The Light

Chapter 82- The Warmth

                  

Chapter 82- The Warmth

October 1980

Hermione sat opposite him. He hadn't spoken since they'd gotten back but then again, neither had she. Her lips remained tightly sealed as she looked at him, and it was a good job too- she couldn't stop her jaw from dropping at the mere sight of him. He was meant to be dead-

"I know what you're thinking," Caradoc said finally. Hermione's eyes locked on his.

"Do you?"

He huffed a laugh, running his hand through his hair. They were still both dirty, covered in dried blood and dust. They'd only just arrived back at Headquarters; Peter carrying Mary's body as though she were a small child, clutching her to his chest. Her head had rested on his shoulder, and she'd looked like she was sleeping. Dorcas left to see Emmeline. Frank had apparated straight home.

"But it's not some sick prank. I'm here. I'm real-"

"Where were you?"

Caradoc sighed at her bluntness. She hadn't tried hard to hide it and his eyes flicked to her wand, trained on him. He said, "The Church collapsed around me and I got knocked out, hit my head. Next thing I know, I'm in a Muggle hospital and they tell me it's a miracle I ever woke up. They tried to find my family. I told them my family were dead." He shrugged. "It was the only truth I gave them-"

"You were gone months," Hermione said, her voice low and quiet so it wouldn't break.

Caradoc opened his mouth to say something but stopped. He took a deep breath through his nose and said, "I'm sorry."

"Yeah."

Hermione wanted to forgive him, she'd missed his unwavering presence more than she'd care to admit. But the sorry, despite knowing he meant it with every morsel of his being, fell flat on his tongue. Sorry wouldn't make up for the crushing guilt she'd felt, the nights she'd laid in bed and cried herself to sleep because she hadn't watched his back and now he was dead because of it.

But he wasn't dead. He was sitting in front of her, breathing, alive.

"I wish I'd stayed in the coma a little longer," Caradoc said quietly. "Then I could've woken up to a better world, when the war was over."

Hermione just stared at him, eyes blank at the brief smile he sent her. After a moment, she stood up and left to her room. The door swung shut behind her. She heard his ragged sigh, but paid it no notice, returning seconds later with a box, which she dropped on the seat beside him.

Caradoc watched her in surprise.

Then, he lowered his eyes and allowed his brow to furrow. "What's this?"

She didn't reply, but put her wand away instead. He spared her a glance, before fixing his attention on the box, which he slid closer to him and popped off the lid.

Caradoc hadn't had a lot of possessions, she realised when she'd gone into his empty room a week after his 'death' and collected them all together. They could fit into a small rectangular box, with room to spare. He had a battered copy of Wind in the Willows; a potted cactus that had hissed at her and made her bleed the first time she had tried to feed it; a cassette that was spluttering up its tape like entrails; a broken violin bow; his old Slytherin tie (that had admittedly surprised her, but she'd known Dearborn was a Pureblood name and he was far more ambitious and cunning than she'd ever given him credit for); and a small folded up picture of what she assumed was his family.

He ran his thumb over the photograph now. Hermione watched him, and pretended not to notice the way his teeth worried his lower lip as he bit back a sob, and how his eyes widened as he turned over the contents of the box. She ignored the way he gently caressed the broken bow, and pricked his finger lovingly on the cactus (which preened in delight at his touch); she averted her eyes when he flicked through Wind in the Willows, and started to half-feed the tape back through the cassette before giving up and bringing the green silk tie to his cheek. He replaced everything gently, with feather-light touches. Caradoc raised his eyes to hers after a few stolen moments. The awe in them shone.