Two Worlds of Magic, ch. 22
Chapter 22.
House’s Bogart.
“And you told her that?! In these words?!” Wilson exclaimed disapprovingly once House had retold him his previous conversation with Hermione.
They were sitting in the room Hermione made for them, each on his own bed and talking across the room. House got his Gameboy out of his inside pocket and turned it on, pointedly ignoring Wilson.
“Damn, this thing isn’t working here…” he murmured as the Gameboy refused to turn on, though House clearly remembered that it had its full battery charge. Damn magic!
“House!” Wilson called, his face pure discontent and disappointment. “You’re not taking it seriously enough!” he accused again.
“Okay, she wanted me to talk to her, I talked! What don’t you like, again, Oh The Right One?”
“House, you shouldn’t have told her that” Wilson answered a bit calmer.
“Why not? Both she and I know it’s true”
“Well, it may be, but you didn’t have to tell her that. She’s already hurt with her friend’s death enough -“
“Oh, and what’s with you and that Tonks girl, by the way?” House interrupted again, obviously evading the topic.
“We’re not talking about me House, don’t digress!” He snapped and his face suddenly got that pained, hurt expression they saw before but it lasted only a moment before Wilson shook his dead slightly and House decided to drop it. For now.
“Yes Mommy!”
“I mean, it’s certainly good that you two talked and that you tell me about this, it means you at least care, but, really, House couldn’t you be softer with her? Or use another words?”
“She had hysterics. What do people usually do when someone is in hysterics? They punch him in the face. Soft? Definitely not. But effective.”
Wilson sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes wearily before finally saying “People don’t like being told the truth, House, because usually it doesn’t happen to be quite… nice. And who else but you should know it.”
“So you’d rather I lie to her and be a hypocrite?” House more stated than asked, gaining seriousness at last. “Tell her that everything’s great while her friends are being killed?”
Wilson was silent for nearly a minute, thinking about a good response for that and House didn’t interrupt him. It was serious, after all, it was on what, basically, all the relationships were based. He immediately remembered the case he had when the man couldn’t control his mouth and spoke everything he thought and how it threatened to destroy his marriage. And how the guy was ready to die to get rid of this disease.
Then he thought of Stacey. He wasn’t telling her everything he thought she wouldn’t like and their relationship managed to last for five years.
So could he be less cruel with Hermione? He could. It didn’t mean he would have to lie to her, did it?
“It’s a rather moot point, House, but I think she knows it herself, she’s a smart woman after all. Do you really think she considers the current situation all sugar and spice and everything nice? She survived the war, House, remember it. Hardly is she that naïve as you think she is. But, nevertheless, you shouldn’t be that cruel to the people you care about.”
There was another silent break but this time it meant the conversation was over and House couldn’t help feeling relived. Serious conversations about morals and his feelings weren’t his strong part and it immensely annoyed him that Wilson was almost always right. Though, he’d rather kiss Chase than admit it to Wilson to increase his already over-blown ego.
“So, I think we shouldn’t discuss such serious problems here, the walls may have ears…” House smirked and Wilson shook his head, smiling.
“Seriously?” House asked him, amazed. “Walls can hear us?!”
“Not quite the walls, but the portraits on them” Wilson explained, now also smirking. “When I was little, there was a painting of Armando Dippet in my room - Hogwart’s previous Headmaster before Dumbledore - and he just loved to appear in his portrait in the most… intimate moments I had” Wilson rolled his eyes at the memory, then asked “What’s the time, by the way?”
“Almost nine in the morning” House said, getting up and stretching.
“What are you up to?” Wilson asked him suspiciously, still in his bed, frowning at House.
“I am up to no good” House smirked at his friend to began to protest immediately.
“House, you can’t just hang around the house alone, it’s dangerous and you don’t even have a wand and -“
“Oh, relax, Wilson, or I’ll have to go all Abra Kadabra and kill you”
“Actually, it’s Avada Kedavra or The Killing Curse, and you still can’t go!”
