Chapter Thirty-Four: Secrets of the Heart
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Two patronuses. Two.
The dolphin shimmered away, the last echoes of its message fading. Daniyel stood still in the resulting quiet, acutely aware of how dark the room was without it. Or maybe it was Ella's words that made the night feel so empty. He didn't have a response, though. Nothing that would satisfy her. Instead he let out a sigh and returned to the bedroom.
The bedroom was dark, too. He didn't bother with a light. Instead he navigated by memory and the sliver of moonlight filtering in through the window; his footsteps so soft, he felt ghostlike. Perhaps if he were quiet enough, if the room stayed dark enough…
Siggy shifted beneath the covers as he approached, and he saw her eyes blink up at him, reflecting the moonlight. He cursed inwardly. Though he wasn't really surprised.
"Was that from Ella again?"
"Yeah." He slipped beneath the covers and turned to face her. Her dark blue eyes looked a bit sad. He was a bit sad, too.
"Oh," she said softly.
"She's just worried about you." He traced a hand across her cheek before admitting, "So am I." Which was really the thing that bothered him. More even than questions from Ella that weren't his to answer.
"I know." There was a soft rustle as she turned her head, choosing to stare up at the ceiling instead. "I'm so sorry."
"No, don't." He leaned forward, resting his chin against her shoulder."Don't apologize. Is it all still the same?"
"Mmm. I reckon Mum might need an Abstract Healer. She won't go, though. She says Polish people must suffer and be troubled or they don't know life." She laughed softly. "She's not even Polish."
He ignored that, reaching out to find her hand and weaving his fingers through hers. "And you?"
"I'm fine." She refused to look at him, her eyes still trained on the ceiling. It wasn't nearly that fascinating. "I'm more Polish than Mum, so you see, I'm the perfect amount of troubled. You don't need to worry so much."
She was a good liar. Not good enough, though. But he didn't insist, not when she was trying so hard to be stubbornly brave. He didn't ask if she'd been sleeping, because the shadows under her eyes betrayed her. Just as they had that day by the river, and every day before. No matter how many smiles she gave him, he could still see the sadness lurking in her eyes.
So he didn't press. Instead he held her hand and turned to breathe in the slightly sweet smell of her hair, and softly said the thing that he had been steeling himself to tell her. "We are making progress, I swear. Actually, things are moving again."
"With Rookwood?" she asked, a note of curiosity coming to life to color her words. "Has he been found?"
"Well, no," Daniyel admitted. "We're still looking. But we're following a new lead. There's someone else who might've been involved."
She finally turned to look at him, her dark blue eyes searching his. "Who?"
"Oh bloody hell," he said, a bit sheepishly. "Robards will have my head."
"Right." She glanced back at the ceiling. "That doesn't sound good. Maybe you shouldn't—"
"But I'm going to," he said, and she fell abruptly silent. "Because you need answers. And I promised."
She glanced at him again, offered up a small smile. It didn't quite reach her eyes, though. It hadn't for a while. Instead they trembled. They had trembled just like that, when he'd promised.
He paused, the words dying on his tongue. For a second, the night around him was sparkling daylight. They were walking along the forest path, and up ahead the water danced, reflecting the sunlight.
It was warm. Pleasantly warm for early April. They trudged along in companionable quiet, the air alive with birdsong and rustling leaves. Ahead, the hum of the river grew steadily louder, until the other sounds folded into it. Until the gurgling of the water was all that existed. Beside him, Siggy trailed her hand across the trees as they walked, as if tracing the bark with her fingertips.
"Almost there," he said finally, his eyes set on the water glistening ahead. The sunlight filtered through the thinning trees in patches, throwing dappled shadows across the path and making the forest around them glow. It was a nice day. Perfect, really. And perfectly falling on a Robards-free Saturday.
"Mmm, it's nice." Siggy shot the river a glance before squinting and looking away.
He was glad he was spending the day with her. Glad to leave the noise and tension of London behind. And as much as he needed the escape, he thought that Siggy, who'd seemed down all week, needed it more.
"Hope you're hungry. I packed loads of goodies."
"I could eat."
She fell quiet again. He watched her trace the trees with a frown. She had been distant, ever since she'd recovered from her cold. Or insisted that she had. Watching her now, he really wasn't so sure.
"What did you bring?" she said, and it took him a moment to realize she was asking about the food.
"Cheese. Lots of it."
She didn't lift her eyes from the ground, but the corners of her mouth twitched up into a tiny smile. "Bread?"
"Course."
She brushed another tree trunk as they walked past, her fingers lingering on the bark. "Wine?" She let out an amused breath.
"Er, no," he admitted. "I wasn't sure if we should."
"No, you're right." She sighed. "I shouldn't."
He glanced at her again. Her eyes were still trained on the ground as they walked. There was a line of sweat on her brow, at the very edge of her thick black hair. And her face, he realized, was paler than it had looked that morning. Though it was hard to tell in the light, save for the dark shadows under her eyes.
"You all right?" He reached for her hand, pausing, and Siggy stopped too.
