|
||||||||
|
||||||||
Author: St Margarets Story: Roger and Lisa, A Romance Rating: Teens Setting: Pre-DH Status: Completed Reviews: 21 Words: 94,210
He was gone. One minute Roger was kissing her passionately, his hands roaming her body and in her hair and then the next minute he was gone. Lisa pulled a wet strand of hair out of her eyes and surveyed the damage. Rain was still pouring in through the gap in the wall above the sink and the dirty dishes were still on the counter. First things first – put the window back. Lisa flicked her wand and immediately the roar from the storm was muffled, although the rain drumming on the glass was a new sound. Or was that her head pounding in pain? Lisa pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. What had happened? It had been so wonderful. She had never been kissed like that – she had never kissed back like that. Maybe that was it – maybe she was rubbish at kissing. She opened her eyes again and saw the mess on the counter. She was not rubbish at kissing and oh God, neither was he. His kisses, which had been so frenzied at first, had slowed so that every touch of his mouth had plucked one sensation after another out of her. Lisa blindly flicked her wand at the dishes as she pondered Roger’s abrupt departure. Roger did not look in anyway disgusted by the way she kissed – in fact – Hot sudsy water filled the sink followed by the plates and glasses that leaped in with small splashes. With another flick of her wand, her mop and bucket started to mop the puddles on the floor. She had never seen Roger look like that. Oh, she had seen him soaking wet and disheveled after a Quidditch match. But she had never seen him…. Frowning, she directed the dishes into the drying rack and tackled the pots. All the brown scrapings in the frying pan were scoured off by the time it came to her: she had never seen Roger lose his cool before – not when they lost the Quidditch Cup and Cho had thrown her broom at him – not when Umbridge was riffling Ravenclaw Tower for banned books – and certainly not the numerous times she had refused to go out with him. So what did that mean? She shivered, suddenly realizing that she was still wearing wet robes. She would have a hot bath and put on her oldest, softest night things. Then she would turn on the Wireless and try to forget that Roger Davies existed or that he was probably never coming back. * The storm cleared overnight, although the next morning dawned cloudy and cool. Before she headed off to work, Lisa decided to wear her new blue robes for morale purposes. Not that anyone saw her new outfit; she spent most of the day in the darkened, locked room trying out various reflective surfaces under the beam of light. Unfortunately, the mirror, the shiny silver spoon, the various highly polished metals, all sent the light back to its source without expanding or strengthening it. Nothing seemed to affect that beam of light. It was a frustrating day at work and Lisa didn’t fare much better in the evening back at her flat. The sad fact was staring her in the face: Roger wasn’t coming back. At times like these, Lisa liked to fly – the faster the better. But she had to wait until mid-night to take out her broom. It was the law during the summer months, since the twilight lingered so late – even on a cloudy day. At the stroke of twelve, she bundled up in her green waterproof robes and took off from her kitchen window. The low clouds were like an icy shower – but she pushed upwards, hoping that she would find clear sky at a higher altitude. She did eventually, seeing the panoply of night stars as her reward. It was freezing up so high – but she welcomed it like one welcomed the clear cold of the desert night after a stifling hot day. She stretched forward on her broom, so she was lying on top of the handle with only her feet hooked around the twigs for safety’s sake. The air whooshed over and underneath her as she raced headlong through the darkness. When she tired of the wind in her face, she held on to the handle and rolled off of her narrow perch so that she was facing the stars. Slung underneath her broom, she opened her eyes wide, wondering how many glittering stars she could see at once. There were so many of dots of light – like the grains of sand she had spent years counting – yet in an instant – in the short time she could hold herself in this awkward position – she could fill her mind with them. It was almost too much to fathom. Her arms aching with fatigue, she awkwardly hoisted herself back on her broom and collapsed upon it. She slowed, and closed her eyes, still seeing the cool white of the stars against the comforting black of the sky. What would it be like to sleep on a broom – rocked