But House wasn’t listening anymore; trust Wilson to bore you to death…. He nearly jumped out of the room into the stair landing and looked up the stairs. Deciding he would rather go up than down he grabbed his cane and began walking upstairs.
He didn’t walk long before he saw a door to his right with a pompous little sign with neatly lettered words:
Do Not Enter
Without the Express Permission of
Regulus Arcturus Black.
Ok, he woudn’t have entered if there wasn’t a sign, telling not to. He was intrigued by the room and what could be inside and the name of a master itself. He stepped near the door and slowly and carefully opened it with his cane, expecting God only knows what - a fire, or a dragon or something else he couldn’t even imagine. Frankly, he didn’t even hope that the door would just open so easily.
But to his surprise, it did, so he carefully stepped into the room…
And was immediately disappointed. There was no dragons, no flying carpets in the air, no magic creatures just a simple room. It was all made with emerald and silver color, the walls were pasted with photographs of a teenage black-haired boy and his friends. There was a painstakingly painted picture over the bed that House guessed was the Family crest with the motto Toujours pur. He couldn’t understand what it meant so he continued to look around the room. There were several pictures of the boys zooming around on the brooms that were actually moving. Amazed, he reached out and tried to carefully remove the picture from the wall to examine it more closely but it was stuck to the wall deadly. Sighing, he turned around to leave the room.
And then he saw it, a large wooden wardrobe that almost looked like from the movie about Narnia and the kids that got into it through the similar wardrobe. It immediately caught his attention and he began to examine it from the outside. It was almost twist his height and four times his width. Excited, House stepped closer and for a moment he thought he saw the wardrobe move and jerk. Now curious as hell he considered opening it, after all, what could happen? Hermione and Harry are in the house several floors beneath him, and it’s just a wardrobe, the most that could happen was him to get to the secret world of Nymphs and Centaurs.
He stepped back and right on the distance of an outstretched hand and with his cane he took the round metal handle and pulled.
At first nothing happened and there was only darkness inside and the smell of moist immediately reached House’s nose. And then…
And then.
Hermione, terrifying in her beauty, stepped out of the wardrobe and she was the most beautiful he had ever seen her. Not giving him the time to think about how she could possibly be inside of a wardrobe, Hermione narrowed her eyes mockingly and began approaching him. Not quite thinking of his actions, he hastily took a step back.
“Oh, look at what we have here, an old pathetic misanthrope who thinks he’s a genius scientist!” Hermione said in a sing-song voice and smirked in a rather un-Hermione-ish way. He stared, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, but Hermione didn’t stop on that.
“Oh, I see. Unloading all this cheap stuff on me, thinking you understand anything, when in reality you just can’t deal with the pain and unhappiness you’re experiencing. You useless old piece of shit! The life has shit on you so you decide you know how it’s run. How… pathetic. Suck to know how truly small and helpless you are, huh?”
She was stepping forwards and he automatically took large steps backwards, his mind blowing and his heart racing in his chest. He stared at Hermione who just kept talking, addressing to him in that mocking humiliating way of hers, sending goose bumps down his spine and making the hair on his arms stand. There was a sinking feeling in his stomach as if something broke and fell, making his breath come out shallow and shaky. His hands squeezed his cane so hard that his knuckles turned white, his chest rose and fell quickly and unsteadily. He didn’t want to hear it, he wished she would stop right now and he could forget what she’d just said but she just kept on. His gaze was circling around the room, hoping against hope that he would find salvation there but there was none. The spinning feeling in his temples increased and his mouth went dry in a moment and could hear nothing but Hermione’s loud firm voice as she spoke, convinced in her rightness, smirking. He took another step back and with a sinking feeling he realized there was a wall behind him and no way could he back away from her. Moment later he defined that feeling as pure fear. He was bloody afraid of Hermione he saw in front of him, of the things she was saying and, frankly, it was rather long ago since he last felt that kind of fear, was so scared, like he was in front of death itself and he was forced in one moment to realize how pathetic and useless his life were.
Suddenly there was movement behind Hermione and to his utter horror House’s father stepped out of the wardrobe and began speaking, at one time with Hermione and they were outvoicing each other, their words mixing in House’s head.