"Of course, I'm fine." She turned to look at him and smiled. It was a nice smile — all her smiles were. But it didn't quite reach her eyes in the same way he was used to. Instead, it made the shadows on her skin seem darker.
He frowned, still holding on to her hand as he peered into her face.
"I'm fine," she repeated, with a wholly frustrating amount of stubbornness that made his heart sink. "There's no need to worry. I promise."
"I am, though," he said seriously. "Honestly, Siggy. What is it? I can't tell if you're still sick or just sad."
"No, it's… I'm not." She pulled her hand out of his and folded her arms across her chest. She smiled again, in much the same way. "It's nothing, Dan. Please."
"But—" he began.
"Race you to the river, all right?"
"Wait," Daniyel said, but she took off, jogging down the path.
"No waiting!" she called over her shoulder.
"Siggy!" He hurried after her.
She kept well ahead of him, until she broke through the treeline and stumbled to a halt on the riverbank. She paused there, her trainers a foot from the water's edge, and stared ahead as the wind blew back her hair.
"You win," Daniyel said, drawing to a stop beside her.
"I…" she began, vaguely reaching a hand toward him. Then she stumbled slightly and her shoulder hit his arm, and he realized she was falling.
"Siggy!"
He grabbed her, the weight of her heavy against his arms as he pulled her small frame against him. Her eyes were closed, and she didn't respond when he called her name.
He cursed, carrying her to a grassy spot nearby, beneath a sprawling oak that jutted out over the river. Her skin was clammy; cold against his arms. The coldness seemed to seep into him too, scaring him.
So stupid, he thought. Why had he suggested this entire thing, as if there wasn't fresh air to come by in London? He should have known better. Should have realized she wasn't up for it. He lay her gently on the grass and reached for his wand when she spoke, her voice a near whisper.
"I guess you really do swear like a trooper." She blinked and squinted up at him, with eyes that looked far darker than normal. "When the occasion demands it, I mean."
"Shit, Siggy…" he said weakly, lowering his hand. The cold tightness in his stomach faded slightly. "Are you all right?"
"Yeah," she breathed. "Sorry. It's nothing. I…"
She struggled to sit but he pressed a hand against her shoulder. "Wait, just a minute. All right?"
"Mmm." She relaxed against the grass, and he used the opportunity to press his fingers to her wrist. Her heartbeat was fine, as far as he could tell. Her wrist was icy, though.
"What's, er, your birthday?" he said seriously.
"My birthday?" She frowned. "December 15th."
"Ah, I didn't know that," he admitted. "But good info. All right, how many fingers then?" He held up three.
She managed a soft laugh. "What, are you secretly a Healer?"
"Secretly? No." He smiled sheepishly. "Just basic Auror first aid. They swear it's important."
"Right. Well, it's three," she said, and pushed herself up again to settle back against the oak.
He Accio'd a water from his bag, offering it to her. She took a sip with a whispered "thanks" before lowering the bottle and staring out over the water. "I'm fine now," she added quietly. "I'm just… Sorry if I scared you."
"Siggy," he pressed gently, when she said nothing else. "Listen, have you… been to see a Healer?"
She shook her head, squeezing her fingers just a bit tighter around the bottle.
"Maybe you should." He sat down beside her, and she glanced away from the river and met his eyes instead.
She attempted a smile. "Why do I need a Healer when I have Auror first aid?"
He considered making a joke. Something about his lack of qualifications. Keeping things light like she obviously wanted to. But sitting there beside her in the growing silence with this heavy unknown hanging between them, every word that crossed his mind fell rather flat. Instead his stomach twisted with worry.
She held his eyes for a long moment and then she looked away, before adding in a very small voice, "A healer's not going to help me, I don't reckon." She placed the bottle on the ground, her fingers still tight against it. "I'm just… I've been…"
He waited, tracing a hand across her arm. Her skin was still clammy despite the warm and breezy day.
"I haven't been sleeping," she said finally, staring down at the rippling current. She let go of the bottle and leaned forward, poking tentatively at the water. "Things are… hard. Mum's not coping well. And I… I can't sleep."
Daniyel shifted beside her, gently brushing his cheek against her hair, and thought about the deep, dark circles under her eyes. "At all?"
She shrugged, picking up a stone and twirling it in her fingers. "Not enough."
"I'm so sorry," he said gently. "What can I do?"
She shook her head. "Nothing's going to fix it. I just need to— Time. I need time." She paused. "And answers. If we just knew what happened, I reckon that would help. But you don't…?"
"We don't know." He bit his lip slightly. "Honest, Siggy, if there was something I could tell you, I would. I swear, I would. But Rockwood's vanished. We're looking at other things, but… there's nothing, really…" Nothing he could say. And he didn't care about the silence he'd been asked to keep by Robards, the papers he'd signed — that didn't matter. He would tell her. But the truth of Mysteries, the real truth with Voldemort, and the horcruxes, and all of it. The suspicions about Saul Croaker they couldn't prove. How could he tell her that?
Could he tell her that?