and sustained by a gentle breeze? Perhaps she did doze off for a moment, for it seemed that she awoke with the conviction that her problems were small compared to vastness of the universe. So what if Roger didn’t like kissing her? She had been alone so often in her life – why should it bother her now? With that conclusion, Lisa was able to fly home and to tumble into bed for four hours of untroubled sleep until it was time to go to work. It hurt to sit in the locked room on Friday – the beam of light seemed a sharp, piercing thing. The light was not golden today – but white – as cold and inexorable as the stars she had studied the night before. In between her memories of Roger kissing her, she discovered one new thing about this force – when she moved, it followed her. * She couldn’t fly fast and furiously the next night, since the sky above London on a Friday night in June was always crowded. On this particular night, there were families starting their holidays – towing trunks and children in cots behind their brooms. There were young wizards out racing and couples sitting two on a broom gliding slowly along. If there were other witches out alone trying to figure out how to not long for someone who was clearly not interested, Lisa didn’t see them. * On Saturday morning she decided that she needed some human contact. She would go shopping for the lack of anything better to do. Even though she didn’t need any more robes, she stopped at Lady DuSult’s shop. Lisa had the mad thought that maybe Lady DuSult would know why a man would kiss you while you were wearing new robes and then Disapparate without an explanation. Perhaps the magic in the robes had gone all wonky. It would be a relief to blame the robes. But Lady DuSult was too upset about her landlord to talk to Lisa about magic and robes. So Lisa gave her Richard’s name and told her to dig out her copy of the lease. It gave her a bit of petty satisfaction not to recommend Roger, even though he was the solicitor and Richard was the barrister in the firm. Thoughts about Roger’s office reminded her that she had liked his swan quill. Her next stop would be the stationers’. Once there, she was shocked to find out that Scribner’s in Diagon Alley didn’t stock them and neither did Scrivenshafts in Hogsmeade. “Swan quills are rare, since only one swan in a thousand produces a quill hard enough to carve. And even then they need Custom Carving Charms to create the right point,” the saleswizard explained. “They cost the earth but they last forever. You might try Ireland.” Lisa walked out of the dim shop into the bright sunshine feeling slightly bemused at the thought of one in a thousand. What would it be like – to be that one – that special one out of a vast number, whether you were a swan giving a feather or that one woman out of many whose kisses a man craved? * It was hot already and it was only mid-morning. No wonder Diagon Alley was practically deserted. Everyone who could escape the city had done so. She closed her eyes and thought of the Aerie and the cool breezes off of the sea and how soon she could spend her weekends there. She couldn’t hate Roger too much; he had gotten it back for her…. “Lisa?” It sounded like Roger’s voice, but she knew it couldn’t be. He had left, never to return. She turned slowly and saw that it was indeed Roger. He was dressed in a dark blue Muggle t-shirt that did things for his brown eyes and a pair of close-fitting jeans that did things for the rest of him. “I thought you might be shopping,” he said with an easy smile. “I was looking for a new quill,” she said through a dry mouth. “You didn’t find one?” he asked, gesturing toward her empty hands. Suddenly she was angry at his poise. After all of her sleepless nights and agonizing days, he was talking to her as if nothing had happened. “No.” The sun was hot on her head and she was hot all over. “I have to go. Sorry.” Then she Disapparated back to her flat. * It was cool in the shelter of her flat and pleasantly dim, but she barely had a chance to register that fact before a knock sounded on her door. Knowing Roger had followed her, Lisa flung it open. “What?” she snapped. “Can I come in? I really don’t want to talk to you in the corridor.” She hated his coolness. “You can come in.” She lifted her chin. ”I’ll just Disapparate again.” “Okay, I deserved that.” He sighed. “But it’s tit for tat now. Can I please talk to you?” “You confused me, Roger,” she said, not moving an inch. “You left me with a huge mess to clean up. And you didn’t even have the courtesy to let me know if you sent that list of documents to Nigel Anderson.” “I’m sorry,” he said, looking into her eyes. “For some of it or all of it?” “Shall I initial each line item?