“You’re so a fuck of son, a waste of my worries and hopes, I’m so disappointed I’ve brought up a sick bastard with ugly life morals! You let me down, Gregory, both me and your poor mother, and we tried our best to train you as well as possibly…” His words were outvoiced by Hermione’s accusations.
“You’re not worthy of a single person! You don’t deserve anyone, though who in his right mind would agree to get involved with you and your pathetic problems, you old cripple?! No one! You think you deserve me? I’d rather go out with Chase than you; at least he can walk…”
“No woman would voluntary live with you, Gregory, why else do you think you’re still alone in your forty-eight?”
“Even Wilson hangs around you out of pity, and so am I, House! I’m young and healthy while you’re an old damaged cripple, did you possibly think I could feel something to you?!”
He was pinned to the wall now, panting violently, while his father was towering over him, and Hermione was standing to his right, contempt clear on their faces as well as pity and there was no other way he could avoid them, their piercing cruel gazes…
“With a corner of his eye he saw a door to his left burst open and another Hermione ran into the room, her wand in hand. Wait, another Hermione?!
“Ridiculous!” She said firmly, pointing her wand to her other version and then to House’s father and with a soft ‘pop’ they both disappeared.
There was silence. His trembling knees refused to hold him and he slithered down the wall, breathing loudly, fear still in his blood. He looked around furiously, but his father was no longer there and Hermione slowly went to him and dropped to her knees, her expression soft and caring, unlike her other version he’d just saw.
“Wh-” His voice came out low and hoarse as if he had sore throat and he coughed to clear it. “What was that?!” he asked her quietly in a small voice, still afraid that his Dad would step out of the wardrobe at any moment.
“That was a Bogart” Hermione said simply, looking at him with genuine concern. “They dwell in dark moist places usually, no wonder you found one.” She sighed.
He still couldn’t get it. “What is a Bogart?” he whispered shakily.
“Oh, it’s a...” after a short hesitation she finally said. “No one knows how Bogart truly looks like. On seeing a person it takes an appearance of something you most fear, for example, if you are afraid of snakes most of all in your life, Bogart will turn into a snake” she explained, looking at him carefully, as if wanted to see some visible affect from the meeting he just had.
He didn’t respond, the words of his… Bogart still clear and vivid in his mind and he kept hearing them over and over. So it was his utter fear, all the things they said, it meant that he was afraid of hearing it most of all? He exhaled slowly, noticing that his leg hurting like hell, so he reached his pocket and fished out a bottle of Vicodin, swallowing two dry.
“You’re shaking, come here” Hermione said sympathetically, reaching a hand to him.
“Don’t pity me!” He snapped, crawling away from her, involuntary remembering what his Bogart-Hermione said to him about pity. He shuddered. “Go put your pity upon Wilson’s ass!”
She gave a long-suffering sigh and closed her eyes for a moment which meant extreme patience and tolerance. “House, please, I beg you, don’t let your fears rule you!” he frowned at her silently, plea was evident in her voice.
“When I was seeing my Bogart, it told me a lot of creepy things I didn’t want to hear” Hermione said quietly, moving closer to him and resting her back against the wall so they were now sitting side by side. “And if I allowed my fears - everything I heard from it - to affect my decisions, my life, I would have eat me from the inside. Fear is normal, House, not fearing anything is abnormal. But you must not live according to your fears and doubts.”
He swallowed the cotton in his mouth, for some reason unable to look her in the eye. She was right. Of course, she was right. It was even useful experience, at least now he knows exactly what he is afraid of. And he definitely shouldn’t let the Bogart change his life. But there was another obtrusive thought, circling around in his mind - has Hermione heard what the Bogart said?
“How did you find me?” He asked her, still not looking in her eyes, but instead staring at some spot above her right ear.
