The Armor (Prince Harry fanfic #1)

Chapter Eleven

Two weeks passed with Harry and Lucy, and he fell into a comfortable pattern with him fully, filling in the lines. He now taught half the classes, equal with her in almost every way. She taught him all that she knew, which happened to be a lot, more than he ever knew. Lucy easily observed people around her, able to see their customs and assimilate, to fall into line with the rest of them. Honestly, Harry saw Lucy falling in line with whatever society she lived in, but then again, to Harry, she was a badass. She would be strength against the norms.

Whenever Harry thought about asking Lucy a personal question, he thought better about it, unable to where to step, and awkwardness Harry felt didn't escape Lucy. She thought about just giving him something, a little piece of information, but she didn't. If he wanted to know so badly, he could just ask, she decided. People had the ability to ask questions. There were no questions she hadn't been asked before, and these were the questions she would forever be asked.

She cleaned the board after class, and he cleaned up parts of the schoolhouse, both of them preparing for the next day. Harry half cleaned and half read over the lesson plans for the next day. Lucy felt him move awkwardly with his feet dragging against the floor, like something weighed him down. She only cleaned the board and waited. If he wanted something, she was going to make him come to her, never going to take him by the hand and lead him.

"Lucy," Harry began, and Lucy smiled to herself. She turned to face him, indifference across her body, as if nothing ever bothered her. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Would it be too much to say that you just did?" she asked.

Harry actually looked as if he was going to vomit. There was too much pressure on his stomach.

Lucy rolled her eyes. "Continue, Harry." She went back to cleaning the board, getting it all off for once in her life being here. She was never much of a cleaner and didn't wish to continue now, but she did it for the sake of Harry.

"Okay... um...." He tried to choose his words carefully.

"Just spit it out, Harry. Rip off the Band-Aid." She cleaned the desk for good measure.

"How did you learn to teach so well?"

Lucy couldn't hold in her laughter. He got all nervous all over that one little question. It wasn't even that bad compared to what she could've been asked, compared to what she had been asked. This was an easy and innocent question. Yet, it led to deeper questions. The questions, Lucy reminded herself, he wasn't asking now. They could've come, but not yet. He wasn't that frank yet.

Why, Lucy? Keep your armor up, she spoke to herself. You let them in and they think they can stay. They think they know. They don't know. They'll never know.

Lucy stopped laughing, only to look at Harry. He knew she was pretending. Fearing that maybe he pushed too far, he thought about backtracking, getting off the subject quickly.

"My parents, teachers," she explained.

"That explains a lot," Harry said, continuing the conversation.

Lucy became hard and told herself not to be. He was only asking innocent questions; they were bound to happen. He didn't ask about her scars or what her life was like. If he asked about her parents, she was going to tell him.

"What do they teach?"

There it was. "English and math."

"That explains why you're good at both."

"Yeah." She wiped her hands off on her pants. "There was no way to fail in the household. If you had questions, come to them. My mom majored in English and history, my father math and science. Failure wasn't an option for school subjects," she considered her words, "unless it was in art. No one in our family could do that."

Harry laughed, not as low as she thought it might be, soft and out. "I never did well in those classes."

"Did you now?"

"I love art. It was always my favorite."

"What kind of art?" she asked.

Harry shrugged mysteriously.

"Well, do you at least do it well?"

Again, Harry shrugged mysteriously.

Oh, so that's what it feels like, she thought. "Fine. Don't tell me. You just get to clean the rest of the room." She threw the rag at him, which he caught.

"You can't do that to me."

"What am I, your maid, Prince Charming? No. Clean it yourself. I'm still your boss." She pointed around the room. "I want it spotless." Lucy sat at one of the desks and kicked up her feet on the desk. Harry stopped and watched her, giving her the best glare that he could, which she didn't care about. She only waited. He sighed and went to cleaning.

A knock came upon the door before it was opened, one of the students. Lucy took care of it, going over to the student and talking. She shot Harry a glare when he tried to intently listen and stopped cleaning; he turned red in the face. As he started up again, the student ran out and Lucy returned to her seat with her feet up on the table. He waited patiently.

"What was that about?" he asked slowly, sad that he didn't just tell her.

"I'm so happy that you asked," she sat forward, "there's a wedding coming up and we've been invited." Happiness filled her, like it would with any normal person, but pain struck her in the chest.

Harry ran his eyes over Lucy to see if she was lying, and he thought maybe she was but he had no proof. "When?"

"Tomorrow night."

He also choked on his own tongue. "Tomorrow night?"

She gave him a look. "This is a small village. Yes, tomorrow night. I hope you brought some nice clothes." She stood up, going close to him. Harry noted she smelt like roses, deep and colors woven together. "They can always lend you some." Her body touched his, and he almost stumbled back as she left the schoolhouse, calling their cleaning down.

Harry's eyes watched her go. Curiosity wouldn't kill him.