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Jewel Of The Nile Chapter Fifty-Eight Hermione knew next to nothing about sharks. Oh, the teeth were sometimes used, powdered, for one potion or another – that was true – but they’d always arrived in her kit of ingredients, or on the shelves in the Diagon Alley shop, pre-ground and packed into airtight six-ounce tubs, with a complimentary scoop inside and a drawing of a smiling cartoon shark on the lid – sipping a cocktail on a striped beach-chair, tipping down his cute cartoon sunglasses with one floppy blue fin, and proclaiming in a puffy thought balloon above his head that This Product Was Shipped From Sunny Florida. Try Our Alligator Scales And Crawdad Shells Too! In other words, as innocuous and commercial as cherry Jell-O, and with just about as much resemblance to the original source material. Not much relation to the Genuine Article. And it was definitely the Genuine Article that she was dealing with, right now. Bill, now … he knew a bit about sharks, more than she did, anyway; either he’d run into them at some point during the course of his work, or he’d done some research before sitting down to conjure up his pool-guardian. Fidel, he’d informed her once, was patterned on the Alpha Shark, the number-one predator, the Great White … and his bite – this, a bit proudly – packed an astonishing eighteen tons per cubic inch. Hermione hadn’t, of course, experienced this firsthand, but she had seen the teeth Up Close And Personal, the first half-dozen times or so that she’d come up to the pool alone, and they were nothing to sneeze at. If she hadn’t known Fidel to be no threat to her, the sight of that hinged drawerful of triangular razor-blades wouldn’t just be creepy, it’d be downright terrifying. Which – she supposed – was really the point, wasn’t it? And the one other piece of shark-trivia she’d picked up from somewhere: sharks took one massive bite, then settled back and let the victim bleed to death. Which was both a good thing and a bad, in this case – it meant that there wasn’t much remaining of Hatshepsut, below the waist. On the other hand, the Queen hadn’t exactly been human enough to bleed. What remained of her lolled limply in the water, looking flatter now and less three-dimensional: a life-sized paper doll, ripped in half by a vengeful giant child. There was energy escaping from her, though – Hermione could see it, inky but faintly phospherescent, trailing from the torn ruin of the abdomen. Hatshepsut’s fingers were pressed to the wound, as if to hold it in, but even from her safe distance Hermione could recognise that futile gesture for what it was – too little, too late. Help, whispered the Queen, and Hermione hesitated. You would have killed me, she said flatly. And you would have laughed while you did it. Why do you deserve mercy? The silvery whisper in her head grew weaker. Below them both, a dark shape circled. It isn’t fair. My kingdom – my life – were taken from me. I did what I had to do, to survive. Her black hair floated around her face like a weedy halo. She didn’t look much older than Itmana. Hermione fingered the jade amulet around her neck wonderingly. It felt strangely inert. That’s what everybody does, every day, she said finally. What they have to do, to survive. Being a Queen doesn’t make you any different, in that regard. Help me. I’m sorry. Another torn-silk rush of water. Fidel had grown impatient. Hatshepsut was gone. ** The ship wasn’t far away, and Bill was waiting on deck to pull her up, his pale skin a faint gleam under the new moon. "Hi," she said, and his eyes flicked questioningly to the wet gleam of jade between her breasts, a shadow hidden in shadows. "Hi." Unspoken: is she gone? Hermione wriggled over to a chaise and flopped heavily onto it. "Fidel got her," she said. "Two bites. I don’t think she’s coming back." A pause, while she caught her breath. "That was very clever of you, you know." He shrugged. Whether he was blushing or not, Hermione couldn’t tell. "It was a hunch," he said finally. "Glad it worked out." "Why didn’t you put your tail on?" "There wasn’t time." "Oh." Silence, while her fingers strayed to the pendant and the sliver of moon slid coyly behind a cloud. Hermione shivered. "What should I do with this?" she wondered aloud. "Throw it overboard?" "I wouldn’t," Bill said. "It’s what she needed, right? To make her a Real Girl?" He leaned his forearms on the ship’s