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Redolence | ||||
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Category: Post-HBP Characters:Harry/Ginny, Other Genres: Drama, General Warnings: None Story is Complete Rating: PG Reviews: 52 Summary: An elder sibling all his life, Bill Weasley never anticipated using his brotherly skills on Harry Potter. On the eve of his wedding to Fleur Delacour, however, the elemental truths will not be ignored. Hitcount: Story Total: 8628 |
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A sliver of moonlight moved across the wooden floor, slipping over a stray pair of trainers, creeping up a faded blanket to glance over a pale, still hand. It continued, following across a thin stomach and another hand, this one larger and coarser than the first. Its fingers swept back and forth over the gentle jut of a hip bone, moving from one side to the other and across a tiny bellybutton. The moonlight followed the larger hand, continuing its trail until it illuminated a pair of blue eyes that stared back, daring it to stay. Bill Weasley didn’t blink until the shaft of light had continued on its path in the room, crawling up the walls and then creeping back towards the window. The full moon was once more fully entombed by a cloud, but he could still feel it. The hairs on his arms were raised, but his hand continued its lazy reflection of Fleur’s body next to his. He breathed in her scent and smiled to himself. His wife. Or soon enough, anyway. Bill’s attention was suddenly jerked elsewhere and he sat up to watch the dim light that framed the door to the room. He watched, tense, for several seconds before the padding of feet creaked in the hallway, past his room and up the stairs. Ginny. He was sure of it. Gently rolling off the bed as to not disturb his sleeping partner, Bill moved quietly towards the doorway. As he opened the door, he grew more concerned. Ginny may have gotten to her room already, but something was still not right. The air felt too different, too stifled for comfort. He lifted his hand to rub at his cheek, to wipe the sleep away, but Bill recoiled at the bumps and grooves that met his fingertips. Though he recovered quickly, it was still a strange sensation. Of all the new things to get used to, this had been the last. Firmly dropping his hand and reaching behind him, Bill waited until he was moving down the hallway to pull on his t-shirt. At first he tried following after Ginny, but the pull was in the other direction and he had no choice but to follow. Instinct, it seemed, came far more easily these days. He moved backwards, making sure to stop by his room again for his wand and then started down the stairs. He made no effort to mask his footsteps and he felt no surprise when he saw Harry sitting on the armchair in front of a dying fire. Bill was tempted to linger on the steps, perhaps cough, but Harry was already turning to see him. Disappointment was plain on Harry’s features. “Oh. Hey, Bill.” Bill moved down the rest of the steps. “You’re up late.” “Yeah.” Harry shrugged and turned back to the fire. The young man obviously believed that he wanted to be alone, but the idea of leaving didn’t sit well with Bill. He rubbed at his nose with the back of his hand and said, “Not much heat left in here.” Harry shrugged again. “Right,” Bill said, more to himself. Finally, he just moved forward, pointing his wand to the fireplace and igniting stronger flames. A shadow of annoyance passed over Harry’s face, but Bill ignored it and sat down. “That’s better.” They sat in silence for several minutes, Bill stretching his legs out on the sofa and Harry sulking in his seat. Harry may have been lost in own thoughts, but Bill used the time to concentrate very hard, to watch every movement and catalogue every sigh. When he felt he had enough, he spoke up. “So why was Ginny crying?” Harry’s face jerked to meet his gaze. “What?” “Ginny, upstairs,” Bill motioned with his chin. He kept his expression perfectly neutral as to not scare the younger man, but he wasn’t sure if he succeeding — he still had to get used to his new face and all. “Anything you can tell me about that?” “I, uh,” Harry shook his head, “I don’t-” “Don’t treat me like an idiot, Harry,” Bill said mildly. Harry looked away. “She’s upset with me, that’s all.” Bill hummed in reply. “Was she all right?” Harry asked hesitantly. “I mean, did she look okay?” “Wouldn’t know,” Bill said with a little flair. “Didn’t see her.” Harry’s brow furrowed in such confusion, Bill decided to give him a break. Tapping at his nose, he said, “Full moon. Scent’s a bit stronger tonight, but it’s been picking up for weeks now.” “Oh.” Harry said lamely before it hit him. “Oh!” “Yeah,” Bill said in a low tone. Looking very uncomfortable, Harry slowly asked, “Does it…does it bother you?” “Not really,” Billy said easily. “It can be quite a neat trick, actually.” Harry gave him a tiny smile, but didn’t ask him to prove it. Knowing that he wouldn’t, Bill said, “Like dinner? I could smell the carrots and potatoes all the way upstairs. Knew Mum was making roast hours before we went in to eat.” “That is kind of neat,” Harry relented. “And now,” Bill added with a knowing look, “I can smell my little sister all over you.” Harry stared at him, wide-eyed. Bill could nearly hear every drop of blood drop out of his face, leaving only two bright spots, high on each cheek. The teenager