“I came into your room and Wilson told me you’d gone for an ‘excursion’” Both she and House snorted. “I thought you decided to go upstairs since, according your logic you would rather go up and see what’s there while we’re asleep and can’t forbid you since you’ll always have time to look downstairs because we always gather there” House chuckled, unable to stop a grin forming on his lips as she so correctly voiced his thoughts. “So I went a couple of floors above and heard some voices - and which is the most confusing, my own - in the Regulus’ room and on checking here, found you” she finished, smiling slightly at him.
After a minute of companionable silence he slowly got up, Hermione following him. They stood then, looking at each other and for the first time since her appearance in the room he looked her in the eyes. He liked her eyes, their warm brown color, their shape and size. Looking her in the eyes felt like… he couldn’t quite define what exactly he felt, but it was something pleasant, something warm and fuzzy, almost magical, and a little sad as if he only now discovered something he’d lost very long time ago and didn’t hope to ever get it back. They stood only inches apart and he could hear her breathing, feel her scent, reminding him of something dear and sweet, and all his fears and doubts he was feeling in the moment just melt away. He wondered how much would it take him to just accept what she was offering to him, the infinite number of such moments like that and thinking that if he just reaches out he would touch and feel the love and happiness radiating from her he realized he’s already accepted it.
In one swift movement he jerked forward and hugged her, embracing her, feeling her muscles slowly relax as she overcame her shock. He pulled her closer, breathing in her scent and burying his head in her hair, because this time it wasn’t for her, it was for him, it was he who needed her now, and with that thought he slowly closed his eyes and relaxed as well, his arms hugging her tight, and the tighter he squeezed her the calmer he felt and the more ready she gave herself to him, offered herself and her comfort, her love, warmness. After all, all he needed was to just go with the flow and it felt the most right thing to do and the right place to be and he felt that she knew it too and shared it with him, felt it as well as he did, and the words were unnecessary because they both knew it as it was. The prospect of standing like that forever was very tempting, as he suddenly noticed his leg hurt no longer, and slowly his thoughts trailed off a little, allowing him to break through the warm slumber. His eyes were closed and he imagined or rather knew that Hermione’s were too and he felt his lips twist into a small smile.
Hermione’s warm hand softly patted the back of his neck as she whispered into his ear “Things would be different this time”
He knew what she meant, he felt it as well, and the memories of his life, the moments filled with fear, cold and loneliness made him squeeze her even more firmly if that was possible, glue them together with happiness and calmness and he knew that she was right. Pity, it took so long, so much and a Bogart for him to realize that.
“I know”
The silence stretched and he didn’t move, enjoying the emotion he felt, that was overwhelming him for the first time since he couldn’t remember when, enjoying this kind of… connection he suddenly acquired and which he didn’t have before with anybody, not even Stacey.
Waving a wand and shouting spells wasn’t magic, he thought, this, what they had was.
“What are we going to now?” he asked her softly, still not moving. Her hand on his back stilled for a moment before continuing to caress the skin.
“I think breakfast would be nice” he murmured against his chest, sending a pleasant vibration up and down his body.
“I hope it’s not you who cook it. If your food is as good as your coffee I‘d rather stay hungry” It was a lie, because she made a great coffee at work but he wanted say it nevertheless. She chuckled and he felt the vibration once again.
“No, House, Kreacher the Elf makes us breakfast, and it’s truly delicious so you won’t have to complain. And I think a patty with a cherry filling will make my day”
“How little you need to make you happy” he smirked. “When I had Wilson in my apartment I had to feed him four or five times a day. He cost me a lot I must say.”
He felt her smile, though he didn’t quite know how.
“I also think you should make me new sheets. The ones you conjured me yesterday have some suspicious spots on them.” He complained with a grin.
“You mean you were drooling in your sleep and now blame my excellent Transfiguration skills?” she singsonged.
He let out a small laugh. He had no doubt whatsoever that her Transfiguration skills were excellent. She was Hermione, after all, the example of Perfectionism. He doubted whether there was a thing Hermione didn’t do with all her heart in it, whether it was medical practice or simply being a good friend, or doing magic and all that Transfiguration and Appartation and…
“Tell me” he suddenly asked her, parting a little to be able to look into her eyes. “Tell me about magic”