railing. "Maybe she’s in pieces, but she’s still down there somewhere. And if you ask me, you deserve a souvenir out of all this." Heh. "Very funny." "Well, I try." He grinned at her over his shoulder, and Hermione felt something tight loosening in her chest. "You idiot," she said, frowning at him because she wanted to smile. "Why’d you jump in, if you can’t swim?" He looked surprised at this. "I had to do what I could," he said. "And besides – I don’t know what I’d do, if something happened to you." Oh. She pushed herself off the chaise and flipped over toward the railing, pulling herself up with her arms. "Really?" "Don’t fish for compliments, Madison." He wrapped one arm around her waist. "You know I’m crazy about you." A sliver of moonlight, arching down from between the thick clouds and illuminating his face, narrow and handsome and – for once – utterly, utterly serious. Not a single secret behind those eyes, Hermione thought, faintly incredulous. Nothing he’d hold back. Nothing he wouldn’t give. For a split second, she was back in Farouk’s study, queasy with heartbreak, listening as her world fell apart: Don’t wait for me. When all this is over, I’m going to walk away and not come back. You’ll almost definitely be ready someday. But I might never be. And now, that moment’s antithesis: moonlight and clear eyes and enough sincerity to warm her until the day she died. You know I’m crazy about you. There was only one decision to make, really. "Well, that’s good," she said, and watched one pale auburn eyebrow arch skyward as she smiled at him, looped her arms around his neck. "See, I’m sort of fond of you, myself." Happy endings, she thought as he laughed and bent to kiss her, aren’t overrated at all, not really.
** They arrived back at the cabana to find a small anxious crowd waiting for them; apparently, while the two of them had been out playing Jaws, the occupants of Farouk’s study had Located them and transferred themselves en masse to the rooftop. Hermione clamped both arms protectively over her bosom and firmly shut the cabana door – you go ahead; I’ll be down as soon as I’m not NAKED – and heard the excited babble of questions and congratulations gradually recede, as Bill led the way down to his apartment. Looked like there’d be a victory party tonight, whether she liked it or not. And she supposed that it did beat the events of last spring – bad dreams, a night in the hospital ward, and two months of hard feelings and avoidance. It was nice to have friends. She pulled her robes back on, ran a hasty towel over her head to get out most of the excess water, and padded barefoot down the stairs. Maxie and the boys were deep into an energetic, scat-heavy version of Sing, Sing, Sing that could probably be heard in Guatemala; from Bill’s open door, Hermione caught the sounds of conversation and laughter and saw the bulky, good-natured form of Mickey the Super propped indolently in the doorway, bottle raised to his lips. The neighbours could complain, she thought, amused, for all the good it did them. They’d be better off joining in. She paused just out of sight around the corner, content for the moment to watch and listen – such happy sounds! – and then bit her lip, as one dark-robed figure detached itself from the laughing others and slipped out past Mickey into the hallway. "Hullo," she said as he rounded the corner, and he stopped in his tracks, clearly discomfited to see her. "Hullo." "Not staying for the party?" she asked, jerking her head toward Bill’s apartment. Snape shook his head. "I need to get back to Alexandria," he said, "and pack. Now that all … this—" he raised an eloquent eyebrow—"has been resolved, I need to return to Hogwarts and reclaim my classes from Albus. Hard telling what shape my laboratory’s in by now." Hermione laughed. "Thank you," she said, sobering, and touched him on the sleeve as he would have brushed by her. "For all your help. For everything." He snorted – self-deprecating, Hermione thought, to the bitter end. "I’m not sure how much help I was." "Thanks anyway." A wry twist of humour at one corner of his mouth. "You’re very welcome, Miss Granger." "I’ll miss you." This, as he’d already turned to go, bursting out of her clogged throat despite her best intentions to hold it back. He hesitated, then turned round again. "And I you," he said. "Goodbye, Hermione." "Goodbye," she whispered – throat aching, eyes burning. But he was already gone. ** |