Just share the whole bloody truth with Siggy. Bounce it off her. He considered it; had considered it many times before. That night, when she found him after Dumbledore died, for example. Or when they'd gone to his flat after seeing Ella home from Hannah's. The sex had been good, but the talking was even better. They had lain in bed all night, noses nearly touching as they exchanged whispers, for no reason other than words spoken at full volume might shatter the magic of the moment.
But what could he say?
He opened his mouth, but the words wouldn't come. It was too awful. Too horrible. She thought that answers would help her, but this… She'd already asked him once if Voldemort was really dead. Did she need another thing to keep her up at night?
He held her. Held her icy hand in his, and grasped her fingers, and tried to infuse not just her skin but her heart with warmth. "When I know something, you will too," he said finally. "When we have a lead. When we find him, I'll tell you."
I'll tell you everything. When I can. When I sort out how to.
"I promise."
I can't say it today. But I promise… I will.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"But you can talk to me." He squeezed her fingers. "When it's hard, you don't have to pretend it's all fine." It wasn't fair. But it was the best he could do. "I'll be here. I'll listen."
"I know. I do know. It's just so much… it feels like…" She drew in a shaky breath. "I just dunno how much longer I can keep holding this all together, Dan." She sounded like she might cry. "I'm sorry. I just never imagined it would be like this."
He pulled her against him. Her icy hand still firmly in his, as she pressed her face into his shoulder, and he felt the wet sting of her tears.
"I didn't want us to be about this," she choked out against his shoulder, her voice slightly muffled. "It was just so much fun, you know? And things were getting better. And now everything's awful again. I'm sorry. You didn't sign up for this." And he felt his heart break a little even as he hugged her tighter.
"That's not true," he said, and he meant every word. "I signed up for everything. Not just the fun bits."
"You say that, but we've only just…" She pulled slightly away from him, looking up as she brought a hand to her eyes. "I didn't want to scare you away."
"You couldn't." He had never felt more sure of anything than those words in that moment. He wove his fingers through hers. "The adventures and dinners and coffee dates? They're great. But you're the one who makes them great, Siggy. It's you. I'm…" And he felt something clench in his chest, the realization shocking him. "I'm falling in love with you."
She blinked, her eyes widening. A tear slid down her cheek, but she made no move to wipe it.
"Me too," she breathed. "Dan… me too."
That indescribable feeling in his chest was everywhere now. His fingers tingled with it; with the knowing that this was the first day of all the other days ahead. A life full of her, and all that came with it. He leaned forward, gently bringing his lips to hers. Tasting salt. She kissed him back, her arms reaching around him; hands cold against his skin. He didn't mind. He could hold them. Would hold them, until they were warm again. Until he could tell her everything. And then she'd know — know he was a liar.
Would she still love him then?
Now, in the darkness of his flat, he asked himself the same question as he looked into her eyes. As he sorted, for the thousandth time, what he could tell her. How much he could say.
"So who is it?" she asked, and the remnants of his memory shattered. There was only them, and the silent flat. The bed sagged slightly. He ought to fix it.
"You can't say a word, all right?" he said preemptively. "This is all very hush hush. But it's Saul. Croaker."
The reaction was immediate.
"Saul?" Her eyes widened. She sat up in the bed and turned, staring at him. "Tata's boss? You think he's involved? Why?"
"It's complicated." He sat back up too, weighing his words. He wondered for the hundredth time if half-truths were any better than secrets. Any more forgivable?
"Complicated," she repeated, still staring at him in shocked surprise. He felt her hand tremble slightly against his side. "But he's dead. He died."
"Well we haven't found a body," he hedged, and Siggy's eyes grew wider.
"So you think… Merlin, you think he's alive."
"We're exploring it as a possibility," he admitted.
"But has he done something? To make you think… Please," she pressed. "I won't say a word. I just need to understand. Why Saul?"
"Well, he… " He wished he could tell her everything. Even the things that weren't his to tell. "There was something that happened that night in Mysteries that's making us look into him," he added, choosing his words with care. "Something we've discovered later. But that's all I can say right now. I'm sorry."
Siggy was frowning, confusion evident across her face in the moonlight. "But he… I mean, the Prophet praised him so highly."
"The Prophet doesn't know we're investigating him yet, or they might change their tune," he admitted. "No one knows about this yet, so please don't say anything, all right? Even to your mum and Kasia."
"Of course." Her eyes glazed over slightly, her expression troubled. She was there beside him, and yet she was a thousand miles away. Likely trying to find some explanation. To make sense of his words. Though how one could make sense of them, he didn't know.
It had to hurt, though.
He watched her quietly in the semi darkness, wondering if it had been a mistake. If all he'd done was make it harder still for her to sleep. But then she said, "Thank you for telling me," in a very quiet voice. "I needed to hear that." And he squeezed her hand and considered that maybe he was an idiot. That maybe Siggy was made of stronger stuff than he thought. She'd have to be, wouldn't she? To cope with what life had thrown at her.
Maybe the reason he couldn't bear to tell her the truth had little to do with her. He hadn't thought he was that selfish. But when he opened his mouth to speak them, the words just wouldn't come.