looked as if he were about to faint, so Bill looked away and towards the fire, his mouth quirked in the slightest of smiles. “You’re not going- I mean, you can’t be…” Harry trailed off. He tucked himself further into the armchair. “Don’t worry, I’m not about to transform and maul you,” Bill said with a short laugh. “Though I suppose some older brothers can be as vicious as werewolves. Relax, I’m not planning on anything.” Harry didn’t look comforted. Bill, smiling crookedly, took out his wand and gave it a lazy flick. A bottle and two short, round glasses appeared on the coffee table and he quickly made use of them. Pouring a liberal amount into each, he lightly remarked, “I think we both need this about now.” “Is that-” There wasn’t as much fright as there was nervousness in Harry’s voice now. “If I don’t tell you what it is, you can’t exactly turn me into Mum, now can you?” Bill held out a half-filled glass. “Cheers.” Harry took an experimental sniff of his glass as Bill brought the other to his lips and took a good swig. It burned wonderfully as it went down and he heaved out a satisfied sigh. That seemed to be just enough for Harry to take a small sip. He tried valiantly not to cough as the liquor went down and Bill had to give him credit for not looking too shocked by its potency. Harry gave him a side glance and took another sip before dropping his hand down to the arm of the chair. “You don’t need to have any if you don’t want it,” Bill offered. “Now you tell me,” Harry muttered, but he kept the drink in his hand. Bill laughed lowly. “Are you-” Harry licked his lips, but then a light of defiance came to his eyes. “It’s not any of your business anyway.” Pretending not to hear him, Bill took another slow sip and then said, “If Dad’s had a hard one, he’ll nip into this. It takes a lot and he makes sure it’s just this much” — he signified it with a small space between his finger and thumb — “because Mum keeps their bottle under lock and key.” Though puzzled, Harry watched him intently. “The day Madame Pomfrey finally let me out, there was just the slightest scent of it in the study and it was old. I guessed he’d had it the day before, maybe in preparation.” Bill frowned in concentration and took another sip. “Now, I think it’s on all Dads’ clothes, just a trace of it since he’s had that same bottle for so long. It smells…woodsy, like from the barrel they kept it in before bottling it.” Raising his glass up to his nose, Harry took another whiff and then shrugged. Bill smiled. “Trust me, it’s there.” Before Harry could ask anything else, Bill continued. “Now, Mum. That’s easier. She smells like flour before it’s baked and —” “Detergent,” Harry finished. “Yeah,” Bill marveled. Harry reddened a little. “Something clean, at least.” “That was an easy one.” Bill grinned at the younger man. Harry dropped his eyes away and took another drink, this one a bit longer than the last. “What about Fred and George?” Harry asked, looking back at him after a full minute. Pleased that he’d caught Harry’s attention, Bill settled more into his seat and said, “That’s the thing. Fred and George. Seem to come in a pair, but it’s been easier than ever to tell them apart the last few weeks.” “Really?” Harry perked up in interest as if he’d been hoping for a shortcut. Bill gave him an apologetic smile, because there was little he could do to help. “Fred…gunpowder is the strongest one. I think it’s because he works the most with their supplies. There’s a touch of sweetness, like he’s always just eaten a bit of chocolate which, come to think of it, must be true.” Harry smiled. “George, though,” Bill began. “It took me a few tries to get it down, but it’s oak.” “Oak?” Bill nodded in affirmation. “I suspect George takes his bat and broom out and around when he needs to get some time alone. When I had to go into the shed the other day, it was stronger than usual and that’s where he stores his Quidditch things.” Understanding dawned on Harry’s face. “We all have to let out steam one way or another, I guess.” “That’s the truth,” Bill drawled. He stopped and considered. “I can’t say anything for Percy or Charlie, but I suppose that’ll come in time, when I see them. It may be a while yet. “Which brings me to Ron,” Bill continued, punctuating the name with a tip of the glass in his hand. “He was the toughest of all, but Ron… water. Ron smells like water.” This seemed to be the one Harry had the most difficulty understanding. He set the glass down on the table and leaned forward in his seat, at last giving in fully to his curiosity. Instead of answering right away, Bill refilled the glass in front of the young man. “Water?” Harry asked at last. “It’s an amazing thing, water. Simple and meant to be pure and most times you can tell when it’s been tainted merely by looking at it or smelling it. All the same, it’s dangerous, making ice or steam, both of which can do a number on your skin under the right circumstances.” Harry finally appeared to understand, but added nothing. “It’ll be good to have him by your side, Harry,” Bill said seriously. “He’ll be true and he’ll be strong and dangerous to anyone under the right circumstances.” The young man’s face shadowed and there was no doubt that he was thinking some things that Bill would never be privy to. Still not saying anything, Harry reached for the glass again and finished off the contents in a few gulps. “Take it easy,” Bill warned him. Harry smiled grimly and set the glass back down. Refilling it less than before, and his own at the same time, Bill added, “Do you agree?” “Water doesn’t really have a scent, though, does it?” Only swirling the liquor in its glass now, Harry shrugged. “The description is good, spot-on really, but the name-” “I can’t think of a better word to describe it,” Bill admitted. “But it’s the best one I could find for what my nose picks up. Maybe I’ll find the right one later.” Harry turned his eyes to the fire. Several moments passed before he quietly said, “No. Water is good.” “I suppose it is,” Bill agreed softly. The liquor was starting to have its effect, the warmth spreading to all his limbs and making his heart a little lighter. It wasn’t something Bill often dabbled in, but the slow relaxation making its way over the other occupant of the room made him glad that this was one of those rare nights. “Ginny smells like flowers.” Harry’s voice had a dreamy quality to it, something others might attribute to the drink in his system, but Bill knew better. “Homemade perfume from the bush outside,” Bill explained in the same soft voice as before. Even so, the words appeared to jerk Harry out of his relaxed state. Bill had to give him a few minutes of silence to recover. Finally, Harry turned away from the fire, a determination in his eyes that Bill didn’t want to question, but he said, almost without thinking, “Harry-” “I love her,” the younger man said simply. There was an underlying note, however, as if he was choosing to trust Bill and was desperate for the older man to know how much he meant it. The message got across. Bill kept his gaze firm. “I know.” Harry looked stricken and he struggled mightily against tears. They were nowhere near appearing, but the tang of salt clouded the air between them and for Bill that was as good as the sight of them running down Harry’s cheeks. “But I can’t love her.” “That’s where you’re wrong,” Bill said evenly. “And I can’t stay away from her.” “Then don’t.” Silence fell between them again and Harry took another small sip from the glass before resolutely setting it on the table. He apparently had no intention of touching it again and Bill had no doubt it would stay there until it needed to be emptied and cleaned. There were many things Bill could have said, between reaming Harry over whatever had happened in the living area before he’d arrived or telling him exactly how to repair whatever damage had been done. But he couldn’t. Harry, it seemed, had already made his decision — he just didn’t know it. So instead of admonishments or encouragements, Bill said, “Fleur’s pregnant.” A tiny smile made its way across Harry’s face. “Congratulations.” “Anyone in their right mind wouldn’t be having a child or getting married right now with everything going on.” Bill shrugged. “But I’m not going to put off my life because of it.” “I didn’t think you would,” Harry replied quietly. A quiet moment passed. Bill flicked his wand again, the bottle, glasses and their contents disappearing instantly. Harry took no notice, however, and remained gazing intently at him. Knowing the time had come to part, Bill rose from his seat and stretched. “Do me a favor, will you?” he asked on the breath of a yawn. Harry raised his eyebrows in question. “Don’t mention the baby to Fleur or anyone, she doesn’t know yet,” Bill explained lightly. Harry caught his meaning immediately and hid a smile behind his hand. “Sleep well, Harry.” “Goodnight, Bill.” Bill had an inkling that if he left at that moment, the night could go either way. Decisions made, gauntlets thrown and to hell with the consequences or lack thereof. And though the older brother in him took the form of a fierce wolf, he didn’t stop from pausing next to the armchair and setting a hand on Harry’s shoulder. The younger man looked up at him, waiting. “Ginny smells like flowers, but that’s not it. I don’t know them all,” Bill echoed in a voice that no one could have heard, save them. Harry’s eyes, lit by the fire, held his tightly. “But she smells like water, too.” And suddenly Harry looked so very young. Unsure. Scared. But he didn’t smell like fear — it was nothing close. Bill couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he knew he couldn’t stay. His role in the matter was over. “Goodnight, Harry,” Bill said lowly. He made his way up the stairs as slowly as he’d come down. In his room, Fleur had moved very little and Bill slid smoothly under the quilt. His hand found her body again and he carefully ran his fingers over her flat stomach. No more than two minutes passed before he heard the age-old creak of the stairs. Harry’s feet came to the top and without hesitation went to the left, past Bill’s room and up the stairs. If he tried hard enough, Bill could have heard Harry knocking on Ginny’s door, hear her surprised response and anything that ensued. Instead, he turned, buried his face in Fleur’s hair and willed sleep to come. And just as the darkness crept over him, he at last realized what it was his senses wanted him to know. Harry smelled like fire. End ******* *** A/N: My first post-HBP fic! Hurrah! I’d love to know what you thought. Also, I have some brilliant readers on my hands. The lovely cwarbeck broke down the characters by their scents most wonderfully - if anything, please read the comments to see how she did it. Thanks! |
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