The House of Paintings

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When he woke up in the morning, he stared at the ceiling for a while, looking vaguely familiar, trying to guess or remember what this place was. It didn't work. Moving his hand, he found it resting on a firm thigh with velvety skin, and turned his head cautiously. The dark-haired, even black-haired girl was lying next to him, her back turned to him, and her face not at all visible. A smooth shoulder and neck peeked out from under the blanket.

"If only she weren't ugly, if only she weren't ugly!" - he prayed to himself.

Crawling out from under the blanket, he hovered over her, scrutinising her. The face looked familiar, but more so because he'd slept with her. At least that was obvious - he wasn't likely to be lying naked in bed with an unclothed girl. Otherwise, he couldn't recognise her, no matter how much he wrinkled his forehead. She was pleasant to look at - certainly from this angle! Not a fiery beauty, of course, but her smooth face was of the right shape, her nose was straight, her lips were slightly swollen and sensual - which were just now very touchingly open - a neat ear showing between the thick, soft hair. The lips looked delicious. He bent down and touched them with his own, and she frowned without waking, and wiggled her nose as if a speck of dust had settled on the tip. Who was she?!!!

A bright bedroom, perfectly tidy. On the wall there were two pictures embroidered in smooth silk of marvellous beauty, about a metre by a metre and a half each, clearly forming a single composition - on one side of the morning lake with the haze swirling over it, a naked bather arranging her hair in a braid, on the other, a unicorn gracefully curving its neck was looking in her direction. On the chair were neatly stacked clothes - everything was in order, as he usually wore - pants, shirt, trousers and socks... Clean, ironed and smelling nice. In the bathroom there was a magic powder for brushing teeth, a couple of different shampoos, one of which was obviously female, and the other, respectively... If we go by the method of elimination... Towels of two colours... He doesn't just sleep with her, he obviously lives here! Except he's completely oblivious to it. After brushing his teeth and washing his face, he leaned in and kissed her again, and again she repeated the same unhappy movement. Without waking up. He got dressed and went out.

The bedroom was on the third floor of a typical London townhouse, and as he went downstairs he decided to look around a bit. It was clear that the landlady was a wizard, but instead of the traditional portraits of ancestors in mages' homes, the walls were covered with embroidered paintings - tastefully chosen and skilfully executed. Smaller and larger, still lifes and landscapes, and sometimes even pictures of people he didn't know. There was also a bedroom on the first floor, the door to which was slightly ajar. He decided to peek in and froze, mesmerised by the picture before his eyes, which immediately overshadowed the embroidery on the walls. There was a girl lying on the bed. This he could easily determine, as she was buried under the blanket...halfway. The top half. She was lying with her shapely legs spread across the bed, and he had a view not only of her round arse sticking up, but also... It was getting hot. The legs looked exceptionally seductive, the ass was delicious, and the rest... He swallowed his saliva nervously and wondered if this was an invitation. His hands involuntarily reached for his belt... No, probably not - the fact that he woke up in bed with someone else clearly meant that he was not welcome in this bed. The girl squirmed, and he hurried to close the door before he was caught peeping obscenely in his undone trousers.

Looking into the living room below, he cast a careless glance at the newspaper lying on the table, which was obviously yesterday's, and measured himself. The twelfth of April, two thousand and sixth! Twelfth of April two thousand sixth! It had been bloody six months and he hadn't even noticed! Six months since... The image of his beloved came to his mind - as she had always been, impossibly sunny and cheerful. There was no pain, strangely enough, and he groped his chest in wonder - was there a hole there? Had someone stolen his heart while he was asleep? No, his heart was still there and even beating. He still loved her just as much, to the point of not being able to breathe, to the point of trembling in his knees... But the pain was gone. Just what the voice from his drunken dream had promised him.

"Thank you," he whispered.

A cupboard full of women's shoes - boots, shoes, sandals. In the hallway stood a pair of polished shoes - probably his, though he didn't recognise them. But with half a year of memory loss, it was not surprising - there was no telling what he had bought for himself in the meantime! He put on his favourite jacket with the suede patches on the elbows, threw on his cloak, and apparated, realising his mistake only at the entrance to the Ministry. He cursed himself and lamented that he would never find the door to the house of the beautiful stranger he had spent the night with, like a prince in a fairy tale. He couldn't decide which one he was more upset about - the one whose face he'd been looking at since he'd woken up, or the other one who'd given him an equally amazing view. Shaking his head, he walked into the Ministry.

- Oh, boss, you're here! - Exclaimed Michael when he found himself in their shared office with his assistant. - Great! About yesterday...

The assistant stopped and sat back down at his desk, scrutinising him. It was obvious that he had noticed a change in him, but what was it?

- Hadn't you had a drink today? - He suddenly asked in a suspicious voice, sniffing carefully.

A string of faces and bodies suddenly flashed before his eyes again, but only now it became clear to him that the bottle was always present in the frame of memories. Firewhiskey, ice-vodka, mousemaker, badnor - these had filled - no, filled to the very ears! - his life for six months. That's why he doesn't remember anything. Harry sat down at his desk and stared at Michael. He was also staring at him, unashamedly. Old friendship allows for many things....

- Did you drink a lot? - he asked a vain question.

And it was also clear that he had, if he couldn't remember anything at all. But it wasn't really a question, but an answer to Michael's question.

- I was sometimes afraid that if you fell off your hooves, we wouldn't find any blood in your firewhiskey," he said gravely. - Three times we had to put out the fire in the gents. The chief even suggested that you should be a strike unit for the seizures.....

They were silent again. He was joking about the fire in the toilet, of course - firewhiskey won't catch fire by itself, you have to set it on fire... But if you set it on fire....

- Was I adequate? - Harry asked.

- Sometimes," Michael answered evasively. - You have to work somehow...

- And the other times? - He asked.

- Do you want the protocol or the plain language? - Michael asked.

- Let's stay within the censorious," he suggested.

- Okay," Michael shrugged. - Beep. Beep, beep, beep. Beep, beep, beep, beep. Beep-beep-beep-beep...

- Thank you," he stopped him. - I'm picking up a trend. Are there any censored words left in there?

- Well, what censorious words can there be when you're indiscriminately going through every female employee of the Ministry from thirty and down..." Michael began.

- Stop," Harry said, raising his hand decisively. - Beep!

- Exactly," Michael agreed. - Beep-beep! About two months ago, you walked into a meeting of the Wizengamot...?

- And what, everyone there...? - Harry asked in horror.

- No," Michael shook his head. - You got a black leather cloak from somewhere, burst into the hall, and started shouting that everyone was a traitor. You ran up to each of the council members in turn, poked them in the face with your wand, and said, "Where were you on the second of May, ninety-eight?" Two of them fainted, and the Chairman had a heart attack. While they were dealing with him, you sat down in his place and fell asleep with your head resting on the back of the chair. Then, without waking up, you fell backwards with the chair. You snored so loudly that the meeting had to be moved. Shacklebolt was furious. By the way, I'd advise you to stay out of sight of the Minister for the next couple of months, or even years!

- What, I snored in his office too? - Harry said sadly.

- No, but you broke his favourite Argentine oak desk," Michael shook his head.

- How? - Harry was stunned. - The table was enchanted!

- Shacklebolt and his wife, who happened to be visiting him at the time, had left the study for a moment, leaving behind their two daughters, one of whom was nineteen and the other had just celebrated her coming of age. When they returned ten minutes later, the desk was already broken.

- What's this got to do with me? - he wondered.

- You're a detective, Harry! - Michael said with judgement in his voice, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest. - Use the deductive method!

- Beep! - he said sadly. - Beep-beep!

- Don't worry about it, Harry," Michael advised. - Of those present, only the minister was against what was happening. According to the secretary, his wife, on the contrary, began to sincerely worry about the process ...

- "How is she holding her legs up? It's uncomfortable for him!" - he commented thoughtfully. - Is that all?

- In general terms," Michael nodded. - Will you be with us long?

Michael looked meaningfully at the bottle on the table.

- I think so," he exhaled, putting the bottle in the bin. - If I don't catch Kingsley's eye.

- The universal secret to surviving in this bedlam," Michael said. - So, let's get you up to speed.

The case Scotland Yard had given them today was about Muggles who apparently had a boggart in their house that was frightening the household. Harry and Michael polished their inspection badges and went to the address. The owner of the house opened the door, who'd been there to meet the inspectors - they'd moved out as a family to a hotel, which, if it really was a boggart, would be covered by insurance bought from Gringotts by the Muggle government. It turned out to be just a ghost, but a wild enough one, and the negotiations Harry had had with the undead while Michael was outside the house taking statements from the landlord had almost ended in failure. In the end, they managed to persuade the ghost to change its location and move to an area allocated to wizards more accustomed to them. That was the end of it, and soon the day was over.

He spent another hour writing the report - it was an innovation he had brought to the work of the Aurorate. Before that, files had not been kept at all, and the only way to unearth something was to get the memories out of the head of an auror who had been a witness, and spend hours searching for the right fragment. Now, at least, they had switched to paperwork. Aurors were already used to it, and in a couple of years one could try the introduction of computers, preparing in advance to be burned at the stake for the use of dark magic...

As he left the Ministry, he stood for a few minutes with his head up to the sky, which he hadn't seen in six months. It had stopped raining, and he decided to walk home, as he and his beloved had often done when she had come running to him at the end of the day, happily hanging around his neck and dragging him into the white light... In those days, it seemed, nothing in the world could compare to a walk through the streets of evening London, when you could bathe in the glow of her blue eyes and enjoy the sound of her laughter. The palm in his hand could warm him in any inclement weather, and the sight of her walking carelessly beside him distracted his attention from the vicissitudes of the weather, and from the imperfections of the world outside their own - a huge one, filled with happiness and love....

He stopped, nearly bumping his forehead against some kind of door. An ordinary porch, the kind of porch that abounded in Merlibon, a brown-painted door with a peephole and a mailbox, a bronze lamp above the bell button and the house number next to it.... He took a step back to lift his head and survey the quite Victorian-looking townhouse. Why on earth had he ended up here? Maybe some old unsolved case? It was simpler than that; light, quick footsteps were heard inside the house, the lock clicked, and the door swung open.

There she was - today's brunette. When Michael had told her about his adventures, he'd feared that she'd end up being a dunce, for among the contingent at the Ministry, in which he'd done a fair bit of muckraking, there were some who could make even an alligator hiccup nervously... No, she was nice-looking and pretty enough. There was nothing outstanding in her face, but her correct features and expressive eyes did their job. She looked two or three years younger, and he couldn't remember where else he'd seen her besides this house. She was dressed in a strict dark grey closed dress, with neat white cuffs at the wrists and the collar buttoned tightly. Her hair was compactly arranged in an intricate hairstyle that favourably revealed the oval of her face. Small dimples on her cheeks, the corners of her lips turned down slightly, giving her either a stern or a contemptuous expression - he had not yet had time to make out. Emerald eyes of pure and rich colour framed by thick black lashes. That was how acquaintances had described his mother's eyes. It was exactly what he had seen in Snape's memories. The eyes were mesmerising, not only in their depth, but something incomprehensible about them... Sadness, serenity....

She nodded - not in greeting, but as if satisfied with what she saw - and stepped aside, making way. Silently. It was unclear - maybe they were in a quarrel and didn't speak? And what was he doing here, anyway? He took off his cloak and put it on the rack. She froze, waiting for something, and then he guessed to take off his boots, and the girl slid him comfortable sheepskin slippers. When he moved hesitantly into the living room, she stopped him with a firm hand and turned him round. Still keeping a serene...businesslike expression on her face, she undid the buttons of his jacket, unfastened and pulled his tie, walked around and pulled his jacket down. He rolled his eyes and rolled his shoulders, allowing her to take the jacket, smooth out the creases with a couple of palm movements, and hang it on the rack. Somehow he thought that tomorrow morning the jacket would be perfectly cleaned and ironed again.

- Hands," she said suddenly, turning him gently towards the door to the lavatory, which was in the corridor on the way to the kitchen.

Her voice was firm and calm. Somehow it seemed to him that it was like that every time he came in... The carousel of memories spun with renewed vigour, preventing him from focusing on anything in particular, and then his mind moved its well-oiled gears and happily began to deduce information, reconstructing it bit by bit. Memory did not object to this method, and obligingly confirmed the correct inferences.

He had never been here sober, but he was most likely insane. If so, this girl might well have got used to handling his clumsy body, helping and guiding him. She had clearly taken off his jacket more than once. And it's "Hands!" He opened both taps and poured water into the basin, soaping his hands. In the reflection in the mirror, he saw her frozen in the doorway, leaning against the jamb and watching him carefully as he washed his face. She had her hands folded on her stomach, but in a strange way... Something reminded him of it, and he froze, trying to remember.

- Face," she reminded him.

He obediently rubbed his face with soapy palms and scooped up some water to rinse it off, while letting the gears spin, working on a new - completely irrelevant - detail, and trying to figure out why it felt like a glow was coming from her. The gears came to a halt, producing a result that made him unbend and turn round to her, eyes wide.

- Soap," she reminded him.

"Soap, bloody soap, kiss me dementor!"

Naturally, it immediately happily ran into his eyes, digging in and eating away, and he almost even groaned at his own stupidity. He bent over the sink and scooped up more soapy water... To rinse his eyes! A small palm rested on the back of his head, while the other pulled the stopper from the basin in one practised motion and let the cold stream out, then began to splash ice water into his face, washing the soap out from under his eyelids. Damn, and he seemed to have done this more than once! After washing him, she picked up a face towel and carefully began to blot his face. He pressed her palm to his face and she immediately froze.

- Hands with the other towel," she said less forcefully after a moment, releasing her palm.

The girl walked out of the bathroom and stood in the doorway, waiting for him to finish wiping himself off. Looking him over meticulously, she brushed the foam from under his ear with the same small towel, and the fabric of the dress stretched, confirming his hunch. She straightened the towel carefully before hanging it up, and did the same with what was left in his hands.

- Dinner," she said and walked out into the corridor.

Following her, he was finally able to appreciate her figure. Slender, about six foot two or three. Round bum, legs not short at all - quite the opposite. Narrow waist and flexible neck. Not thin, but just right. She walked with a confident, easy gait, shoulders back and hips swaying. He could understand why he'd want to take her to bed, since that was exactly the desire he had right now. Unfortunately, until he could figure out why they weren't talking, nothing would come of the rest of this either.

Dinner was already set on the table in the living room, hot food and dessert. Apparently, she'd decided to ignore the soup. He didn't like soup very much, though, and might well have resisted it... when he was unconscious... His memory readily told him that had happened once, and he hadn't had soup on the table since. But there was a bottle of firewhiskey and a glass. Why one - it was quite obvious. The girl deftly uncorked the bottle, poured the firewhiskey into the glass, took her place as hostess, leaving him the chair of the head of the family, and froze, waiting for something. He, too, sat down and nodded, paying tribute to tradition, and she took up the cutlery.

While they ate in silence, he scrutinised her carefully, for it was a moment to focus on the details that might tell him who she was better than words. The fingers on her hands were thin and incredibly flexible. She held her instruments with a grace that would have been the envy of the Queen herself. One could sense good breeding, and her manners were wonderful. He would not have used the word "brilliant" or "impeccable," though he knew what they were, but there was nothing to fault in her honed movements. Occasionally she swept her eyes over him, not paying much attention to his scrutinising gaze, but he thought it was just to make sure he didn't fall face first into the plate again. More often she lingered on the glass he never touched, though he wanted it so badly that his hands began to tremble at the thought of the burning throat and mind-numbing booze. If there had been soup, he would have spilt it all!

He finished his meal, finished his tea, and found that she was already on her feet. She took a napkin from his lap and took the cup from the table.

- Thank you," he realised belatedly, receiving a look from her green eyes in return.

She returned from the kitchen with a small silver tray, set the bottle and cup on it, and took it to the reading table by the armchair next to the bookshelf. He took that as a hint and moved there. On the bottom shelf, just above the locker, were heavy, dusty grimoires, the mere sight of which induced a yawning fit. A little higher and on the third shelf were more modern books on magic, and at the very top was a collection of Muggle fiction. He pulled one out at random and looked at the cover - "Henry Kuttner, Stories." A completely unfamiliar author, but still better than textbooks. He sat down in his chair and opened the book. "Cauldron of Trouble" - is it about wizards?

Almost immediately he found the girl standing next to him. When he looked up at her, she held out her hand with palm upwards demandingly. He closed the book and handed it over, then realised she wouldn't be able to reach the top shelf and jumped up himself. She held out to him 'Peculiarities of the Application of Arithmancy in Transfiguration' by Mewt Niechtsprechen. Is this some kind of mockery? So while they're fighting, he can't even read a normal book? We have to do something about this soon.

Mewt Niechtsprechen was boring as hell, and he even wished he didn't smoke - otherwise he could at least put matches in his eyes to keep them open. The girl settled down in the other chair, just opposite him. She moved a bedside table on wheels, from which several drawers with small cells were pulled out. She took out a frame, covered with a cloth, on which was already started embroidery. Deftly put the thread into the needle and began to draw the design. She cut the thread, took out another needle... Was it all her?! He felt his eyes involuntarily popping up to his forehead. So these paintings are all embroidered by her?! How much labour must be put in, how much... Her fingers moved nimbly and precisely, and he stared at them fascinated. Not a single extra movement, not a single slip ... She embroidered without any sample, as if the artist applied the colours on the canvas, without using the nature. And under her hands another flower gradually blossomed....

- It's time for bed," she said, breaking him out of his mesmerised trance.

He glanced at his watch - it was indeed time... She was standing beside him again, her work tucked away somewhere. The firewhiskey he hadn't even remembered to touch, she had carried away and was ready to head upstairs. He jumped up, remembering to be polite, and she immediately turned around, clearly expecting him to follow her. On the stairs, the urge came over him again, and it was stronger the more he thought about her. Who was this mystery girl who seemed to have emerged from the depths of his drunken inebriation and now struck him with one wonder after another? And with such a round arse?

Turns out she'd not only had time to clean up, she'd also prepared a bath. For him. She stopped at the bathroom door, waiting for him to come in.

- Get in," she ordered, pointing to the tub, which was two-thirds full of water with a thick layer of bubble bath on top.

- Shall I undress? - He asked, furrowing his brow, and immediately realised how stupid his question had been

Something unexpected has happened.

- If you think you'd be more comfortable in your clothes, you don't have to," she replied.

Eleven whole words! She had said eleven whole words to him! That was more than she had said the whole evening before! He pulled the belt of his trousers, and she stepped close to him and began to undo the buttons of his shirt and cuffs, and it was so intimate that he wanted to hug her. When he looked at her concentrated face, he decided not to - after all, they were in some unknowable quarrel... She pulled the sleeves to the sides, pulling off his shirt, and when she was done with that, she calmly pulled down his trousers and pants. They're definitely sleeping together! Because she didn't feel awkward about it.

- I need to..." he mumbled.

She turned and walked out, shutting the door. He reached for the latch, but there was none. So he wouldn't get any privacy! He would have to rely on her delicacy... Five minutes later he opened the door and reported:

- I'm done.

The girl, who had thrown off her dress and was now wearing only a sheer negligee down to her heels, went back into the bathroom and the first thing she did was look into the toilet bowl. He stopped staring at her and blushed in shame. So he had also managed to slap his face in the dirt with alcohol in this way! She'd let her hair down, and now it lay loosely on her right shoulder, reaching her chest. He remembered to get in the water and stepped into the tub. The water was a little warmer than it needed to be, but it was even nicer that way. He sat down, and meanwhile the girl knelt at the edge. While he was wondering why, she scooped water into both palms and poured it over his head, making him sniffle. Once more, and once more. Then she reached for the shampoo he'd outlined for himself that morning, squeezed some into her palm and smeared it into his hair, running her fingers through it, massaging the skin and scratching lightly with her sharp claws. He covered his eyes in bliss. After washing him thoroughly, she pressed the back of his head so he leaned forward and began to run the water again, rinsing off the shampoo. Then she took out a flannel, gave him a good soaping and started rubbing his back. When he was done with his back, I pulled out his arm to rub it too, then the other....

- Get up," she said.

He obeyed, and she began to wash his stomach and legs. Then she soaped her hands again and took his cock. She washed it as thoroughly and concentratedly as she did everything else, leaving not a single crease unwashed. Her deft fingers were gentle, too, and he closed his eyes again, trying not to think about the fact that he had to get her into bed. The water, meanwhile, was already gone, and she began to towel him dry.

- I'll do it! - he protested when he found her trying to reach for his head.

She handed him the towel without speaking and took another to wipe his feet. When that was done and he was out of the bath, she nudged him into the bedroom and closed the door. The sound of water was heard again.

He still had no way of knowing what was going on. On the one hand, it was clear as day that they were intimate - and apparently had been for a long time. If his assumptions are correct, of course. She knows his preferences and has generally had time to get to know him, the way intimate people get to know each other. On the other hand, before her tirade, he could count on his fingers the words she'd said to him all evening. It was as if they'd been married for fifty or a hundred years... Or maybe that was what had happened? While he was unconscious, he and this stranger had lived a long life, and when he woke up, they were suddenly young again? No, more likely they had a fight for some reason and she refuses to talk to him. The way she looked down the toilet! Maybe he didn't flush it just the day before? It would probably be a shock to a marvellous person like her to discover....

He threw back the duvet and climbed into bed, taking a new look at the paintings on the wall. Wow, this was done by the hands of this wonderful girl who was about to come from the bathroom to his bed... Or rather, the bed he had climbed into... Lucky him! Well, yes, only it won't work - they're in a quarrel, and she'll just turn her back on him...!

The sound of the water subsided, and she stayed out for a while longer, and then the door dissolved, and she ran quickly to the bed, obviously afraid of losing her warmth. She snuck under the covers and froze, lying beside him, staring up at the ceiling. He watched her as she breathed measuredly, staring fixedly at a single point somewhere far above, as she opened her lips from time to time to touch them lightly with the tip of her pink tongue. How her cheeks, red from washing, gradually paled. He admired the braid into which she had pulled her soft black hair... After lying like that for about five minutes, she sighed, turned her back to him and switched off the light. The realisation of what was happening hit her skull painfully.

- Wait," he said. - Turn on the light, please.

She obeyed, not turning back to him. She wanted to run her hand over the white skin between her shoulder blades... He sat down on the bed.

- Please sit facing me," he asked.

Strangely enough, she obeyed, but sat up, continuing to wrap herself in the blanket. He pulled at the edge.

- Are you cold? - He asked.

She unclenched her hand and he released it gently, admiring it. Then he moved closer, all the way down - so that she was between his legs and he could finally reach... One hand slid down her back, to her waist, and began to knead her buttock. She just watched him, even with a kind of detachment, not trying to let him know in any way how she felt about what was happening, but not abstracted at all, pretending she wasn't here. Placing the palm of his other hand on her belly, he gently stroked it, enraptured. It was divine - her belly, just beginning to round, so touching and already so eloquent! She involuntarily put her hand next to his, and he wanted to squeeze her in his arms. Her breasts, previously quite small, were already beginning to swell, and he couldn't resist taking one in his hand, leaving her tummy for a second, and then his palm came down again on the roundness....

He wasn't much of an expert on the subject, but he was observant after all. About four months - so it seemed to him. Three and a half or four. At three you'd still think the girl was abusing sweets, but at four the question gradually fell away. She was beautiful, incredibly beautiful, and he, overwhelmed with emotion, reached out to kiss her....

Instead of covering her eyes and setting her lips to his, she pulled away with a bewildered and wary look in her eyes. Damn, so they were in a fight after all! He turned away and pulled his hand from her buttock, but she caught it by the brush. Now he had completely stopped realising what was going on! She was just as calmly looking at him and wouldn't let go of the hand he was trying to remove from her bum. But why the hell wouldn't she want to kiss?

- Are you sick? - he guessed. - Afraid you're going to make me sick?

For the first time there was an expression of any emotion on her face. She frowned.

- No," she answered, making a visible effort.

- I want to kiss you," he explained. - May I?

- As you wish," she replied.

That answer left him stunned. You mean she didn't care? What do you mean, whatever you want? What the hell was going on? Or had he already enslaved her in his unconsciousness and now he was exploiting her?

- Answer me honestly," he asked. - Did I put Imperius on you?

- No," was the answer.

For a moment he thought she was amused by his questions, but that spark in her eyes disappeared before it even flared up.

- Open your mouth and close your eyes," he asked, touching her lip with his thumb and running it along her chin.

She did so immediately, sending another wave of desire through him. This foolish submissiveness of hers, mixed with her past uncompromising dominance, was somehow even arousing. He leaned down and touched her lips, which didn't even move in response, squeezed the lower one with his and rolled it around. Nothing.

- It's like you don't know how to kiss," he murmured. She didn't say anything. - Am I right?

- Yes," she answered and ran her tongue over her lips.

Yes - she doesn't know how to kiss? Is she for real? Is she really trying to tell him that being four months pregnant she doesn't know how to kiss? In his mind, he was ready to start pulling his hair out. One by one. Not least because it meant he'd never even tried to kiss her in bed before. And this despite the fact that he considered himself to be quite suave!

- Try doing the same," he suggested. - Grab my lip with yours and make it look like you're sucking on it. You can run your tongue over it. You can bite it a little, just gently. You can draw my tongue into you, running your tongue over it, or you can run yours into my mouth.

- A lot of talking," she commented.

He took the hint and pressed his lips to her again, continuing to run his hand over her tummy. She probably didn't really know how to do it, so clumsy were her attempts, which nevertheless made him hot.

- Are you allowed in your position...? - he asked. - It won't hurt...?

She leaned back without a word, lay back and raised her arms, hiding them under the pillow. He hovered over her hesitantly, and she looked into his eyes again. Again nothing-he couldn't read what she was feeling. He could study Legilimency! She only twitched faintly as he gently entered and moved, trying to find her lips at the same time, but she turned her head away and covered her eyes. There was no further reaction to his actions, only a blush covering her cheeks and her breathing becoming more rapid. He sped up, changing the amplitude, but she still didn't make a sound, as if she weren't even here. It was as if he was forcing himself on her, and when he realised this, he stopped. After a few seconds she gave him a quick glance, hesitantly pressed her index finger between her lips, and moved her hips subtly. He continued to scrutinise her, and then with her other hand she pulled him towards her, fidgeting again.

He took that as an invitation and continued, slowly at first, gradually speeding up. When he got into a frenzy, he moved as fast as he could, and then she arched her back, clutching his hips, and opened her mouth silently, throwing her head back.

The next morning she woke up before him, and when he got up there was breakfast and a fresh newspaper waiting for him.

- Can we talk? - he asked, when there was only tea and toast on the table.

- You'll be late," she replied.

He wondered if he should kiss her before he left, but her aloofness made him change his mind.

- Am I coming tonight? - he asked.

- As you wish," was the reply.

There was that damned "as you wish" again! He stormed out of the house and sprinted down the street, trying to calm his anger. He came to his senses at the entrance to the Ministry, and realised that he had again failed to pay attention to the address. He remembered the house number and the neighbourhood, but the street... Damn, it was confusing!

Throughout the day, his thoughts kept returning to this girl... a woman who simultaneously delighted, bewildered, and infuriated him. Neither whose address nor name he had never learnt, and to whom he was so irresistibly drawn.

Auror's everyday life was not very full of outstanding events - by and large, in peacetime, the entire staff of trained fighters spent all day moving old ladies across the road and taking kittens out of trees. As Assistant Chief of the Aurorate, he was usually the one who got the best of it, like today, when Lennox Leminoxius, who was walking from Diagon Ally to his house in Duram with a valise full of salamanders, had a fit of narcolepsy and fell into a sleepy paralysis right in the middle of the street. A passing Muggle teenager decided that the well-dressed, odd-looking old man must be carrying something valuable in his valise, and relieved Mr Leminoxius of his burden. Fortunately, the man behaved responsibly and didn't try to be a hero by trying to find it, but promptly reported it to the Aurorate. They had found the thief's burnt corpse quickly enough - in the smoking ruins of an apartment building that, fortunately, was empty in the middle of the day and no one else had been hurt - but two dozen salamanders had scattered, and Harry had had to mount a full-scale raid, with four dozen Aurors, three more burned-out buildings, and massive Obliviates that had to be applied to nearly eight hundred people.

So it was not strange that on the way home his head was still buzzing with the events of the previous day, and his feet led him to the familiar brown door. Surprised to find himself on the threshold, he reached the corner and recognised the name of the street. Then he went back to the door and waited.

She opened it almost immediately, again making him wonder how she knew he was there. Was she on duty at the window? She stepped aside to let him in and locked the door. He undressed quickly and hurried to wash his hands before she reminded him. Looking at her in the mirror, he saw her gently cupping her belly again with both hands, unaware he was looking at her, rinsed his face, wiped himself, and stepped quickly towards her, covering her hands with his.

- Good evening," he said.

If it took her by surprise, she didn't show it, but she still didn't raise her voice until two dozen seconds later.

- Good evening," she said, and he thought she rolled the words with her tongue like cobblestones, so unfamiliar were they to her. - Dinner.

- It would be my pleasure," he nodded and gestured for her to come forward.

It gave him a chance to reassess her figure and to regret that yesterday's fatigue had worn him down so quickly. She had prepared a mushroom stroganoff with mashed potatoes and a salad of finely chopped lettuce with grated cheese and ham. There was cherry pudding for sweetness.

- How did I get here? - he asked, barely able to keep his tongue from licking the gravy off the plate.

She didn't answer at once; the question must have come as a surprise.

- I'm here," she said, glancing at him. - I opened it.

- I meant the first time," he shook his head. - How did we meet?

He wanted to say "met," but remembered he didn't know her name, and therefore wasn't sure if she knew his.

- I found it in a snowdrift," she answered.

He grinned-she could joke! But her gaze was still serious, and he had a terrible suspicion that it was no joke! He had drunk himself unconscious and just fallen into a snowdrift... And she had saved him! Still, even considering the dramatic nature of the situation, it was funny. What an original way to meet a beautiful girl!

- And then what happened?

- I've already told you," she said. - Eight times.

Of course you did. There was a lot to tell him right before he fell asleep at dinner and fell out of his chair. He even imagined her levitating him unconsciously down the stairs, undressing and washing him before putting him to bed...

- I like to hear the sound of your voice," he confessed, without a twist of the tongue.

She spoke strangely, though - she finished long sentences tentatively, as if she were losing steam by the end. His flattery caused her no reaction, only a slight blush on her cheeks. It was as if she were a golem, not a girl. Maybe she really wasn't real. Was that why he'd never seen her? Because she'd actually been created in a laboratory by some mad adept of the dark arts?

- Brought her here," she answered. - Put her to bed.

- And when we... How did that happen..." he faltered. - How did we end up in the same bed?

- You came and took it," she said. - That same night.

- How... took,' he didn't understand. - How?

The hair stirred on his head. It was completely impossible. What was she saying? He would never in his life.

- He thought it was yours," she explained, confirming his worst guesses.

- What?! - he shouted, jumping up, and his chair flew off to the side, while he ran round the room, unable to cope with the despair and self-loathing that seized him.

It was the worst thing he could imagine-that he had done such a heinous thing for which there was no excuse. All he could do now was go to the Auror's office, open the case, record the confession and the witness's testimony, wait for the trial, and send the criminal to Azkaban. When he realised all this, his head was finally able to engage in the process. Putting the criminal in the hands of justice was his job. Way even this case would be his last. He paused, contemplating his next steps.

- 'Dinner isn't over,' she remarked. - Sit down.

She probably thinks she can order him about, because she can report him at any moment. Although such considerations are a bit like blackmail, in this case it doesn't matter - it's his fault, not hers.

- We'll finish dinner, and I'll do the questioning," he promised, sitting down.

- Why? - She asked after a dozen seconds.

- If I forced you, I have to answer for it," he explained calmly. - The law is the same for everyone.

- I'm a witch," she said.

- I know," he nodded.

- I didn't," she said firmly, shaking her head to the side.

- Damn it," he said through gritted teeth. - Are you going to tell me what I did, or do you want me to pull the memories right out of your head?

She stared at him for a while, as if considering which option was more appealing, and then she spoke.

- I was asleep," she said. - Woke me up. Naked. I froze. Stunned. Shoved it in my hand, ripped my underwear ...

- Shit, shit! He cried out. - What the hell is this?

- "I don't mind," she said.

- What do you mean, you don't mind? - He clutched his head. - You've brought someone you don't know...

- I recognised you," she interrupted.

- Did you recognise me? - he asked quietly. - And that's why you didn't mind? Because it was me?

- Yes," she confirmed. - I thought it was yours. I said yes. Dinner's over.

She stood up - rather, she leapt up... Her gracefulness was so out of keeping with the clumsiness of her speech.... She picked up the dishes from the table... He jumped up to help.

- No, she stopped him.

- Why? - he wondered. - 'It's the least of it...

- I'm doing it,' she explained.

Exactly like that. Not 'it's my job to take care of', not 'I do it', but just like that. He didn't understand. That kind of wording might have meant something if he'd had a clue. At least a hint, at least a clue-something! When she returned from the kitchen, she placed the bottle and the filled glass on the silver tray, as she had done yesterday.

- I won't drink any more," he grimaced. - Never again. Drinking was the reason I missed the first night with you...'

She froze, and he saw sympathy in her gaze... or regret?

- It's a shame," she agreed. - Sit down.

- I want to talk," he shook his head. - I have a lot of questions, and I don't even know where to start!

- Tired," she objected. - A lot of words!

- I beg you,' he said quietly. - My head is spinning.

- Sit down," she repeated, and he sensed a pleading tone in her voice.

She silently drew a chair through the air, placed it by the cross, and sat down with her hands folded in her lap. She was obviously ready to answer his questions. One or two... He sat back in the chair and took her hands in his, contemplating what to ask. It was silly to ask if she felt good with him - last night's climax was more than eloquent, as was the fact that she was clearly looking forward to their intimacy.

- 'You don't think so,' he said. - I really like the sound of your voice," she glanced at him again nonchalantly, but he thought she was enjoying it.

- Why can't you kiss? - he finally asked.

- Yesterday was the first," she answered after a pause.

- The first with me? - He didn't understand. - Haven't I tried to kiss you before?

- No," she said. - The first one at all.

- I don't understand," he shook his head. - Are you seriously telling me that you've never kissed anyone? Not even boys at school? How can that be?

- There's no time for that at school," she replied.

- That's ridiculous! - he exclaimed. - Everyone kisses at school, even..." He remembered his awkward school experience and decided it was better to skip it. - And after high school? How many years had it been? Five? Six? And in all those years, you haven't kissed anyone?

- Eight," she said.

- Eight times? - he didn't understand.

- Years,' she explained, shaking her head slightly. - 'No one. Not a word. An empty space. Eight years. Merchants in the Cos. Not even friends. Slytherins. All of them. All of them. All of them. Pariah. And you - kisses! - Her face trembled, and suddenly there was a pleading look on it. - Water..." she asked quietly.

He jumped up and raced to the kitchen, letting the gears scroll through her words, inserting what he'd missed and drawing conclusions. Eight years ago she had graduated... Seven years ago he had graduated, having stayed with everyone else for a second year. The only ones missing were those who had died, and... Pariah! He quickly found a glass, poured water from the canister and brought it to her, kneeling in front of the chair. She clutched the glass with both hands and began to swallow greedily.

- Pa..." he said and stammered.

It wasn't easy to say what he wanted to say, and the name was stuck in his throat.

- Parkinson," she said, pulling away for a second.

- Pansy," he shook his head, finally getting over his emotions.

The realisation that he'd slept with her - and not just slept with her, but slept with her for a long time - rattled around in his head, making it buzz. And the fact that she...

- Is that my baby? - He asked.

Still in the middle of the question, she shoved the glass into his hands, got up and walked towards the stairs. He stared at her confusedly, realising that again he had said the wrong thing, and then he jumped up and caught up with her in two steps.

- Wait," he said, blocking her way.

- Whatever you say," she said indifferently.

Damn it, he'd just managed to open the shell she'd put herself in, and then he'd ruined it!

- I'm sorry," he asked. - Please.

- Talking," she said. - It's a waste. You're not listening. That's a shame.

- I'm listening," he shook his head, and then it hit him again. - So besides me, you've got...

She raised her green eyes to him, looking a little bit spiteful. After a few seconds, when he felt like a complete fool, he nodded slowly.

- Let's go tuck in," he suggested.

She turned and walked past him, catching his shoulder lightly. It was as if she did it casually, but he realised that she was calling him to follow her and happily followed her up the stairs. When she opened the bathroom door, she stood in the passage, letting him pass, but instead of passing her, he pulled her close and pressed her against him.

- Come on, we'll wash up a little later," he suggested. - 'Now...' he led her over to the bed, sat her down, sat next to her and put his arms around her, tucking her in.

Turning her head to him, she covered her eyes and put her lips to his, and he ran his tongue gently over them, as if tasting them. She reached up and touched his lips, capturing the lower one with her own. He ran his palm down her thigh and pulled up the hem of her dress, thinking about how life sometimes turns in unexpected ways.