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the door jam. “Yes.” She glared right back at him. He pressed his lips firmly together and studied her face. Then he stood up straight. “I’m sorry I didn’t let you know about the document list.” He said stiffly. “It went out on Thursday morning.” She raised her eyebrows. He sighed. “And I’m sorry I left you to clean the kitchen.” When she still hadn’t budged from the doorway, he continued, “And I’m sorry I confused you.” He ran a hand through his hair, something Lisa had never seen him do. “I was confused myself.” She hated the way his shoulders drooped. That wasn’t Roger. “Come in,” she murmured. She perched on the edge of an armchair, but Roger paced toward the window giving her a chance to study him without his notice. Merlin help her, he looked even better from behind. How could that strong tapering line from shoulder to hip be so attractive? And how could she be thinking about how he looked when she should be getting some answers? “So what did you do – after you left here?” she blurted. He slowly turned to face her, his eyes glittering darkly. “I’d think about that, Sweetheart.” “Think about what?” “Whether you want to hear my answer,” he said. He was inexplicably pale, even though the light from the window threw his face into a shadow. What horrible things had he done? “Do you still want to know?” he asked abruptly. “Tell me.” “You asked, Lisa. Just remember that.” She nodded, her heart thumping. “After I left you I went to the pub across from St. Mungo’s and I proceeded to get drunk as a Lord and I flirted with every witch in the place.” Her lungs constricted so tightly that they hurt. Breathe, she commanded, breathe. “Women are so attractive by closing time.” His smile was cynical. “I wanted them all – but one very aggressive little witch took me took her flat.” Lisa closed her eyes. “Did you sleep with her?” “No.” “No?” “No.” His mouth twisted. “Too drunk.” “Is that the only reason?” He winced. “No. She wasn’t the one I wanted.” Lisa let out such a long sigh that she was dizzy. “What am I supposed to say to that, Roger?” “You can say anything you want. ‘Go to Hell’ is probably the logical response.” She had never felt less logical in her life. “What’s the emotional response?” For some reason, he stilled and watched her carefully. “What do you mean?” “I mean – if every action was logical and reasonable, then you wouldn’t have done such a foolish thing.” Lisa was thinking aloud now. “And you weren’t flirting with those witches to hurt me. I never would have known unless you had told me.” He swallowed and didn’t say anything for a long time. “I didn’t want to tell you,” he finally admitted. “I had a great apology all planned out and….” “That was Wednesday night and it’s Saturday now,” Lisa said steadily even though her heart leaped with stupid hope. “Why didn’t you find me earlier?” He nodded as if this was a reasonable question and then ran his hand through his hair again. “You still want to hear the answer?” he asked, studying her face. “Don’t ask a question unless you want to hear the answer.” She rubbed her damp palms on the arms of her chair. Why was she so afraid? It was her job – had been her job for years – to study the unknown and the unknowable. She closed her eyes against sudden tears as the answer came to her: whatever was revealed about Roger would also reveal something about her. Because she wanted him no matter what he had done. She nodded, not trusting her voice. He sat on the low table in front of the settee. If Lisa wanted to, she could reach out and touch him. As it was, their knees were only inches apart. “So, I went to the office on Thursday with a major hangover.” At her raised eyebrows, he smiled mockingly. “Feel free to exult in my pain. I certainly deserved it.” He sighed and continued, “Richard was not happy with me, to say the least. He abhors a drunk – especially when it is me. After listening to his sanctimonious yet entirely correct speech, I Floo’d Candace.” “Candace?” Lisa repeated. “Candace is just –” he began. Lisa locked eyes with him. “You don’t have to give the details.” “I won’t,” he said quickly. “Because there aren’t any to give.” He spread his hands. “The same thing happened with her that happened with that witch from the pub – nothing.” Lisa plopped back into her chair as all the energy drained out of her body. She didn’t know how much more of this she could take. “So I went to see Blanche,” Roger continued in a soft voice. Lisa looked up at the wonderful blankness of the ceiling. It was soothing somehow. “Blanche?” “The owner of the pub – remember she waited on us?” “Right.” “Scourgify,” Roger said softly. Lisa tore her eyes from the ceiling. “Pardon?” “Scourgify,” he repeated, a pleading look in his eyes. “Vacuus. Wacsan.” Her eyes widened. “Those are Cleaning Charms.” “Blanche taught me.” “We didn’t have a bet – remember?” Her voice shook. “There was no contract about anything before we kissed. No agreement.” “I want one,” he said, moving closer to the edge of the table so that his knee brushed hers. A frisson of warmth went up her leg and settled in her center at his accidental touch. How weak was she – to feel shattered by his knee touching hers? “What do you want?” Lisa asked. The Quaffle is in his possession. “In plain language.” “I want you to forgive me,” he said, taking her cold hand into his warm one. Her heart pounded. What did she know about forgiveness? Was it a strong or a weak thing to do in this case? Then he added at her hesitation, “I want you to bet me a thousand kisses that I know more Cleaning Charms than you.” “And if I win – if I know more Cleaning Charms?” She couldn’t think straight anymore – couldn’t foresee the pitfalls to what he was proposing. “Then you’ll go out with me until you are tired of me,” he answered, taking her other hand. “Are you winning or losing then?” She was so confused and so tired of thinking. “As your lawyer, I’m advising you that if you agree to this contract I’m going to win either way,” Roger said, tugging on her hands. She followed until she was standing over him with her hands on his shoulders in the circle of his arms. “What does that mean?” She was pleading now – pleading for what she didn’t really know. “I don’t know – but I want to find out,” he said. “I want a contract with you, Lisa. Please.” The Quaffle was in her possession. How easy it would be to just give in, to kiss him now and forget everything, but a part of her still wasn’t sure and a part of her wanted to make him work. “First things first,” she said, “you still owe me ice cream.” A slow, ironic smile started on his face. “So I do.” * He did better than ice cream. He took her to the Isles of Scilly, south of Cornwall. “I thought you’d like the sand,” he said when they Apparated together on one of the magical islands uninhabited by Muggles. Lisa thought she liked the blue-green water and the seals sunning themselves on the boulders in the shallow sea better than the sand. “There’s ice cream here?” she asked. “Of a sort.” He gestured to a gray stone building with bright yellow awnings over the windows and potted palms on the wide veranda. “It’s a little old-fashioned. This place was all the rage when my mum was young. She used to bring me here for lunch when I was small.” From their table they had a beautiful view of the white beach framed by palm trees and the blue ocean beyond. “You know, I had forgotten that palm trees grow in this part of England,” Lisa remarked. “Even the Muggles can grow them,” Roger said. “We’ll have to look around after we eat. There are some very rare plants on this island, like Amaranth and Aconite.” He laughed. “Once I saw Professor Sprout here. I was so taken aback to see a teacher outside of Hogwarts, I could hardly say hello.” “I find that hard to believe,” she said. “Especially Professor Sprout!” “Oh, I had my awkward moments,” Roger said. “I don’t think I said one coherent thing during the entire Yule Ball. I took Fleur Delacour and I was a bit…” “Mesmerized?” Lisa asked. Their waitress placed plates of filet of sole in front of them. “This looks good,” Lisa said. Roger smiled. “Mum loves it because they don’t ‘spice things up too much.’” The fish was sweet and cooked just right, the new peas and potatoes the perfect accompaniment. “Honestly, you should write a restaurant guide,” Lisa said after the waitress had whisked her plate away. “You know the best spots.” “No way am I doing that,” Roger said, settling back in his chair. “Then all my favorite haunts would be crowded.” “You’re sharing quite a few of your secrets with me, you know,” Lisa teased. He stopped smiling and shifted uncomfortably. “So I am.” The awkward moment passed when their waitress brought them the specialty of the house: Baked Alaska. Lisa stared at the meringue-covered desert in surprise. “I was thinking more along the lines of an ice cream cone – or maybe a sundae,” she said, as she dug into the curiously warm, curiously cold desert. “Mum used to order this for me as a treat. Then, when I was full of sugar, she’d let me loose to run on the beach and find the Streelers.” “They’re Streelers here?” Lisa asked. “I love to watch them change colors.” “There used to be.” Roger smiled at her enthusiasm. “Two of them – Doris and Ralph.” “They live a long time – Streelers,” she said. “We’ll have to go look for them, but I don’t think I want to run, even after eating all of this sugar.” They found the large snails shading themselves under a stand of softly humming purple flowers. “Oh, their shells are all shades of pink today!” Lisa said. “I wonder what that means?” “It’s going to storm.” “Really?” “I’ve no idea,” Roger said. “Maybe it’s the calm after the storm.” “Do you think Doris and Ralph fight?” Lisa asked softly. Roger looked at her narrowly. “I don’t know about Streelers, but all couples fight – at least the ones I see in my office.” She nodded. Roger probably had the same jaundiced view of relationships that she did. “Why do you ask, Lisa?” Lisa looked at the spiraling lines on the Streeler’s shell. The colors went from the palest pink, to a warm rose to the brightest magenta. “My parents argued a lot.” “And?” “And I just wondered if that was really normal – I mean.” Why had she started talking about this? “I can’t say,” Roger said with a sigh. “I hate arguing,” she whispered. “It’s better than Disapparating.” Startled, Lisa looked up at him. “At least if you’re arguing, you’re both still there – there’s still a possibility that you could negotiate with each other.” Lisa snorted. “I never noticed that part of it with my parents.” Then she tilted her head. “But I guess you’re right – they never separated. Mum complained, but she went everywhere Dad did.” “I’m sorry about the other night,” he said. There was a note of sadness in his voice that hadn’t been there before. “Why?” She swallowed. “Why did you leave?” He sighed. “I was a bit –” She shaded her eyes to see him better. “Surprised.” “Ah.” She briefly put her hand on his arm, knowing that she had forgiven him. Lawyers didn’t like surprises, she remembered, although she wasn’t clear about what exactly surprised him. They turned their backs on the Streelers and continued their slow walk through the fragrant garden. “What do you want to do now?” he asked. She stopped under a latticed archway entwined in dark green vines. What did she want to do? Did standing here with the sunlight filtering over both of them count as an activity? Before she could say anything, she felt a soft tickling sensation at the nape of her neck. Goosebumps traveled down her arms as she saw Roger smile slightly and reach out a hand. He plucked the intruding vine and showed her the beautiful dark blue flower that had been blindly nuzzling her neck. “Not as blue as your eyes.” There were only two ways to relieve the unbearable tension she felt building inside – both were rather reckless and daring when done in the bright sunshine. Lisa swallowed and tried not to look at his mouth. She would be prudent for once. “I want to fly.” * Lisa climbed on her rented broom, trying to remember the last time she had flown during the day. It must have been in Mongolia when she was looking for that brown sand. Trust Roger to take her to a place where there was a concealed flying course marked out over the sea between the uninhabited islands. Lisa had never known of its existence, but the brooms-for-hire business appeared to be thriving. “Fancy some Quidditch practice?” Roger asked, holding up a red Quaffle. Lisa rolled her eyes. Why did Quidditch always have to enter into flying? “Where did you get that?” “Transfigured it from a beach stone.” “If you fancy swimming after it.” “You can’t be that bad,” he chided. ”I am terrible at Quidditch,” Lisa said. “But I’m a very good flier.” “Just try,” he coaxed. “Okay – but I warned you.” They flew away from the beach, skimming over shallow waves and not stopping until they were above the open ocean – the water gray-blue and fathoms deep. Lisa missed every toss but one and Roger had to lunge for the Quaffle each time she tried to throw it to him. “Right. You are terrible,” Roger admitted after he plucked the Quaffle off of a magical buoy. His face was red from exertion, and hers was red from blushing. She tossed her head. “Yes, but I can fly.” He smiled mockingly. “Show me.” “Try to keep up,” she called over her shoulder as she dove toward the choppy water. The Ministry had marked the course with tall concealment buoys set in even twelve-foot intervals, making it the perfect precision-flying course. Eagerly she wove around the buoys in a serpentine pattern, the clean smell of salt in her nose, the cool dampness from the ocean depths against her face. When she saw the sandy shoreline of the next island, she slowed and looked over her shoulder for Roger. “Up here,” he called. He had been hovering above the buoys watching her. She joined him, smiling breathlessly. “You snagged a bit of seaweed with your broom,” he said. Sure enough, there were some slimy green strands on her broom twigs. She must have touched the water at some point. She batted it away, feeling foolish. Roger wasn’t smiling – maybe it wasn’t very impressive flying. “With some practice you could have been a Seeker,” he said when she turned around. “Why didn’t you ever try out?” Her mouth dropped in surprise. “I know,” he said wryly. “It was a long time ago – but once a Quidditch Captain, you can’t help but build teams.” “Oh.” She felt shy all of a sudden; perhaps because there were no distractions from the intense way he was regarding her. They were alone above the rippling water and underneath the cloudless sky. It seemed the Quaffle was in his possession again. “Lisa.” In the cool weightless world of gray and blue, he seemed to be the only solid thing left. “What?” She licked her lips, avoiding his gaze. “You’re killing me.” Heat flashed through her in the space of a heartbeat. The tension had been building between them all day and now the slightest motion would…. Would what? Make him disappear again? She closed her eyes and sighed. “You’re killing me, too.” He wasn’t touching her, but his broom’s twigs jostled hers. “What’s killing you?” His hand was in her hair. “Not –” His fingers moved from her hair to skim along her jaw line. “Not kissing?” “Not knowing what’s going to surprise you and if you’re going to leave again,” she murmured. His mouth followed the path of his fingers and she shivered, feeling at once hot and cold. “I’m starting to warm up to surprises,” he said against her lips, “and I’m not leaving.” They were surrounded by light, Lisa realized, from the bright sky above and from the shimmering reflections in the water below. There was light in this kiss as well; light that entered her and moved her and dissolved her until she was liquid, molded into his arms. When she finally opened her eyes and looked over his shoulder, she saw her broom lazily circling them. Her eyes widened – they were locked together on one broom. “I can’t Disapparate now, can I?” he asked. His eyes were warm and his voice was husky with some sort of emotion. “Not unless you take me with you.” “Call your broom,” he said softly. “Then we’ll go together.” * They ended up at Lisa’s flat for the rest of the evening and most of the very short summer night. “Why were you wearing Muggle clothes today?” she asked from the circle of his arms as they sat on the settee listening to the top forty countdown on the Wireless. “I had to serve divorce papers to a Muggle bloke married to a witch.” “You served divorce papers and then you sought me out?” He laughed. “It does seem a little –” “Incongruous?” “Yes.” He stroked her arm. “Surprising.” She snuggled closer to him; his heart was beating steadily under her ear. “Did he hate his ex-wife?” “What?” She lifted her head. “That Muggle bloke. Did he hate his ex-wife?” He stroked her hair, before answering. “No, I don’t think he did. But I don’t think they could live with the –” “Incongruity?” “What are you thinking?” he asked, pulling away so he could look into her face. “Nothing, really. It just makes me sad to think about endings –” “Some endings are for the best,” he said firmly. “This couple didn’t have children. They tried to blend Muggle and magical worlds and it just didn’t work. Not every divorce is a tragedy.” This was logical and reasonable and for some reason it sent a chill down her spine. “Their situation doesn’t have anything to do with – ” He sighed and continued quietly, “You’re a witch, I’m a wizard.” Maybe that was the only reason that relationship didn’t work out, she thought hopefully. She was being silly, acting as if the divorce of a couple she didn’t even know was some sort of portent. “You’re a Ravenclaw and I’m a Ravenclaw,” she said lightly. “Right.” He hugged her and then added regretfully, “I should go.” “You said that an hour ago.” “I know, but this time I mean it.” She caressed his shoulders and moved away. “I have something I have to do tomorrow – I mean today,” Roger said, standing up. “Can I see you later in the evening?” Lisa was prepared to agree until she remembered it was Sunday. “I always spend Sunday evenings with Padma.” She also stood and put her arms around his waist. “Monday after work then?” he persisted, stroking her back. “Okay.” She stood on tiptoe to kiss the sensitive spot on his neck. Already she knew he liked that and she really should find out what else there was to know…. He groaned and moved away. “I’m going to be rubbish tomorrow as it is.” He gently touched her cheek. “Good-bye, sweetheart.” Maybe it was the late hour, but this sweetheart sounded different. “Bye,” she whispered. He was gone. But he said he would see her on Monday. With that comforting thought, Lisa stumbled into bed. She was so tired that she only spent a minute wondering what on earth Roger did on Sundays before she fell into a dreamless sleep.
|