, Miss Granger, considering all that you've read. The Great Work is an endeavor which requires spiritual purity and partnership. My partner is not suitable, and my motives, to say the least, are impure. My Lord desires me to fail, and fail I will. I doubt I will live out the year."
It seemed very final, to say it so. But so many times he had thought himself in danger of discovery and death. To know his end was certain, at last, was almost calming. He did not really have a great yen to survive this, not now. He had done Dumbledore's bidding, and his master's, for twenty long years. A life beyond this seemed foolish and unfathomable.
But he had something beyond this, someone, he thought suddenly, whose presence was of neither's devising. So he rested his gaze on her, once more. Her brown eyes looked back, wide and knowing and sad.
.o.o.o.
That night, he took her roughly by the hand and led her upstairs to his room. His hands shook as he untied the scarf (red and gold; some things never changed) that covered her hair. Slowly, he drew out the pins, teased her curly mass of hair from the long braids into which she'd woven it.
"I cannot bathe you now," he said. "As you have said, you are fully capable of doing so yourself."
She nodded.
He lay on the bed, listened to the water running in the bathroom, and imagined her in the shower. It embarrassed him; he had not thought of anyone like that since Lily, when he was a teenage boy, before she had ended their friendship and gone to the man who had fathered her son. The thought of touching himself, especially now, after many years in service of his master (who had few scruples and less inclination toward mercy), simply made him feel worse.
Now he looked back on the time of her captivity with longing. He had not been able to turn her out, for fear of detection, nor had he desired to betray her and misuse her. So, instead, he had cared for her as best he could, without fear of reprisal or rejection. He missed the days in which he had been able to look upon her body and lie next to her with the innocence of distance and without the shame of desire, days which had ended with the miracle and disaster of her touch.
She came out of the bathroom then, wrapped in towel. Her hair hung heavily over her shoulders. Slowly, deliberately, she walked over to where he lay on the bed.
"I do not believe that you are evil," she said.
"That is hardly a ringing endorsement, Miss Granger," he responded drily.
"I have to tell you why I came back." He rolled on his back to look her in the eye. "Ever since I went back home I have felt as if I did not belong. I could not - explain what happened to me. It did not make sense. I was offered the opportunity of leaving school to work in intelligence. So I came back."
"You came back to spy on me." He felt cold and empty.
"No," she said. "I came back because I believe that you are innocent."
.o.o.o.
He woke in the middle of the night when he heard her whimpering, and held her close to him.
She turned and twined her arms around his neck, tucking her head next to his. "I'm not very brave," she said softly. "Harry and Ron always did that part."
"You are very brave to return," he told her. She clung to him tightly.
"I will partner you in your Great Work," she whispered, some time later. "You must not die."
"The curves of your lips rewrite history" is from Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray.