Summary: A freak accident changes Auror Harry Potter’s life and tests the love of those around him.
Rating: PG-13
Categories: Post-DH/AB, Buried Gems
Characters: None
Genres: None
Warnings: None
Challenges: None
Series: Family
Published: 2011.04.07
Updated: 2012.03.29
Index
Chapter 1: 1: Prologue
Chapter 2: 2: Awakening
Chapter 3: 3: Weekend
Chapter 4: 4: Settling
Chapter 5: 5: Evidence
Chapter 6: 6: Action
Chapter 7: 7: Emotions
Chapter 8: 8: Sorrow
Chapter 9: 9: Letters
Chapter 10: 10: Recapitulation
Chapter 11: 11: Courage
Chapter 12: 12: Breakthrough
Chapter 13: 13: Meetings
Chapter 14: 14: Reunion
Chapter 15: 15: Home
Chapter 16: 16: Clarification
Chapter 17: 17: Arrival
Chapter 18: 18: Christmas
Chapter 19: 19: Missing
Chapter 20: 20: Alone
Chapter 21: 21: Reparations
Chapter 22: 22: Troubles
Chapter 23: 23: Plans
Chapter 24: 24: Mischief
Chapter 25: 25: Execution
Chapter 26: 26: Torment
Chapter 27: 27: Preparation
Chapter 28: 28: Resourcefulness
Chapter 29: 29: Birthday
Chapter 30: 30: Surveillance
Chapter 31: 31: Solace
Chapter 32: 32: Battle
Chapter 33: 33: Night-watch
Chapter 34: 34: Memory
Chapter 35: 35: Firsts
Chapter 36: 36: Homecoming
Chapter 37: 37: Prosecution
Chapter 38: 38: Defence
Chapter 39: 39: Auction
Chapter 40: 40: Conclusions
Chapter 41: 41: Epilogue
Chapter 1: 1: Prologue
2350 hours Sunday, 26 October 2020
The house sat in a wide, moonlit clearing in the middle of a dense wood. The building gave off an old, neglected feeling to the witch and wizards huddled in the tree-line facing the front door. Run-down, boarded up and vine-covered, it reminded Head Auror Harry Potter of the stuff Muggle haunted houses were made of. He shivered, not from fear, but from the cold wind that caused the tree branches overhead to creak and groan as they rubbed against each other. He pulled the collar of his robes closer to his neck before motioning to his compatriots to gather round.
The mission, which had taken six months to set up, had been going according to plan, but as it was just starting, things could go wrong without a moment’s notice. Harry wanted to prevent such things happening, but with a relatively unseasoned Auror in the group he didn’t want to take any chances.
He fixed his partner, Auror Terry Boot, with a commanding look. “Terry, you and Ron go round the back. If anyone tries to escape through the back entrance, disarm them and send them off to the holding tank at headquarters,” he ordered. “Susan, you, Chambers and Carmichael will come with me through the front entrance. Chambers, Carmichael, you’ll search the upper floors while we,” he pointed to himself and Susan, “take the ground floor. Any questions?”
Chambers, who was on his second mission, scowled as though he didn’t like the order. “What happens if it’s a hostage trying to escape?” he asked. “And shouldn’t someone be guarding the front door in case of Apparition?”
Harry shook his head. “I don’t think there are any this time, Auror Chambers. Intelligence reported it was only the perpetrators we’re after who are holed up in this house.” He studied the young wizard before adding, “You were right to question the order. Susan and I will be taking turns guarding the front door while you and Carmichael are upstairs.” Chambers nodded his agreement, looking satisfied with Harry’s answer.
Taking a deep breath, Harry asked, “Everyone ready?”
When the other five nodded their agreement, Harry Disillusioned himself, and stepping to the edge of the trees, flicked his wand at the house. A moment later, he rematerialized next to Susan and reported, “Three people inside, no one else. Let’s go.”
The others paired up and Harry and his team waited while Terry and Ron Disapparated to the other side of the clearing. A moment later Ron’s Patronus reported they were in place. With a nod to his companions, Harry recast the Disillusionment spell and led the nearly invisible group over the long expanse of weeds that served as the front garden to the veranda that ran the length of the front of the house. The group paused, listening intently, before mounting the steps and magically opening the front door.
“Hold on,” Harry signalled the others. “Susan, check for enchantments, please.”
She cast the appropriate spells and when nothing was revealed, the Aurors stepped inside the darkened entrance and quietly closed the door behind them, plunging the room into nearly complete darkness. Harry felt his heart pound in his chest as Carmichael led Chambers slowly up the main staircase, both men casting silencing spells on the treads as they went.
Susan caught his attention with a raised eyebrow. Harry nodded to her and she disappeared into the gloom to their left. He waited, silently casting tracking spells to monitor the progress of his team members.
A board to his right creaked loudly in the silent house. Harry froze, listening. Nothing stirred and he breathed out slowly and carefully as Susan’s indistinct form reappeared next to him from the right. He waited for her to speak.
“I found the door to the basement,” she reported in a whisper. “Kitchen, next to the fireplace. Cooker’s a bit warm.”
Harry smiled in the darkness. “Good work, Susan. Let’s wait for Chambers and Carmichael before you lead us down.”
“Yes, sir,” was her whispered reply.
They waited. Overhead, they heard the sound of muffled footsteps approaching the stairs and Harry guessed Chambers and Carmichael hadn’t found anyone hiding up there.
When the two men reported in that the upper floors were empty, Harry motioned to Susan, who led the way through several rooms to the kitchen at the back of the house.
Again, the Aurors paused while Susan cast her detection charms. Nothing was revealed, which raised the hackles on Harry’s neck. Something wasn’t right. He motioned to Susan that he’d go first instead of her and when she nodded he started down the stairs, his wand lit only enough to provide illumination on the next stair down.
He was nearly at the bottom when a step gave way. There was a horrible splintering sound as the old wood disintegrated, throwing Harry forward and pitching him headlong down the remaining three steps and into a shadowy pit below. He landed with a bone-jarring thud that sent waves of pain throughout his body and then, he felt nothing. The last thing Harry heard before he blacked out was the sound of maniacal laughter.
A/N: This is just the beginning of the story. I will be posting regularly on Thursdays from now on and thought this was the perfect opportunity to do so. I hope you like this taste of what is to come and look forward to reading your reviews, Until Thursday...
0800 Hours, Monday 26 October 2020
James Potter looked up from his breakfast to see Professor Longbottom approaching him from the aisle between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables. His head of house gave him a small, tense smile as he leaned across the table.
“Please come to my office after breakfast, James,” he said, his light tone sounding forced.
Panic flooded through James as he asked, “Am I in trouble, sir?”
“No, James, not today,” the professor answered, straightening up.
James heaved a silent sigh of relief, but couldn’t help feeling that something about how Professor Longbottom was acting was amiss. He gulped down the rest of his porridge and pumpkin juice, grabbed his bag and made his way out of the Great Hall, joining his brother, fourth year Albus, and his sister, second year Lily, on the stairs leading up to Professor Longbottom’s office.
“What do you think this is all about?” Lily asked, looking worried. “Professor Longbottom looked a little tense.”
James shook his head. “He said I wasn’t in trouble...” He peered at Albus. “... but might it be you?”
“Nope, not me,” Albus replied, “at least not for another week.”
“Oh, is that when the next prank on Scorpius Malfoy is taking place?” Lily asked with a giggle.
Albus smiled smugly at their sister. “I’m not telling, Short Stuff,” he replied.
“Oh, I’m telling Mum!” Lily crowed, pulling an envelope out of her pocket. “I’ll just add a little post script to my letter to her.”
“Don’t you dare!”
“Hey, shut it, you two!” James ordered. “We’re almost there.”
Albus and Lily stopped arguing, but continued to glare at each other as they approached the door to Professor Longbottom’s office.
James knocked on the door when they reached it, waiting tensely until the professor bade them come in.
“Have a seat, you three,” he said, indicating the four chairs clustered by the window across from his desk. He seated himself closest to a small table upon which was displayed a rather large and magnificent plant. James recognized it as the professor’s prise Mimbulus mimbletonia, a plant they’d studied back in September.
“What’s all the secrecy for, Professor?” James asked as he and his siblings sat down.
Professor Longbottom looked sad and a pained expression flitted across his face as he answered, “There’s been an accident. Your father was hurt very badly last night and is at St. Mungo’s.”
Lily let out a cry of alarm and grabbed for James’ hand, squeezing it so tightly it hurt. He pulled on her hand and she scrambled into his lap, weeping quietly.
“What happened?” James asked through the haze of shock and worry that had engulfed him at the professor’s words.
“I know very little, James,” the professor admitted. “All I know is that he was on an Auror mission when the accident took place.”
James frowned. He knew that as the Head of the Auror Department, his dad wasn’t supposed to go out on cases unless they were top priority. What about last night’s mission had made it so important that his dad had felt compelled to join the other Aurors?
Finally, he murmured, “Dad only goes out on important cases any more.”
Albus finally found his voice. “Dad hasn’t mentioned anything of interest in his last few letters. Maybe... maybe this one was so top secret that he couldn’t tell us anything about it.”
Lily raised her head from James’ shoulder. “Is Daddy going to be all right?” she asked.
“It’s too early to tell, Lily, but your mother has sent word that you three are to come home immediately. The Headmaster has given you permission to leave school as soon as possible.” Professor Longbottom looked worried and James felt a lump form in his throat as the professor added, “I've sent house-elves to pack small valises for you; they’ll take them to your Uncle Ron’s house. Is there anything specific you need?”
James looked at Albus and Lily who were shaking their heads. “No, sir. There’s nothing,” he said as dread settled like a hard lump in the pit of his stomach.
“Very well, then,” Professor Longbottom said as he offered a handkerchief to Lily. “You are expected in the Headmaster’s office in five minutes. Headmaster Wolcott will give you the name of your Floo Network destination.”
James tightened his hold on his sister and closed his eyes, fear for his father’s life blocking out all other thought. When the five minutes were over, he gently pushed Lily back to her own feet, picked up their school bags and led Albus over to Professor Longbottom’s fireplace. A moment later, he and Lily stumbled out onto the headmaster’s hearth and quickly stepped forward to make room for Albus.
“Good morning, children,” Headmaster Wolcott said as he stepped round his desk and came over to where James, Albus and Lily were standing. “I’m sorry about your father’s accident. I hope your visit home will help with his recovery.”
“Thank you, sir,” James murmured. “Where are we going?”
“Healer Stilwell’s office at St. Mungo’s,” the headmaster replied. He reached up and took a small canister from the mantle top. “Have a safe journey, you three.”
James smiled tightly and looked at Albus. “You go first with our school bags. I’ll bring Lily.”
Albus nodded once, shouldered the bags, and stepped up to the fireplace. He threw a pinch of Floo Powder into the flames, turning them bright green. “Healer Stilwell’s office, St Mungo’s,” he said clearly. The flames engulfed him and he was gone. James and Lily quickly followed their brother.
*
Ginny Potter heard the fireplace roar to life and stood up, ready to greet whichever of her children came through first. Albus stumbled out carrying three identical school bags and looking as if the world had been turned upside down. Quickly, Ginny engulfed him in a motherly hug as the most reserved of her children finally let the horrible news sink in.
“Will Dad be all right?” Albus asked quietly as James arrived with his sister.
Ginny gathered the newcomers into a family hug and allowed a few of her own tears to fall before she pulled back and gestured towards the sofa. A shaky sigh escaped her as they all sat down together.
“We don’t know, Albus,” she admitted. “It’s too soon after the accident. Your father’s body is terribly broken and the healers have put him in potion-induced coma.”
“What does that mean?” Lily asked in a small voice.
“They’re making him sleep, sweetheart,” Ginny answered. “Just like Madam Pomfrey made Albus go to sleep with the Dreamless Sleep potion last March when the Bludger broke his elbow and she needed him to lie very still.”
“Oh, all right. I understand now,” Lily said, sounding a little better, although her expression told Ginny she was still very worried.
“And Dad’s injuries?” James enquired.
“Internal haemorrhaging, six broken ribs, a punctured lung, both legs broken, a concussion and five broken vertebrae,” Ginny said, distractedly running her hand through her hair as she tried to remember everything. Harry had several other injuries that escaped her memory at the moment, but she knew they were minor in light of what she could recall.
“Oh, Merlin,” Albus and James exclaimed quietly.
“What happened? Professor Longbottom told us Dad was on a mission and he never goes on those any more unless they’re top priority,” James said.
“James, your dad was leading a very important mission last night. It was so secret he didn’t know when he was coming home,” Ginny sighed. “All I know is that he fell fifteen meters into the bottom of a pit and hit his head very hard on some rocks that had been placed there.”
“Were the bad guys Death Eaters?” Albus asked.
“I don’t know, son. Your father couldn’t tell me anything before he left except that it was very important that he catch those people,” Ginny answered.
“Did the other Aurors catch the people they were after?” Lily asked.
“Not all of them,” reported Ginny. “Your Uncle Ron said they captured two of the three as they sprinted from the house into the woods. They couldn’t Apparate or Disapparate, since he and his partner had cast Anti-Apparition spells over the building and grounds.” Relief that her brother’s life had been spared in his duel with the two criminals flooded her as she said, “The one who managed to get away from Uncle Ron only did so because he tried to kill him.”
The faces of her children paled at the news.
“Was... were... any of the other Aurors hurt?” James asked.
Ginny sighed. “Thank goodness, no.”
James closed his eyes and seemed to sag in relief. Ginny watched some of the tension leave her son’s face and was proud of the fact that she and Harry had successfully taught their children to be as concerned for others as they were for their own family members.
“Can I see Daddy?” Lily asked, her voice shaking noticeably.
“Yes, sweetheart. I’ll take you to him now,” Ginny said. “Bring your book bags. We can’t leave them in Healer Stilwell’s office.”
Her three children shouldered their bags and followed Ginny out the door.
*
Albus was scared. He’d seen his father in hospital before, usually recovering from spell burns or some other minor injury that could be healed within twenty-four hours. There had been one or two occasions when his dad had been hit with multiple spells that required him to stay in hospital for a couple of days so the healers could sort things out. Albus had been frightened at those times, too, but his mother had been cheerful and somewhat cheeky when she told him and his siblings about what had happened to Dad.
This time, though, it was different. Albus had sensed his mother’s worry as soon as he had stepped from the fireplace and had gone to her to give her what comfort he could. She had sighed in relief when he’d put his arms around her, and he had taken that as a sign that he didn’t have to be terribly strong or stoic any more unless he wanted to be.
Now, as the little group approached the ward in which his father lay, Albus’ biggest fears came back with a vengeance; he was sorely afraid that his father would either not know who Albus was, or he’d be so broken inside that there would be no hope of fixing him and he would die soon. The news that the healers had put his father in a potion-induced coma was almost as bad as the nightmares that sometimes plagued Albus’ sleep. It meant that his dad was so badly hurt that his recovery would take a very long time. Would his father ever fully recover?
His mother stopped in front of a set of double doors guarded by two Aurors. Albus peeked over Lily’s head at the men and was shocked to discover their clothes were dirty and torn, as if they’d seen battle recently. He wondered if these men were some of his dad’s team members. If they were, were they guarding the door because of the escaped wizard or were they guarding the doors because it was the right thing to do for their fallen leader?
Albus jumped as his mother addressed the nearest Auror. “Has there been any change, Terry?”
The man shook his head. “No, Ginny, there hasn’t.”
“Thank you. Can we go in? The children are anxious to see Harry.”
The Auror glanced at his partner, who smiled tightly and rested a hand on Albus’ mum’s shoulder. “Hang in there,” he murmured as he opened one of the doors.
As Albus followed is mother inside, the Auror his mum had called by his given name put his hand on Albus’ shoulder. “Your dad’s a fighter, son,” he said, giving Albus a reassuring pat. “Even if he seems not to know you’re here, he can hear what you say to him and he’ll recognize your voice. You’ll help him fight his way back to us just because you’re here.”
Albus bit his lip. The only thing he could manage was a tiny nod. Then, his mother put her hand on his back and gave him a little push inside the hospital ward. He went reluctantly, his eyes zeroing in on the curtains drawn around one of the beds and the strange hissing noises coming from behind them.
*
Lily clung to her mum’s hand. She was torn between running away and finding out whether her father still looked like himself. She hoped he would, even if he had bandages on his head...
“Daddy’s sleeping, right?” she asked her mum as they entered the ward.
“Yes, sweetheart, he’s sleeping. If you want to you can hold his hand. They’re the only parts of him that weren’t broken,” her mother answered with a hitch in her voice.
The family stopped in front of the curtains and Mum parted them just enough to let them inside. Lily hid behind her until she heard her older brothers walking towards the bed. Then she snuck a quick look at her father.
He lay very still on the bed, his arms at his sides. His head was swathed in bandages and his neck looked like it had been magically stiffened. Most curious, though, was the tube going into his mouth that was hooked to a large silver box sitting next to the bed. On the side facing the bed were a lot of switches and dials that made it look like a fancy wireless. It made the hissing sounds they’d heard earlier. Albus was standing next to the machine, glancing between it and Daddy.
“What’s that?” she asked curiously, pointing to the machine.
Both Albus and James looked at their mother expectantly.
“It’s an enchanted Muggle breathing machine called a ventilator, children,” Mum said.
“Does that mean someone has put spells on it so it will work around magic? Lily asked.
“Yes, Lily,” Mum answered. “Dad’s lungs were injured and the healers tried every spell they knew to help him breathe again on his own. Unfortunately, his body is too hurt right now to sustain his breathing...” A tear tricked down her cheek and she brushed it away quickly.
“Will he... will he need it... the rest of his life?” Lily asked fearfully.
“I don’t think so, Lily,” Mum said. She gave Lily a reassuring hug. “Healer Stilwell is using the ventilator to help Daddy get well. He said he wants to turn off the machine in a day or two when Daddy’s lungs are stronger.”
“That’s good,” James murmured. He picked up one of Dad’s hands and bent down close to the bandaged head and began talking quietly to him. Albus did the same, but waited to talk to Dad until James had finished.
With her dad’s attention monopolized by her brothers, Lily decided it would be best to stay with Mum. She sensed her mother was just as scared as she was and needed someone to hold her hand or at least cuddle up next to her.
“Mummy, I have an essay due in Charms tomorrow and it isn’t done yet. Can I sit next to Daddy and finish writing it?” she asked.
Mum smiled down at her. “Of course, love,” she said, taking out her wand. “What kind of chair do you want?”
Lily thought for a moment. “One big enough for both of us?” she ventured.
Mummy smiled and pointed her wand at the corner under a window. A moment later, a Hagrid-sized upholstered chair with a high back appeared there along with two smaller wing chairs and four small foot stools.
“Think you’ll be comfy now?” she asked Lily.
Lily walked over to the pile of book bags Albus had dropped when he came in and found her own. Then, she slid into the oversized chair and smiled at her mother. “This is great, Mum. Come sit with me,” she invited.
Mummy sat down next to Lily and put her feet up on one of the foot stools. As Lily found her place in her essay, Mummy leaned her head on the back of the big chair. She looked so tired and worried and suddenly Lily wanted nothing more than to take care of her mother. Setting her essay aside, she rummaged in her bag for her cloak and threw it over her mum.
“Take a nap, Mummy,” Lily whispered. “We’ll wake you if Daddy needs you.”
“Thank you, love,” Mummy answered. Her eyes fluttered shut and a moment later, she began to snore softly.
James came over to the chairs with his own book bag. He glanced at their mother and smile sadly at Lily. “Thanks for taking care of her, Lils,” he said. He took out a book and opened it to the place he’d marked in his reading.
“Are you scared?” Lily asked as she found her self-inking quill.
“Yeah, are you?”
“Not so much now,” she admitted. “I just want Daddy to wake up and talk to us.”
James nodded. “Yeah, me, too.”
*
The hours dragged by broken only by the occasional healer coming in to check on his dad. Towards the middle of the afternoon, James finally ran out of reading material and essays to write. The feeling of being caught up was completely foreign to him, as was the concept of free time. He sighed. Fifth year was harder than the last four years combined; sometimes he wondered whether he’d ever get rid of the seemingly perpetual case of writer’s cramp in his right hand. Now, as he put away his Transfiguration book, he wondered whether he should start revising for his OWLs or find something else to do. He glanced about the bare room and decided to pull out his second year Potions notes and look those over.
A movement to his left caught his attention, causing him to look up. Albus was still standing by Dad’s bed, holding his hand and quietly talking to him. The curtains around Dad’s bed moved again and Aunt Hermione came through the opening. She strode quietly to Albus’ side and whispered in his ear. Albus nodded and started talking to Dad again. James put down his notebook and walked over to her.
“Hey, Aunt Hermione,” he greeted her. “Where’s Uncle Ron?”
“Spell Damage ward,” she sighed. “He was hit last night in the duelling.”
Alarmed, James asked, “Will he be all right?”
Aunt Hermione smiled. “He’s fine now, but the healers won’t let him come up here. At least not until he stops twitching.”
James couldn’t help smiling. “What spell was he hit with?” he asked.
“Something rather nasty, but the symptoms seem to be going away slowly.” She looked back at James’ dad and sighed. “I thought we were done with this bedside vigil stuff.”
“What do you mean?” Albus asked.
“Albus, your dad has slept in a hospital bed at least once a year since your Uncle Ron and I met him in 1991,” Aunt Hermione said. “Between the Quidditch injuries, his run-ins with Voldemort, and wounds he’s suffered as an Auror, I don’t think we’ve gone more than ten months between sittings beside one hospital bed or another. I think your mother will agree with me that Harry needs a safer job.”
“He wouldn’t be my Harry if he didn’t spend at least one night in hospital every year,” James’ mum said from her place in the huge chair.
Aunt Hermione walked over and perched on one of the footstools. “How are you holding up?” she asked.
“Better. With the children here, I could at least get forty winks... even if it’s given me a stiff neck.”
Aunt Hermione stood up and held her wand to the back of Mum’s neck. A moment later, she said, “That should help, I think.”
Mum smiled up at Aunt Hermione. “Thanks. I’d forgotten that spell.”
“It’s one of Ron’s favourites,” Aunt Hermione replied. “Now how about if I stay here with Harry and you take the children over to our house. All of you look like you need a break.”
James shook his head. “I’m staying, Aunt Hermione. I don’t want to leave Dad.”
“Me, neither,” Albus agreed.
“I’m staying, too,” Lily piped up. She skewered Mum with a fierce expression. “Mummy, go home. We’ll be all right here with Aunt Hermione. I don’t think the healers are going to wake Daddy any time soon.”
Two tears slid down their mother’s cheeks. She stood up wearily and held open her arms. James, Albus and Lily went to her and shared a hug. “Thank you, all of you,” she sniffed. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
“I’ll walk you to the fire places,” Aunt Hermione volunteered as the two walked toward the curtains. Their conversation faded along with their footsteps.
*
Ginny stumbled out of the fireplace at their Godric’s Hollow house and out of habit she looked around as she always did for signs that her husband was home. If he was, she’d find his shoes next to his favourite chair, or his cloak carelessly hung on its hook near the back door. Sometimes, he’d even leave his briefcase on the kitchen counter if he forgot to Banish it to his study. Unfortunately, she saw none of this and the absence of his possessions claiming the house brought back the dread that Harry was laying in a coma at St. Mungo’s and there was a chance that he would never come home.
Walking further into the kitchen, she noticed yesterday’s discarded Daily Prophet on the floor by Harry’s chair. It was open to the sports section and the article she had written covering the Canons/Ballycastle match, which had ended in a fist-fight when the Canons’ Seeker accused the Ballycastle Seeker of blagging. As she set last night’s dinner on the table, Harry had commented that grabbing onto another player’s broom with the intention of slowing it down was so commonplace these days that the rule should be stricken from the rule book. Ginny had disagreed with him and they’d spent the rest of the evening before he left for the mission discussing old and out-dated rules.
Now, as she absently picked up the paper and tossed it into the box of tinder she kept next to the fireplace, the thought crossed her mind that even if he did wake up, Harry’s brain injury might prevent him from ever carrying on a discussion like that again with her. Ginny’s eyes stung with the unshed tears she’d been keeping at bay all day and a wave of sadness engulfed her entire being.
“You can’t think like that,” Ginny admonished herself as she hung up her cloak. “Think positive.”
But thinking positively was hard at the moment, especially when she felt so guilty for being angry and annoyed at Harry for getting hurt in the middle of the night and making her come to St Mungo’s for what she'd thought was just another minor injury. Six months ago, he’d promised her no more dangerous missions, no more being gone weeks at a time. It wasn’t the Head of Department’s job to go on every top priority mission; there were other, equally competent Aurors eager to prove themselves just as he had done. Unfortunately, Harry had had a hard time removing himself from the action since it was ingrained in his every cell to be in the thick of things. Ginny understood that, but she was tired of the constant worry.
An ironic thought hit her as she walked into the master bedroom. Well, Potter, you wanted your husband to stop going on missions. Your wish has been granted! The moment the idea crossed her mind, she crumpled onto the unmade bed and sobbed until she had no more tears to shed.
*
“I’m going to see Uncle Ron,” Albus announced a little while after his mother had left.
Aunt Hermione looked up from the file she was reading. “I think he’d like that,” she said. She looked over at James and Lily who had fallen asleep in the two wing chairs. “I don’t think those two will miss you one bit,” she added with a smile.
“Where can I find him?” asked Albus.
Aunt Hermione told him and Albus left to explore the hospital on his own.
The ward Uncle Ron was on was easy to find because it was usually the noisiest one in the hospital besides the one that housed the new babies and their mothers. Albus liked this ward, mostly because of the funny things people had done to one another that required medical help to reverse. The last time he’d been here to see his dad–the year before he went to Hogwarts–there had been a lady who had a pair of bat’s wings instead of arms and a little kid whose legs looked like lizard’s feet. The kid had snarled at Albus as he’d walked by, making him giggle.
Today, however, the ward was quiet. An old lady with a flower pot stuck to her forehead snoozed away in the bed closest to the door. There were curtains around two others; their occupants were quiet as well. Albus searched the other beds and found Uncle Ron sitting in the one closest to the tiny window. He looked up as Albus approached.
“Hey, there, Al! It’s good to see you,” Uncle Ron said, grinning. Then he sobered. “How’s your dad?”
Albus sighed. “No change. The healers are keeping him in that potion-induced coma. They’re waiting to revive him until the swelling in his brain goes down some more.”
“That’s what your mum said when she was down here after she sent the owl to Hogwarts,” Uncle Ron said.
Albus took out his wand and pointed it at one of Uncle Ron’s shoes. “Don’t tell Mum I’m doing magic outside school,” he said and he concentrated on turning the shoe into a simple four-legged stool. It took three tries, but he managed to form a passable place to sit. “I’ll reverse the spell before I go back upstairs.”
“You’re getting really good at that, Albus. That’s pretty advanced magic,” Uncle Ron commented as Albus sat down cautiously. When the legs held, he relaxed a little and smiled his thanks at his uncle. “I promise I won’t tell your mum,” Uncle Ron continued.
They shared a wink as Uncle Ron asked, “How old are you?”
Surprised, Albus answered, “Fourteen. I’ll be fifteen in January.”
Uncle Ron smiled. “How would you like to help out at Uncle George’s shop during the Christmas hols? We could really use the help.”
Albus’ eyes widened. “S-sure, Uncle Ron, but... shouldn’t you ask James instead?”
“Nope. He has to start revising for his OWLs. Besides, your mum’s going to need his help...” he trailed off looking sad.
“You... you mean she’s going to need him to help with Dad?”
“Amongst other things,” Uncle Ron replied vaguely.
Albus felt fear gripping him again and decided to ask the question he couldn’t ask Aunt Hermione upstairs. “Can you tell me what exactly happened to Dad?”
Uncle Ron shook his head and stared at the lumps his feet made in the blankets stretched across his lap. His right knee bounced up and down a few times before he managed to control it by holding it down with his hands.
“Sorry, Albus, I can’t. I was assigned to a position outdoors and only knew something was amiss when two of the suspects came racing out the back door as if they were being chased by an irate manticore,” he said without looking up. “After that, I was too busy duelling to get close to the building.”
“When did you find out Dad had been hurt?” Albus asked.
“Not until the suspects had been taken away by my partner and a healer had decided I needed to come here.”
“What was wrong with you?”
“Just a bunch of little things, the last of which is this bloody twitch,” Uncle Ron said as his entire body began to move uncontrollably. The spasms spent themselves in less than a minute, but it was enough to make Albus more than a little uncomfortable.
Albus tried to ignore the few remaining shudders as he asked, “Who were you duelling with?”
Uncle Ron frowned and shook his head. “You know I can’t tell you stuff like that. I’d get in trouble if someone overheard me divulge classified information in a public place.”
“I don’t want that to happen,” Albus said. “You get in enough trouble from Aunt Hermione about what you tell Rose and Hugo sometimes.”
His uncle chuckled softly. “You’re certainly right about that. How have they been? Do you know?”
Albus smiled and began recounting a couple of the funnier incidents that had happened in the last week or two, courtesy of their Uncle George’s magic tricks. The time passed swiftly until Aunt Hermione’s otter Patronus bounded into the ward and bade Albus come back upstairs; his mother was back and the family was about to learn what was going to happen next with his dad.
Uncle Ron patted the bed next to his legs as Albus restored the shoe to its rightful appearance. Albus cautiously sat down and was completely surprised when his uncle pulled him into a Grandmum-like hug.
“Albus, I know you’re scared,” Uncle Ron murmured. “If it helps, I’m scared for your dad, too. I hope you know that you can come talk to me or Uncle George or Uncle Percy any time you need to, even if it means getting permission from your head of house to use the Floo.”
Albus sniffled and hugged his uncle back. Right now he felt as if he were five years old again and getting ready to go into the Muggle world with his parents to get his eyes checked. That day his dad had told him it was all right to be scared, just as Uncle Ron was offering solace to him now. “Thanks,” he choked out, and before he broke down entirely, he wriggled out of Uncle Ron’s embrace and headed back upstairs.
*
Deep in the bowels of the Ministry of Magic, two Aurors in separate interrogation rooms were becoming more and more frustrated. This was the second time in twenty-four hours that they had come face to face with the witch and wizard they’d captured at the house and the pair was refusing to cooperate.
In the first room, Brodie Chambers irritably called for a MLE officer to take away his prisoner. Forty minutes ago, the wizard had somehow sealed his lips even though he had no wand, and no matter what Brodie did, the prisoner refused to talk. As the man was led away, Brodie slammed the interrogation room door and headed for the stairs.
In the second interrogation room, Susan Bones slapped the table in front of her with her good hand to keep the witch from falling asleep. Susan was nearly at her breaking point for two reasons: the first was the uncooperative prisoner sitting across the table, the second was because she was feeling horrible at the moment. During the duel at the house, she had slipped in some sort of liquid that had been spilled on the basement floor and to stop herself from falling into the pit, she’d put her non-wand hand out, and it had touched the liquid. Now her hand was numb and her robes stiff where the substance had soaked into the cloth.
“You haven’t answered my question!” she exploded as she leaned across the table, purposely invading the witch’s personal space. “What was the purpose of the big pit filled with rocks?”
The witch smiled sleepily. “I’m not telling,” she yawned and promptly fell asleep.
Susan let out a growl of frustration; this was the first time in her career as an Auror that a detainee had fallen asleep during an interrogation. She knew the witch had been unarmed because of the search performed when the two suspects had been brought in. So why was the witch able to induce sleep so quickly and so thoroughly? Another mystery to solve...
Getting up, Susan walked to the door and called to the two MLE officers standing outside, “Take her away. She’s fallen asleep again. I’m going upstairs to write my report.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the younger of the two officers said as Susan stood aside to let them into the room.
A few minutes later, Susan collapsed at her desk in the Auror office across from her partner, Brodie Chambers. She rubbed her numb hand, trying to bring the feeling back into it and realized it was sticky. She cleaned her fingers with a flick of her wand and then dug in her drawers for a quill and some ink.
“What a waste of time! I couldn’t get anything out of her because she kept falling asleep! I’ve never seen such a thing!” she complained. “Did you have any better luck?”
Brodie shook his head. “Nope. My bloke refused to even speak. The only way I even know his name was because of his arrest record and the information we gleaned from the wand we confiscated from him. It’s as if he either took a potion or did wandless magic of some sort,” he explained.
“Right. I had that same impression,” Susan agreed. She reached into a drawer and pulled out a blank form. “Let’s get this over with and go home.”
Brodie yawned hugely and picked up his quill. “I hate reports,” he grumbled and began scratching away.
Susan giggled in spite of her tiredness. “I couldn’t agree with you more,” she said. Then she asked, “Any news about Harry?”
Brodie nodded. “Yeah. Terry just called. Harry can have visitors this evening after they wake him up. Boot’s going with Carmichael and asked if we wanted to come along.”
Susan smiled. “I’m always willing visit Harry... and you’re going with me.” She sighed and looked down at her report. “I just wish we didn’t have to go so often. The strain is always so hard on Ginny...”
*
Lily looked up when Albus walked through the gap in the curtains left by the healer. He looked a little more relaxed than before her nap and she supposed that going down to see Uncle Ron had been good for him. Lily turned back to watch what the healer was doing to Daddy as Albus came to stand next to her and Mum. Mum put an arm over his shoulders just like she had one over Lily’s.
The healer’s wand twirled and twisted, making her father's body glow different colours and the silver breathing machine change its rhythm and sounds.
“What’s he doing, Mummy?” Lily asked quietly.
“I think he’s getting ready to wake Daddy,” her mother replied. “Apparently, the potions have worked and your daddy’s brain is getting better.”
“And what about all those spells?” she asked.
Mummy glanced up as Daddy’s body was bathed briefly in two-tone orange light which made the healer frown. He did the spell again with the same results. After a third repetition, the healer made some notes on his clipboard and then put away his wand. He looked expectantly at Mummy.
She whispered to Lily, “I think he wants to tell us something about the spells he’s been doing. Listen carefully and afterwards, I’ll try to explain what you don’t understand.”
“All right,” Lily said. “I’ll listen.”
The healer spoke to Mummy then, his tone grave. “Mrs Potter, we’ve done all we can to help Mr Potter at the moment. The potions we’ve administered have mended the multiple fractures your husband sustained in his fall as well as reduced the brain swelling. Until Mr Potter wakes, we can do no more. I recommend that we curtail the coma potions and encourage him to wake up for a few moments. The revival potion needs permission from a loved one to stop working and let the patient rest. The next time Mr Potter wakes, he will do so naturally. Do you have any questions at this time?”
Mummy nodded. “Is Harry in pain? And what did you find from the two-toned orange spell? What do I need to say to help him rest?”
The healer sighed. “Mr Potter shouldn’t be in any pain, or if he is, it will be a mild headache and some body aches from the trauma his body sustained in the fall. However, the spell did reveal that certain nerves leading to your husband’s legs were not functioning properly and warrant further investigation, which can only take place once he has awakened.”
Lily looked up at Mummy and was surprised to find tears making silent tracks down her mother’s face. Does this mean Daddy can’t use his legs? she wondered. She glanced over at James who had his arm around Aunt Hermione’s waist: she, too, was crying.
Oh, Daddy, Lily pleaded silently, Please wake up all better so Mummy and Aunt Hermione will smile again.
The healer cleared his throat. “Mrs Potter, I’m going to administer the revival potion now. I think it will be best if the first thing Mr Potter sees is your face since he’ll still be unable to talk. Your reassurance that he can rest will let him go back to sleep on his own.”
Mummy motioned to Lily and her brothers. “Come, children, Dad’s going to need all of us in a few moments.”
Together, the Potter family and Aunt Hermione gathered round Daddy’s bed. Mum held Daddy’s hand and when she was ready, nodded at the healer. He tapped a vial of brown-coloured potion with his wand and the liquid disappeared.
“It’ll be about thirty seconds, Mrs Potter,” he intoned and sure enough, Daddy’s eyes fluttered open and began looking wildly about. His eyes looked scared as he clutched Mummy’s hand. The silver breathing machine began to beep wildly and the healer flicked his wand at it. The beeping noise vanished, leaving only the dials waving wildly.
Mummy reached up with her free hand and smoothed Daddy’s fringe away from his forehead so that Lily could see his faint lightening bolt-shaped scar. Her touch seemed to calm him.
“Welcome back, Harry,” she said, “You’re in St Mungo’s and you’ve been badly hurt. There’s an enchanted Muggle machine helping you breathe. Just rest for now and let the potions help you get better.”
Daddy blinked twice as if to say, Yes, dear. Then he closed his eyes and Lily watched the dials on the silver breathing machine go back to their normal, steady rhythm.
Daddy was once again asleep.
A/N: Thank you, everyone, for reading and commenting on this first chapter. As I indicated on Tuesday, I will be posting on Thursdays until the story is complete, so you won’t have very long to wait until the next instalment.
At this time, I want to thank my pre-beta team for their willingness to read the story and help me find its direction. Jedi34, Mutt n Feathers, RebeccaRipple, and RSS your questions, comments and suggestions encouraged me and spurred me on to make this the story it has turned out to be. I am grateful for everything you have said to me about each chapter and I’ve taken it all to heart. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I also appreciate my beta Aggiebell for the commas and “that’s” she either exorcised or added where appropriate. I even forgive her for repeatedly calling me an “evil woman” because I actually do agree with her on that point!
Until next Thursday...
Chapter 2: 2: Awakening
Author's Notes: A/N: I’m absolutely thrilled at how well this story has been received. I appreciate all the insightful reviews which keep me thinking about what I’m writing. I hope you’ll all continue to review as each chapter comes out.
I have a huge thank you to say to one of my pre-betas who I completely left out of my notes for the Prologue and Chapter One. Jedi34 has read and commented on all of the chapters I’ve sent him and due to his comments about the children and Ginny, I changed and added a whole lot to these first few chapters. Also, it was he who first asked a certain question that helped me decide this would be a mystery. Jedi34, thank you so much for your guidance. You’re a great friend and I appreciate you taking the time to help me with my story.
To my beta, Aggiebell, and my other pre-betas (Mutt n Feathers, RSS and RebeccaRipple), thank you so much for helping me make this chapter be the best it can be. You lot are awesome!
Early morning, Tuesday, 27 October 2020
To say that Harry Potter felt rotten was an understatement. He’d been in this situation many times before after being knocked out either by Quidditch Bludgers, Voldemort’s visions, training accidents, or stupid things he did while duelling suspects. However, none of those experiences had prepared him for the amount of pain and weariness he was currently experiencing.
He decided to take inventory of his aches and pains before he opened his eyes again, because he remembered a few brief moments of wakefulness when Ginny had told him where he was and what had happened to him. After that, he vaguely thought she’d given him permission to go back to sleep. He breathed in through his nose and something above his head beeped. He ignored the sound and concentrated on how he felt.
His head hurt the worst. There was a large bump on the back of his head which seemed to be the source of his headache. Hopefully, the Healers would take care of that soon.
His face didn’t hurt, which meant that he hadn’t been in any fist fights; suspects sometimes resorted to Muggle duelling practices when their wands were taken away and they were still angry enough to try to escape. Harry knew that the tiredness in his jaw probably had something to do with the beeping and hissing sounds he didn’t recognize.
The rest of his body felt spent, used-up and horribly stiff. Unfortunately, the feeling seemed to stop somewhere halfway down his torso and as the realization that he couldn’t move his legs or feel his toes sank in, his eyes flew open in blind panic.
SOMETHING IS WRONG WITH MY LEGS! he wanted to scream. CAN SOMEONE TELL ME WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS GOING ON?
Ginny’s face suddenly appeared in his line of sight. He turned frightened eyes to her, willing her to help him understand.
“Shhh, darling,” she murmured. “There’s no need to panic. The Healers have partially immobilized you so their healing potions can work their magic on your back. You broke five vertebrae when you fell. The specialized body bind is meant to help, not hurt and confuse you. I know you have questions, but until Healer Stilwell takes the tubes from your mouth they’ll have to wait.”
Ginny sighed and smiled at him. “Oh, Harry, I’m so glad you’ve come back to us,” she said. “The children are here, have been for the last two days. They’ll be back soon from visiting Ron. He’s finally stopped twitching enough that Hermione can take him home.”
At this news, Harry wanted to smile.
“Oh, that reminds me,” Ginny went on conversationally. “Terry Boot, Susan Bones and Aurors Carmichael and Chambers have been standing guard since you were brought in. They wanted me to let them know when you awakened. Are you ready for visitors?”
Harry knew he wasn’t, but it was important to maintain certain decorum, so using his and Ginny’s “yes/no” blinking system, he blinked twice, indicating that yes, she could bring his Aurors in. They had been using the system since…well, since the first time he had lain in hospital after a mission. That had been years ago, long before they were married. Harry thought it was a good system since he had landed in hospital at least once a year since then.
Susan was the first to arrive with Chambers. “Brodie and I are on duty outside, Harry,” she said, pointing to herself and her partner. “Everyone at the office is thinking happy thoughts for your speedy recovery.”
Chambers shook his head at this and said, “We captured two of the suspects. I’ll bring the report in as soon as Mrs Potter says you want to get back to work.”
Harry nodded against the stiff tubing in his throat. It hurt to bend his neck very far and he grimaced.
Seeing this, Susan elbowed Chambers in the side. “He’s not well enough to start reading reports yet, so lighten up,” she chided.
They left a few moments later to be replaced by Boot and Carmichael.
“Glad you’re on the mend, boss,” Carmichael told him as he stood awkwardly by Harry’s bed. “The office will be glad to hear you’re awake.”
If he could have smiled, Harry would have. Garrett Carmichael was a rough and tumble Auror with a soft heart for all the right things. When there was the possibility of children being involved, Harry always sent Carmichael in to help the frightened little wizards while Susan worked with the small witches.
Harry lifted a hand towards Carmichael and the big wizard shook it gently. Then, he stepped away to let Terry come forward. The former Ravenclaw was holding an enormous vase of flowers.
“These are from all of us at the Auror Office, Harry. We all hope you can come back soon, even if it’s just a few hours a day. Robards does a commendable job keeping the place from going crazy, but he’s not you, Harry, not by a long shot,” he said, sounding sad. He pulled out his wand and magically affixed the flowers to the ceiling where Harry could see them. As if reading Harry’s mind, Terry said, “Ginny has the watering and detachment instructions already, Harry. We’ll all be back to visit again tomorrow.”
They shook hands and as the Aurors left, Harry sank into an exhausted sleep.
*
1605 hours, Wednesday 28 October 2020
Ginny stood in front of her desk at The Daily Prophet angrily throwing things into the briefcase she usually took to the press box at Quidditch matches. She couldn’t believe her editor was making her cover the Wasps/Tornados match in just a few hours; not when Harry still wasn’t ready to leave St. Mungo’s.
“The audacity of that man!” she fumed as she snatched her press pass from its place on her cubicle wall and chucked it into the case.
“What did Dixon do now?” the voice of her friend Amy asked from the next cubicle over.
Ginny stopped her packing and considered how to phrase her answer in acceptable office parlance. Finally, she said, “It has been requested that I attend and report on tonight’s Quidditch match in Wimbourne even though I politely asked to be released from the assignment due to family obligations.”
Amy came round the partition between their cubicles and stood at the entrance to Ginny’s with her hands on her hips. “You mean to tell me that that old fuddy-duddy is making you cover the match when Harry’s still in St Mungo’s? That’s ludicrous! Is there anything I can do, Ginny?”
Ginny sagged against her desk and shook her head. “Pray for a ridiculously short match?” she joked feebly. “Believe me, I’m going to have my fingers and toes crossed that the Tornados steam-roll the Wasps and get the whole thing over quickly.”
Amy stepped forward and hugged Ginny briefly. “I’ll be praying for it, then,” she said as she turned to go back to her own desk. Ginny went back to her packing.
Thankfully, her wish was granted and the match was over quickly. Much to her surprise, though, it was the Wasps who flattened the Tornados 370 — 80. Ordinarily, Ginny would have enthusiastically joined in the scrum outside the Wasps’ dressing room to try to elicit an exclusive interview with some of the players, but tonight she just wanted to complete her article, send it with the owl she’d rented from the Wimbourne press office and get back to Harry.
Her article covered all the pertinent points, praised the Wasps’ Seeker and Chasers for their teamwork and wondered whether it was time for the Tornados to trade their Keeper. It wasn’t her most inspired of articles, but at least it would meet Dixon’s expectations. As soon as it was complete, she gave a copy to her owl and released the bird into the night. She was at Harry’s bedside ten minutes later.
*
0345 hours, Thursday, 29 October 2020
Sleep eluded her. She’d tossed and turned in the unfamiliar single bed for the last three hours, trying to get comfortable enough to turn off her galloping thoughts. She couldn’t because the lumpy mattress she was laying on wasn’t helping. There was so much to do, so much to plan for, so much to think about, that her brain just wouldn’t shut down long enough to allow her to rest. If Harry truly was paralyzed, then she’d need to make changes to the house so he could live there...
Giving up getting any more sleep as a bad job, Ginny slipped out of bed and began rummaging through her purse for her reporter’s pad and a Muggle biro. Then, lighting the lamp next to her bed, she began making notes of the things she’d need to get from the vault at Gringotts, who she’d need to contact and a list of questions she needed to ask a variety of people. As she added a list of people she needed to speak with, it dawned on her that she hadn’t notified a vital member of their family of Harry’s accident! Teddy Lupin–who was now living and working in Perth, Australia–would want to know his Godfather was in St Mungo’s... again, so she jumped out of bed in pursuit of something on which to write to him.
Ginny was gratified to find a stack of parchment in one of the drawers of the guestroom desk. Leave it to Hermione to know she’d need to write letters at four in the morning... She would only need one sheet for the short note to Teddy...
Dearest Teddy,
I regret I must tell you that, yet again, your Godfather has landed himself in St Mungo’s Hospital. However, unlike previous occasions Harry is seriously injured in an accident while on a mission on Sunday night. As of this moment, his Healer has magically paralyzed him from the neck down to encourage his recovery. The fall he sustained should have killed him, but I thank all the Hogwarts Founders that he is alive, even if he is broken quite badly at the moment.
I promise to keep in touch so you’ll know what is happening here. Our family will understand if it’s impossible for you to come home at this time; we know you’ll be with us in spirit.
With all my love,
Ginny
Finally feeling sleepy, Ginny sealed the note in an envelope and addressed it to Teddy. She would ask Hermione to mail it for her later.
*
1925 hours
James lay on the top bunk in Hugo’s room at his Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron’s house, fuming about the uselessness of his not being at Hogwarts. It had been four long days since he and his brother and sister had been summoned to Dad’s bedside, and in that time the Healers had been very reluctant to do much more than cast binding spells and administer one set of potions after another. Not that that was bad, mind you. James knew the Healers were being cautious about something, but the longer they refused to let Dad come home the fishier the whole situation seemed to James; the Healers were definitely hiding the truth from their family, some awful, life-changing truth that probably would turn their lives inside out and upside down.
Mum hadn’t been much help the few times he’d managed to talk to her alone. She’d answered his questions with vaguely worded phrases and then scurried off to Aunt Hermione’s study to look something up. Her behaviour was just fuel to James’ curiosity and sense of foreboding. It also made him determined to return to Hogwarts until there was some real news about his dad.
Getting up, James made his way down to Aunt Hermione’s ground floor study and knocked on the door. He entered without waiting to be invited in and stopped short just inside the threshold, surprised to see not only his mum but his aunt and uncle sitting at the big table by the window which was spread with pamphlets, huge books and countless rolls of parchment, one of which James recognized as the plans to their home back in Godric’s Hollow.
James squared his shoulders and looked directly at his mother. “Mum, I want to go back to Hogwarts tomorrow morning,” he requested.
Mum took off her reading glasses and carefully set them on top of the house plans. She seemed to consider his request and after a moment, she smiled. “Yes, James, I think that would be a good idea. Would you mind waiting to go until lunchtime? I need to let Headmaster Wolcott know you’re coming back so he can advise Professor Longbottom of your arrival time. That way he won’t be surprised when you come tumbling out of his fireplace.”
James snorted at the image. “I never tumble, Mum,” he protested indignantly.
“I know you don’t, but it is courteous to give the teachers advanced notice. May I ask why you’re so anxious to go back to school?”
James looked down at the floor. All of a sudden his reasons for going back to school seemed paltry when his father was still so sick.
“James, look at me,” Mum demanded softly. When he looked up, she patted the seat of the chair next to her and waited until he sat beside her before continuing. “I realize you are nearly sixteen and that your job right now is to be the best student you can be at Hogwarts. I also realize that your being here seems futile when every time I take you to see your dad he’s asleep and only rarely wakes up. I’d like to know why you want to go back to school; you never know when we’ll agree.”
James had to smile at her last comment and he felt a little better about what had been pestering him all day. “Erm, Mum, I have two tests tomorrow that I really don’t want to miss; one in Potions and the other in Transfiguration. I also have missed two Quidditch practices this week and the rule is that if you miss three in a row you’ll be off the team and I don’t want Jasper to tell me I can’t be on the team any more when I missed because of family stuff. Besides, if I make practice tomorrow afternoon, I can still play in Saturday’s match against Slytherin.”
Mum smiled at him and patted his knee. “You’re a man after my own heart, James. By all means, you can't miss practice or the match against Slytherin. Isn’t Gryffindor trying to oust Slytherin from top Cup standings?” she asked.
“Yes, Slytherin has had the Cup for the last three years. It’s time Gryffindor or Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw took it away from them!” James said enthusiastically.
“I agree,” Mum said, standing up. She turned to Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron. “May I use Mutt to send a note to Hogwarts? I don’t want to make poor Feathers fly that far after she carried all those notes to St Mungo’s this afternoon.”
“You know you’re welcome to use our owls without asking,” Uncle Ron scolded her gently.
A blush crept up Mum’s neck as she said, “I know, Ron, but I feel I’m imposing on you two so much.”
“Merlin’s pants, Ginny! We want you and the kids here because our house is much closer to St Mungo’s,” he responded with all seriousness.
“We’re family. What are families for? If we needed you, you would do the same,” Aunt Hermione chimed in as she reached over to capture Mum’s hand and give it a squeeze.
“All right, you’ve made your point,” Mum finally acquiesced. She turned to James. “If there’s nothing more, go upstairs and pack so you’re ready to leave when Professor Longbottom expects you.”
Feeling as if he’d been released from Azkaban, James jumped to his feet, hugged his mother hastily and left the room with a spring in his step. I’m going back to school! he crowed happily. Then, as the study door closed behind him, the guilty thought, Am I abandoning Dad? hit him hard and he sagged against the wall trying to decide if his actions were selfish. No, he decided. Dad has always told us that our job in the family is to go to school and do our best. I can’t miss those tests... Having justified his actions to himself, James went back upstairs to pack.
*
2205 hours
Albus had come in from a night fly with Uncle Ron to find James shoving his belongings into his school bag and over night case. He was muttering to himself about a lost piece of homework and something else. That could only mean one thing: James was going back to Hogwarts to do what he’d promised to do, take his tests, play in Saturday’s Quidditch match and carry out the prank on Scorpius Malfoy and the other Slytherin Quidditch players.
Albus pulled a small package from his coat pocket and handed it to his brother. “I almost didn’t get a chance to get this,” he told James conspiratorially. “Aunt Hermione wouldn’t let me alone for very long and I finally had to tell her to let me be for a while. Thank goodness Uncle George had the package ready. Otherwise, we both would have been in trouble.”
James smiled. “You’re a crafty one, Albus. Louis promised to help me set the prank up if I could get back to school by the end of lessons tomorrow. Mum thinks I’ll be back at school by half past one.” He dropped the package into his book bag and buckled it shut.
“Have fun,” Albus said. “Uncle Ron is bringing me and Lily back in time to watch the match on Saturday because I’ve elected not to fly. Jasper already asked Sandy to take my place.”
“Brilliant!” James exclaimed quietly. “You know what to do after the teams are called out onto the pitch?”
Albus grinned back. “I sure do.”
“Good. I’ll be looking for you in the Gryffindor stands next to Uncle Ron, then,” James said, chucking Albus gently on the shoulder as he walked past to put his book bag by the door. Albus bumped him back and they both laughed.
“Fifteen minutes until lights out, gents.” Uncle Ron stuck his head inside their room. “Do I hear the sound of plotting going on?”
Both boys immediately assumed innocent expressions. “What? Are you accusing us of plotting? We’re not plotting,” James denied.
“Why would you think that?” Albus asked as James elbowed him in the ribs. He glared back at James.
Uncle Ron tilted his head to one side. “I was your age once,” was all he said as he turned to go back down the stairs. “Fifteen minutes,” Uncle Ron reminded them. “Goodnight, you two.”
Albus shared a look with James, then called, “Good night, Uncle Ron!”
Uncle Ron’s “Good night, you two” echoed up the stairs and first Albus, then James burst out laughing.
“Whew! That was close,” they both said, and grabbing their pyjamas, they raced each other to the loo to get ready for the night.
*
1010 hours, Friday, 30 October 2020
Healer Stilwell taking the tube out of his mouth was a big improvement; not only for comfort reasons, but also for the progress it showed his body had made towards healing. It had felt very strange, the first few minutes, to have to breathe completely on his own, but now, after a few sips of water, some encouragement from Ginny and the simple fact that he was not staring at the ceiling all day, Harry felt that breathing on his own wasn’t such a big task after all.
The Healers had also backed off on the number of potions they were giving him which left him feeling distinctly more clear-headed and in command of his body. Unfortunately, they were still refusing to curtail the use of the specialized Body Bind spell; they were reluctant to let him move about very much, simply because their spells indicated that the nerves in his spinal column were still exhibiting irregular behaviour. He thought it strange that since they’d healed the broken vertebrae–along with all his other broken bones–on the morning he’d been brought in that he wasn’t being allowed much range of motion. He resolved to enquire about this as soon as his vocal cords were back to normal... again something he’d thought would have been fixed magically.
As he raised his cup to his lips for another sip of water, Ginny asked, “Are you feeling all right, still?”
Harry nodded and looked over at the bedside table. When he saw that she’d brought a small slate, an eraser and a box of dustless chalk, he smiled and quirked an eyebrow at her. She seemed to understand and gave it to him.
I’m fine, he wrote.
Ginny scowled. “I don’t believe that for one second,” she chided him, although he could tell she was fighting a smile.
He erased his answer and wrote, How long before I can try to talk?
“Whispers in two hours or so,” Ginny answered. “You’ll be talking by tomorrow morning, Healer Stilwell told me.”
Harry added, Good!!! to his slate, feeling both relieved and impatient to start asking questions. Then he looked up at Ginny, catching her in an unguarded moment, and was shocked to see a worried expression cross her beautiful face before she shook herself and adopted her usual cheery bedside manner. The rapid change told him something was up that she wasn’t telling him, and it either had to do with bad news from the Auror Department, or more likely, his physical condition.
Something else was bothering him. Ginny had handed him his glasses after the tube had been extracted and he had expected the world to clear up once he put them on. It had not, even though he could tell the built-in magical correction feature in the lenses was working to improve his vision. He took off the glasses and handed them back to Ginny.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
Glasses aren’t working right, he wrote. Vision blurry even with glasses.
“I’ll tell Healer Stilwell,” she said. “He told me you’d probably experience things like that.”
Harry erased his slate and wrote, Did he say my head would feel like a hippogriff stomped on it?
Ginny nodded, or at least he thought she did, he wasn’t sure. “Yes, headache is very common, especially if there’s been trauma to the back of the head, and you have that huge bump. I’m not surprised you have a headache.”
Harry scowled and immediately regretted the movement. Will it go away?
“It should, in time,” Ginny answered. She stood up and walked around the bed and out of his line of sight. Harry suddenly panicked and tried to track her by turning his head. His wife reappeared.
Where’d you go? he wrote, the familiar feeling of panic beginning to surface again.
Ginny frowned and took a piece of parchment and a quill out of her pocket and wrote something on it. Before answering him, she walked forward and out of his line of sight again. When he could no longer see her, Harry tried to turn his body, but the binding spell prevented him from twisting at the waist to track her and he had to wait impatiently until she reappeared.
“Harry, I didn’t go anywhere,” she said in the patient voice she often used when their children were upset and having difficulty explaining why.
You did! he wrote angrily. You walked out of my line of sight!
Ginny came over and sat on the left side of the bed. And Harry panicked again: if he looked straight ahead he couldn’t see her, but if he turned his head to the left so that he was looking straight at her again, he could see her. He raised shaky hands to his eyes and pressed the heels against his eyeballs. Then, he felt Ginny’s soft hands on his wrists and allowed her to lower his hands to his lap.
“Harry, listen to me,” she pleaded. “You’ve had a traumatic head injury. There was bleeding inside your skull under the lump on your head. Healer Stilwell has removed the blood daily since you were hurt and told me you’d probably have a temporary loss of vision, but he didn’t know how it would affect you. Now we’re learning the extent of the damage.”
Harry’s hand shook as he wrote, Will I always be like this?
Ginny laid a hand on his arm; he couldn’t see it, but he could feel her warmth and he turned his head towards her as she spoke. “I hope not, Harry,” she whispered.
This was too much to take in and Harry closed his eyes to try to block out reality. He was scared, he admitted, scared and angry and so very lonely all of a sudden. He hadn’t felt this way in a very long time, not since those horrible months before the Battle of Hogwarts when he, Hermione and Ron were on the run from the Death Eaters and Voldemort’s Ministry.
Deciding to change the subject, he erased again and wrote, Where are the kids?
“I gave James permission last night to return to Hogwarts today. He had a couple of tests scheduled for today that he didn’t want to miss, Potions and something else,” Ginny informed him, looking slightly relieved with the change of subject. “He also needed to go to Quidditch practice because he missed two practices already this week and he thought that if he missed today’s he’d be sidelined or thrown off the team. I didn’t tell him that under the circumstances his captain wasn’t going to throw him off the team for something he couldn’t control.”
Why?
“Because I want him to obey some rules while he’s at school,” Ginny chuckled, making Harry smile. “Anyway,” she continued, “Ron’s going to take Albus and Lily up to see James play in the Halloween match tomorrow. Albus elected to have me write to the school enquiring about Quidditch squad rules and Lily asked about staying the extra day so she could be with you a little longer. Both Neville and Professor Wolcott agreed to let them have one more day at home before requiring them to come back to school.”
Where are they now?
“Hermione’s bringing them at noon to have lunch with you. Kreacher’s already packed their lunches and spelled each item to look like something you’re allowed to eat. Oh, don’t look like that... you know you’ll only be allowed jelly and watered-down porridge until your system is ready for richer foods!” Ginny scolded.
Irritated, Harry wrote, I want REAL food. Not sick food!
Ginny laughed again and he could see her smile was genuine. “Now I know you’re getting better, Harry,” she chortled. “I don’t think it will be long before the Healers start talking to me about getting you out of here.”
Thank Merlin! Harry wrote, suddenly feeling tired. He could feel his strength draining and wanted to sleep again. Ginny seemed to pick up his tiredness and gently took his slate, chalk and eraser from him, setting them back on his bedside table. Then, she flicked her wand at the foot of the bed and it slowly lowered his head until he was staring at the ceiling again. Harry began to drift off.
“Get some sleep now, Harry,” Ginny said as she smoothed his fringe out of his eyes. “I’ll wake you when Albus and Lily get here.”
Harry nodded and let sleep claim him once again. It had been a busy morning.
*
Lily giggled and elbowed her brother in the side when the matron brought in their father’s lunch. The tray was sparsely populated with a cup of weak tea, a bowl of jelly, a piece of dry toast, a small bowl of porridge, and a watery-looking scrambled egg. Their dad’s face was contorted in dislike and he turned his head away as the tray was set before him. The Matron said something about eating everything or he’d never get back to eating normal food.
“Daddy looks like you and James did the time Mummy tried to convince us that cauliflower was really mashed potatoes,” Lily said in a stage whisper she knew would carry across the room to their father.
Albus snorted, “Or how about the time when Aunt Hermione insisted that Rose and Hugo loved creamed spinach and Hugo took that huge bite on a dare from Cousin Fred?”
“That was a classic,” Lily commented as she opened the box containing her lunch. She knew what each of the “sick food” items in her box was and so did her brother.
Dad made another face as he took a sip of his tea. He had both hands wrapped around the cup like his hands were cold. He’d had to turn his head in a weird way, too. Mummy had said he might do something like that. She decided to ask about it later.
“Not hot enough for you, Dad?” Albus asked.
Dad shook his head and shuddered because he still wasn’t allowed to talk.
Albus whipped out his wand and pointed it at the tea cup. Before Daddy could glare at him for more than a second, her brother had cast a warming charm on the tea and put his wand away. Daddy stopped scowling, shook his head as if to say ‘what am I to do with you?’ and sipped the warmed tea with a grateful expression on his face. Albus smirked at Lily because he’d gotten away with doing magic outside of school and picked up his own box of charmed lunch items.
As their father dipped his spoon into his porridge Lily whispered, “Want to tease Daddy?”
Albus raised an eyebrow. He seemed interested, but reluctant as he asked, “How?”
“Oh, just make comments about how our jelly tastes like chocolate pudding or the porridge looks like mashed potatoes. Stuff like that,” she answered.
Albus nodded once and picked up his sandwich, which appeared to be just the bread. “Hey, Lils,” he said aloud, catching their dad’s attention, “have you tasted the turkey and Swiss topping on the toast? MMMM!”
Lily stole a look at their father. He was scowling again so she hid her smile behind her bottle of fizzy drink. She burped in an unladylike manner just to get his attention. “Albus, isn’t this lemon-lime drink divine?” she asked. “Too bad it just looks like cold tea.”
Mum walked in before Albus replied. “I heard that, you two,” she scolded, although she looked as if she wanted to join in the teasing as well. “Stop tormenting your father and let him eat in peace.”
Lily looked at the floor and mumbled, “Sorry, my idea,” without really meaning it before bursting into giggles. Across the room, Daddy set down his toast and gave her a big grin to let her know he was fine with the teasing.
The family spent the rest of lunch talking about the Quidditch match at Hogwarts the next day, along with other light topics, until the Matron collected Daddy’s dishes and Healer Stilwell entered through the gap in the curtains.
“You’re looking well,” he commented, looking at Daddy. “I’ll give you a few minutes longer with your family and then we’ll see about getting you back on your feet.”
Later, Lily swore she saw a frightened expression flit across her father’s face and she was afraid for him.
*
Harry didn’t want Albus and Lily to witness his first attempts at getting out of bed but since they were here and looking so concerned he didn’t have the heart to send them away.
“Mr Potter,” Healer Stilwell said, catching Harry’s attention again, “I’m going to remove the binding spells now. Do not attempt to move until I tell you to.”
“Yes, sir,” Harry answered in a whisper, glad that he was now allowed to talk.
The Healer swished his wand several times and Harry felt his body react to the absence of the magical stiffening. He sucked in a surprised breath when his back muscles suddenly cramped and it was all he could do to keep from squirming about to find a more comfortable position. The next thing he knew he was floating several inches above his bed and slowly rotating like a pig on a spit. When Healer Stilwell set him down again, he was lying on his side facing Ginny and the children and the muscle spasm had all but gone away.
“Lie still for a few more moments, please, Mr Potter,” ordered the Healer, “then we’ll do a few tests before I let you out of bed.”
“May I move yet?” Harry asked. His left arm was pinned uncomfortably underneath his body and was beginning to go to sleep.
“Your arms only, please,” ordered Healer Stilwell.
Harry cautiously freed his arm and tucked it under his pillow. His body relaxed in the familiar position and he realized he was nearly asleep again when his eyes drifted shut. He opened them again, fighting the lingering effects of the potions he’d swallowed a little over an hour ago.
A sudden stabbing pain in his upper back shocked him awake again.
“Oi! What did you do that for?” Harry demanded of Healer Stilwell as Albus and Lily burst into giggles and Ginny shushed them. “That hurts!”
“Good,” came the dry response. “It should. I’ve begun my tests.”
“Oh.”
“Tell me if you feel this.”
“Yes, sir... OW!”
Again Harry felt himself being pricked with something sharp, this time a little farther down his back, and he answered “yes” to his Healer’s question and tried not to squirm. The testing continued and Harry was beginning to feel annoyed when the pricking sensations changed and then went away altogether.
“Are we finished?” he asked, wanting the stupid test to be over with so he could sit up and swing his legs over the side of the bed, which he’d been told was the next step in the getting up process.
“No, Mr Potter, you don’t feel this?”
Harry twisted a little and was alarmed to see Healer Stilwell was running a rather large hat pin over the bottom of his right foot. In fact, now that he concentrated on trying to feel his feet and legs, he realized he couldn’t feel much past his waist.
“What the bloody hell is going on?” Harry demanded as panic and disbelief fought to be the dominant emotion in his head. “Why can’t I feel my legs and feet?”
Ginny came forward and gently pushed him back on his back while Healer Stilwell adjusted the blankets. She groped for his hand and held it tightly in one hand as, with the other, she reached up and caressed his cheek.
“Harry, darling, you fell nearly thirty feet into a pit filled with rocks. Ordinarily, a fall like that would have killed a man as it was meant to do, but because you had three other officers with you one of their cushioning charms kept you alive, if not whole. Healer Stilwell told me the first morning it was a miracle you survived at all.” Her hand tightened convulsively around his before she continued, “I’m so very grateful for that, but now we’re learning the extent of the damage... just as we did yesterday with your vision difficulties.
“Harry, Healer Stilwell and his staff have been testing your reflexes and pain and temperature sensations since you arrived. Their data shows that you have nerve damage to the major nerves leading to your legs and feet. I’m told that you have a seventy percent chance of never walking again. I’m sorry, my love. I wish I could give you better news,” Ginny finished in a choked whisper.
Harry looked up at her, desperately fighting to keep his composure. When he saw her tears, he gave in and wept silently, as he had done so long ago in his cupboard under the stairs at the Dursleys whenever he’d been locked in for days on end. Ginny sat down on the side of the bed and gently gathered him in her arms as great, silent sobs wracked his body.
When at last he could find his voice, he summoned the courage to say, “Well, it could be worse. At least I’m not another Mad-eye Moody.”
Ginny leaned down and hugged him, her hand in his comforted him as nothing else could. He held on tightly to his wife as she whispered so only he could hear, “I would love you even if you were missing half your nose and used a magical eye like his, Harry, because I fell in love with a skinny, specky boy in front of the barrier to Platform nine and three-quarters nearly thirty years ago and I’ll never stop loving the man you’ve grown to be.”
Albus and Lily joined their mother on the other side of the bed. Harry could not see them, but he knew they were there when they called his name.
“Dad,” Albus said, capturing Harry’s attention. “It doesn’t matter to me that you can’t walk. You’re still the same wizard who gets after me to do my best at Hogwarts and coaches me and James at duelling. You can still scold me if you want.”
Harry reached up and patted Albus on the elbow. “Thanks, son, for reminding me of the things I can do,” he said sadly as Lily elbowed her brother out of the way.
“Daddy,” she said, bending down and laying her head on Harry’s chest. “I’ll always need your hugs and the time you always make to be with just me. I know you and I will continue to do things together when I’m home at holidays. And I know you’ll worry about me when boys ask me out, like Jeremiah did last summer.”
Even though he was smiling at her words and loved the feel of his daughter’s head nestled on his chest, the sense of loss he was feeling at the moment was threatening to overwhelm him. Harry could only hug Lily back and a moment later, Ginny gently touched her shoulder and asked her and Albus to go find Aunt Hermione.
The two left reluctantly, both glancing back at him as they left through the opening in his curtains.
Healer Stilwell also departed. “I’ll give you two a few minutes together and then I’ll be back to discuss what happens next.”
Harry nodded and turned his head towards the wall, not ready to face even Ginny at the moment. She sat gingerly on the side of his bed and took his hand in hers, saying nothing. They remained this way for a long time.
*
Healer Stilwell left Harry Potter’s bedside a troubled man. He had been so sure his patient would be taking his first tentative steps or, at the very least, testing his ability to stand on his own when he took his leave of the Potter family. Instead, Mr Potter had lost all feeling below his waist and his legs were absolutely useless. The Healer frowned, wanting to punch something. His course of treatment should have worked: he’d done everything right, he was sure of it, just as he had with so many other spinal injury patients... So his biggest, most pressing question was... what had gone wrong?
He headed for his office. As he passed the security witch sitting at the desk across from the lifts, he requested, “Please close my Floo connection until further notice. Notify me of any emergencies with my patients, but I do not wish to be interrupted otherwise.”
“Very well, sir,” the witch said as she turned to the small communication fireplace behind her desk and flicked her wand at it. Healer Stilwell continued down the corridor to his office, deep in thought.
A sigh escaped him as he Summoned Harry Potter’s file from his safe and sat behind his desk. As he paged through the thick stack of parchment, he searched for any reason his patient wasn’t healing as expected. He scanned each page carefully, starting with the most recent entries and observations. He made notes of which potions had been administered, their dosages and when they’d been given. He read the results of the routine and specialized spells he had cast and his thoughts of why certain things were happening. Finally, he reached the first pages entered into the file: the admittance diagnosis report from the night Harry Potter had been admitted to St Mungo’s. He read it twice before he realized that the form was a copy, a copy which had not been there when he had first begun treating Auror Potter.
Which bloody fool is responsible for this mix-up? he wondered angrily as he stomped round his desk and over to the door, taking the Potter file with him.
He descended the stairs rapidly to the Patient Records Office and impatiently stood at the window while another Healer requested and received the files he needed. Finally, it was his turn.
“I need to see the original Admittance Form for Auror Harry Potter, admitted on the night of twenty-two October,” he requested in as pleasant a voice as he could muster under the circumstances.
The witch in charge of records frowned. “Sir, I don’t see how that is possible. There must be some mistake. All originals are always placed in the patients’ folders. I don’t understand how this could have happened; the spells on the original forms are too strong.”
Healer Stilwell opened the file and flipped to the Admittance Diagnosis form. “Look at this,” he requested, turning to file so the witch in front of him could see the form clearly. “Someone has tampered with this chart. This is not the original, and I insist that you find it. I need to look it over before Mr Potter leaves the hospital tomorrow.”
“Then you’ll have to file a request form to have the original Banished to the file and the copy returned to our records,” the witch stated firmly. She reached under the counter and came up with the proper form.
“Very well. I'll fill out the form, but I will absolutely not send the copy back to you until I am satisfied that the copy and the original are identical,” Healer Stilwell countered. He took the proffered form and began filling it out. At the bottom was a special request box. In big block letters he wrote, URGENT! Then he said, “Notify me when the original form is in Mr Potter’s file.”
“We will,” replied the equally perturbed witch.
He closed the chart and headed back upstairs. He hoped the original Admittance Form would be easy to find.
*
Just before dinner, James and his Cousin Louis slipped out of the Gryffindor changing rooms and quickly Disillusioned each other. Together, they snuck towards the door to the Slytherin changing rooms and waited in the shadows until the last of the Slytherins left the building. Then, they quietly let themselves into the darkened room.
James lit his wand and smiled at Louis in its feeble light. There was just enough light to see the lay-out of the room.
“Sure glad there are never any girls on the Slytherin team,” Louis commented softly as James handed him a small package.
“Uncle George said he included enough capsules to cover both the boys and the girls changing rooms, so we should have enough,” James whispered back. He pointed to the far wall. “I’ll take this side and you take that one and we’ll cross in the middle. Use a Temporary Sticking Charm to affix your capsules next to the centre hook, please.”
Louis nodded and went to work. “Tell me what we’re testing for Uncle George again,” he said as he began sticking clear, nearly invisible capsules to the ceiling of each locker.
“Remote Controlled Itching Capsules,” James replied. “He told me to use one on the top and one on the bottom of each locker to test the prototype. If this works, by this time tomorrow night anyone who is on the Slytherin Quidditch team or has hugged or touched the clothing of one of the players will be experiencing uncontrollable itching. Dinner should be a fun affair to watch tomorrow night.”
“And you’re sure that Albus is going to be here to set off the capsules while the match is going on?” Louis asked.
“Yes, he is. My mum promised the headmaster that both Albus and Lily would come back in time for the match. She’s sending Uncle Ron with them.”
The two boys crossed paths and continued around the room, adhering their capsules to the tops and bottoms of the Slytherin lockers. When they finished, they slipped out the door and ran back to the Gryffindor changing rooms where they cancelled their spells and then noisily made their way back up to the castle for dinner. This part of the prank seemed to have gone off without a hitch.
Chapter 3: 3: Weekend
Author's Notes: Thanks to several of my British friends who helped me with the urgent question of what to call a “dead body” in British police parlance. The overwhelming answer was “dead body”, so I knew I could safely use words like “carcass”, “corpse” and “cadaver” in the chapter without much trouble. I appreciate your help more than you know.
As always, my thanks goes to my pre-beta team and my beta for all the comments, questions, suggestions, Brit-picking, and “comma policing” you’ve done to make this chapter the best it can be. Special thanks goes to Jedi34 who assured me that the scene between Albus and Ron was true to the typical actions and feelings of a fourteen-year-old boy.
Midnight, 31 October 2020
The luminous hands of the bedside clock pointed to, “Go back to bed, Hugo,” but Albus ignored it as he stood at the window of Hugo’s bedroom gasping in pain. He wanted to cry, he hurt so badly, but he refused to let the tears fall. “Real men don’t cry,” he reminded himself through clenched teeth.
The door burst open behind him and his Uncle Ron rushed in. “Albus, what’s going on? I heard glass breaking.”
Albus turned towards his uncle, cradling his bleeding hand close to his body. “I punched the window,” he said dully.
Uncle Ron’s eyes widened as he took in the shattered window, the glass littering the floor and Albus’ bloody hand. “Oh, Albus,” he sighed. “Why?” He moved forward toward the boy and pulled out his wand, turning on the lights as he closed the distance between them.
“I... I... I couldn’t make it stop!” Albus burst out. “It hurts so much!”
Uncle Ron gently took Albus’ injured hand in his own and began cleaning the wounds made by the glass. The boy flinched every time a jagged shard slid free and his hand bled anew. “I know it hurts,” agreed Uncle Ron, seemingly missing Albus’ meaning entirely. His tone was gentle and patient as he added, “What wouldn’t stop?”
“The pain in my head. I couldn’t stop thinking,” Albus explained as a fresh wave of sadness and guilt washed over him. “I tried listing potions ingredients, counting sheep, naming all of Jupiter’s moons, but everything reminded me of my dad!” He paused, feeling faint. “When nothing else worked, I punched the window.” He closed his eyes and when he opened them again, the room spun dangerously. Uncle Ron caught him and gently pushed him onto the bed.
“I’ll heal this and then we can talk,” Uncle Ron said as he raised his wand towards the door. “Accio Dit–”
“NO! No Dittany!” Albus cried desperately, stopping him. “Just–just heal it. I want the scars!”
Uncle Ron turned back to the bed and sat down. “These lacerations are really deep, Albus. I’m worried they won’t heal right. Are you sure you don’t want Aunt Hermione to bring the Dittany?” he asked. When Albus nodded, he muttered a healing spell and Albus watched as his skin closed, leaving four jagged pink scars on the back of his hand.
For a moment Albus was silent. When the shards of glass had entered his skin, the physical pain had momentarily blocked the pain in his heart. Now it was back, worse than ever, because he’d let his uncle see him. Uncle Ron would think he was weak and a nancy boy now. He was startled when his uncle put a hand on his back and began rubbing in small circles. After a moment, Albus leaned over and rested his head on his uncle’s shoulder. The rubbing stopped and became a one-armed hug. Albus could feel his resolve begin to crumble.
“Why do you want the scars?” Uncle Ron’s voice rumbled in his ear.
“IwanttobelikeDad,” Albus mumbled in a rush. When Uncle Ron didn’t respond he slowed down. “Dad has scars on his hand. I want to be like him. Mum told me once that Dad was very brave when he had to carve those words into his hand.”
“Yes, he was,” Uncle Ron agreed. “But did your mother also tell you that your father was a stubborn git who wouldn’t turn the sadistic teacher in to the headmaster?”
Albus shook his head. “No, she didn’t.”
“Did she tell you that year was very hard on your father, that he had to deal with all sorts of pain?” pressed Uncle Ron.
“She might have.”
“And did she tell you that without the support of our family and his friends your dad probably wouldn’t have survived until the end of the year?”
“Maybe,” Albus answered. He raised his head. “Why are you asking me all of this?”
Uncle Ron flicked his wand at the window and they watched it repair itself. “I’m telling you because you need to know,” he said as he dimmed the lights. “Your dad never allowed himself to cry, never allowed himself to release all the pent-up feelings that banged about in his head, because he’d been taught at the Dursleys that crying brought more pain. Then, when those emotions did slip out, he yelled and screamed and said things he later should have apologized for, but mostly never did. He was a right git most of our fifth year.
“Albus, what I’m trying to tell you is that you don’t have to be like your dad was back then, that you don’t have to keep it all in or break something to make the pain go away. You have a family full of adults you can talk to any time you want; your dad didn’t. That’s what made it tough for him.”
“I know I do, Uncle Ron,” Albus interrupted, sniffing. “And I know I should have talked to you instead of punching the window, but I wasn’t thinking. What about Lily? Is she still crying like she did off and on yesterday?”
“Your sister is in bed with your aunt,” Uncle Ron replied matter-of-factly. “She came in about an hour ago, crying and needing to talk. She’d just calmed down enough to relax when you broke the window.” He sighed and hugged Albus again. “You know something? I’m feeling really bad about your dad,” Uncle Ron continued and Albus heard the sorrow in his voice. “He’s my best mate and to see him hurting like he is just makes me want to scream. If I could fix him I would, but I can’t and that’s what bugs me. If it were possible to take his place or even just take on some of your dad’s pain, I would.”
Something warm and wet landed on Albus’ head and he realized his uncle was crying and not bothering to hide his emotions. It amazed him that his uncle wanted to take his dad’s place or shoulder some of his pain, just like Albus did. He sniffed and said, “I do, too.”
“I know you do, Al.”
The two were silent for a several minutes as Albus studied his new scars and fought to keep the promise he’d made to himself to stay strong. However, with each passing minute the urge to break down grew stronger as his eyes began to sting.
Finally, he asked, “Why Dad?”
Uncle Ron cleared his throat. “I don’t know, Al, I just don’t know.”
He sounded so helpless, so out of ideas, but now that Albus was voicing the questions he’d been asking himself all night, he couldn’t stop. A single tear escaped from Albus’ left eye and rolled down his cheek unheeded.
“When will I stop hurting so much?”
“I wish I knew that answer, too, but I don’t. All I know is that you’ll grieve for what’s been lost and then one day you’ll realize that it’s all right to be a happy person again,” Uncle Ron said.
“Was it... was it like that when Uncle Fred died?”
“Yeah, it was,” Uncle Ron choked out. “The Burrow felt so empty without Fred. Everybody, all your aunts and uncles, your grandparents, even your dad and mum walked about for days clutching handkerchiefs and nobody knew when they would stop crying. But eventually they did and laughter slowly returned to the house.”
Another tear escaped, this time from Albus’ right eye. “I can’t see that happening at our house any time soon,” he sniffed hopelessly. The thought was so depressing that he suddenly turned his face into his uncle’s shoulder and began to sob. It was as if a dam had broken and all his fears, anger and sorrow were pouring out of him in one enormous torrent. For a long time he couldn’t stop and then, when he did, all he could do was cling to his uncle. When he finally looked up, Uncle Ron’s face was streaked with tear tracks and his eyes were red and puffy.
“Feel better?” Uncle Ron asked quietly.
“Yeah, I do,” Albus sniffled. A few more tears leaked out of his eyes and he swiped at them with his hand. He felt his uncle doing the same.
“There’s one thing going for your family that didn’t happen with mine,” Uncle Ron said once Albus had blown his nose on a conjured handkerchief.
“What’s that?”
“You’re dad’s eventually going to come home. Fred didn’t.”
“Yeah, Dad’ll come home someday, but Mum’s making so many changes to our house it’s not going to be the same,” Albus protested, pulling away from his uncle to lay back against his pillows.
“Albus, it isn’t a building that makes a family, it’s the people living in the building that make a family,” Uncle Ron countered as he stood to pull the covers over Albus.
He felt rather embarrassed as he said, “Oh. I guess I’m worrying about something pretty silly, then.”
Uncle Ron shook his head and knelt next to the bed. “It’s not silly at all. You’re worried that the house you’ve always lived in is going to be so different you won’t recognize it, right?” Albus nodded. “Your mum wouldn’t do that to you, not in a million years. Do you know what she’s had to change?”
Albus shook his head.
“Well, it’s mostly charming the doorways to widen by themselves, building a couple of ramps into the house and adding grab bars in the loos, things that will help make your dad’s life a little easier. She’s also turned the old dumbwaiter into a lift so your dad can access any floor of the house on his own, including the cellar and the attic. That’s all,” Uncle Ron answered.
Albus considered this. It didn’t sound like the changes were very drastic, and that the house would actually look like the one he’d grown up in. He decided he could live with that.
“That’s good,” he said as a huge yawn escaped him.
Uncle Ron yawned, too. “You feeling better now?”
“I am,” Albus said, feeling a little embarrassed. “I’m sorry I broke Hugo’s window.”
Uncle Ron chuckled. “Apology accepted. How about the next time you’re feeling horrible, you come talk to me or another adult instead of breaking something?”
“I promise. Good night, Uncle Ron,” Albus said.
“Good night, Albus. See you in the morning.” Uncle Ron stood up and left the room as Albus curled onto his side, his healed hand cradled next to his body. He was still sad, but the sadness wasn’t quite so overwhelming now. He closed his eyes and was soon asleep.
*
Lily sat on Rose’s bed, paging through an old copy of Witch Weeklyshe’d found on the bedside table. She was already packed to go back to Hogwarts and she knew Albus was, too; they had been since last night. All that remained to take place was breakfast with Uncle Ron, Aunt Hermione and her brother and then she and Albus would Floo to The Three Broomsticks with Uncle Ron in time for the Gryffindor/Slytherin match. The trouble was... it was half-six in the morning–Aunt Hermione’s alarm had accidentally gone off at six–and they weren’t leaving until half- nine.
It had been a long, troublesome night, filled with nightmares and tears. Lily wished she could have had more sleep, but under the circumstances, it just hadn’t been possible. Thoughts of her father had been bouncing about in her head so much she couldn’t have fallen asleep if she tried, so she had gone to her aunt and uncle’s room. There she had confided in Aunt Hermione how scared she was because her dad was hurt. She was scared, too, because Albus was so stoic–Aunt Hermione’s word–but when they’d heard something break, Lily had known Albus had finally expressed his worries and had let herself go to sleep in her aunt’s embrace while waiting for Uncle Ron to come back to bed.
Even now, nearly fifteen hours after they’d left the hospital, Lily wanted to cry every time she thought about what had happened yesterday.
After the trauma of witnessing the truth of their dad’s paralysis, Lily and Albus had gratefully joined Aunt Hermione in the corridor outside the ward. Lily had been crying softly, but Albus had walked solemnly ahead of the two witches, eventually defending them against the sea of reporters in the main lobby of the hospital. When they tumbled out of Aunt Hermione’s fire place, Albus had immediately gone up to Hugo’s room to change his robes and then borrowed a broom and gone out for a fly round the Quidditch pitch. Lily had known he’d wanted to be alone and had told her aunt to leave him be because it wasn’t easy to talk to people when they were flying at break-neck speed.
Albus had returned to the house only after Uncle Ron had gone out to the pitch to call him in for dinner. They'd eaten quickly and spent the evening playing an educational game that Aunt Hermione said Rose and Hugo liked. Lily had welcomed the distraction solely because it forced her to think of something other than Daddy and how sad and lost he looked when they’d left him. She hoped he looked better the next time she saw him.
*
0630 hours
It’s not here! Healer Stilwell fumed as he threw Harry Potter’s chart on his desk in frustration. What could be taking the Records Department so long to locate the original Admittance Form?
He went to the fireplace that dominated one wall of the office and threw a pinch of Floo Powder into the flames, calling out his destination as he did. A moment later, he came face to face with a different witch than the one he’d talked with yesterday. He calmly stated his request and then asked, “Why hasn’t the original been found yet?”
“I don’t know,” the witch said. “If you requested it yesterday afternoon, it should have been in the folder by midnight.”
“It’s long past midnight now, and I cannot sign off on the charts tomorrow to release my patient if I have not reviewed the entire chart, which includes the original Admittance Form,” Healer Stilwell explained somewhat irritably.
“I understand completely,” the witch said as she left his line of sight. She came back a bit later with a piece of parchment in her hand. “I have your request right here. It was at the bottom of the stack of request forms. I don’t understand why, since it’s marked ‘URGENT’ in three places.” The witch scanned the requisition form, her brow furrowed. “Hmmm. It seems the search for Mr Potter’s form wasn’t carried out yesterday as requested.”
Healer Stilwell just barely managed to keep his composure. “Why wasn’t it carried out?” he asked through clenched teeth.
“I don’t know, sir, but I’ll be happy to conduct the search myself,” the witch told him. “I’ll have it for you by five o’clock at the earliest, tomorrow morning at half five at the latest. Shall I Banish it directly to Mr Potter’s chart as soon as I find it?”
“Yes, please,” Healer Stilwell sighed. “I will look for it later today, then.”
The witch nodded and he withdrew his head from the fireplace.
Someone must be tampering with the chart, he decided. Where else does the folder go when it’s not in my possession?
He groaned audibly when he realized that patients’ charts were left at the patients’ bedsides during the day and were only returned to the Healer-in-Charge’s inbox at the end of the working day, at approximately seven o’clock in the evening. In that amount of unsupervised time, anything could have happened to the original!
*
A team of Healers descended on Harry’s room early on Saturday morning. They wanted to talk to him about the modifications Ginny was making to their house, his mental state, some of the physical difficulties he was experiencing now that he wasn’t taking potions for everything under the sun, and the schedule for his return to home and work. At the moment, Harry couldn’t have been bothered; he didn’t want to learn to live like a paraplegic, he wanted to get up and walk out of St Mungo’s just like he had on so many other occasions.
The whole situation made him incredibly angry. First and foremost, he was angry at the suspects who had lured him into that basement, angry at them for wanting to intentionally injure or kill someone just because they could. He was angry, too, at the Aurors in the house with him for letting him take the “point” position when they’d all descended the stairway. He was the lead Auror, the decision-maker, the one the rest of the team looked to for guidance. Yet, he was still angry at Terry, Susan, Chambers and Carmichael for listening to his orders and not insisting that one of them walk down the stairs first. He knew this last thought was completely irrational, but the anger still was there. Finally, he was angry at himself for all of the above reasons, as well as the fact that he distinctly remembered promising Ginny six months ago that he would coordinate such missions, stake-outs, and raids from a safe vantage point. He’d broken his promise to her and was now deeply regretting the foolish decisions he’d made that night.
“Mr Potter, have you heard what I’ve just said?” asked a very noisome voice on Harry’s left side. He turned his head towards their source, which came from an equally ugly witch in green Healer’s robes.
“Some of it,” he admitted half-heartedly. “I’m getting tired. I want to sleep,” he added somewhat belligerently.
“Mr Potter, you aren’t allowed to sleep until this meeting is done,” the witch pressed on. “We have some very important concepts to cover still.”
Harry glared at the woman. “Well, take them up with my wife. I could care less what you want me to do. I need to rest.” He turned his head towards Ginny, effectively shutting the witch out of his mind.
If he thought Ginny would be pleased with his conduct, judging by the look on her face, she was anything but. “Harry James Potter,” she scolded. “You have no right–”
Healer Stilwell put a hand on her arm, stopping her tirade before it started. In a calming tone he said, “Mrs Potter, Ginny, I think Harry’s had enough for one day. Could you come to my office for a few minutes for the rest of this meeting, please?” When Ginny nodded, he looked over at Harry.
“Harry, there is only one more thing you need to know right now. Will you listen to me?” he asked.
Frustrated at the delay in his nap, Harry swallowed and nodded, unable to speak.
Healer Stilwell smiled encouragingly at him. “All my tests tell me you are well enough to leave St Mungo’s, but not fit enough to go home completely. You have many things to learn before you can go home, and I have arranged for you to learn them at a very special facility.”
Harry’s interest was piqued... well enough to leave St Mungo’s, but not well enough to be home... hmmm. “Where are you sending me, sir?” he asked as his anger at the witch subsided into curiosity.
“You’re going to a Muggle rehabilitation facility in Devon called The Groves,” Healer Stilwell explained. “It is a place where both magical and Muggle patients with spinal cord injuries are treated, since the life skills taught there apply to everyone. The doctors, nurses and therapists will work with you until you are able to care for yourself with a minimum of help from your family.
“You’ll see me nearly every day, because I’m on staff there and I’ll be monitoring your progress. The faster you learn to cope with your injury, the faster you can go home... I know you want to be home now, but that’s just not possible. Will you accept this move as a positive change?”
Harry had closed his eyes, although he had remained alertly listening to Healer Stilwell. He now opened them and replied hesitantly, “I, I can accept the move... I think.”
Healer Stilwell reached out and patted Harry’s leg, saddening Harry when he couldn’t feel the contact. “That’s all I can ask, Harry. You can have the rest you’ve requested.”
“Thank you, sir,” Harry said, trying to muster up the effort to smile back and failing dismally.
Ginny caught his eye and he was startled to see how displeased she was with him. Clearly, she had expected him to participate in the entire meeting. Did she not understand how taxing it was to think about things other than his loss of mobility and his visual problems, even if they were important? Or did she think he was acting childishly?
Sighing heavily, Harry lost his battle with his heavy eyelids as Ginny picked up her purse and followed the Healer team out the hole in the curtains.
*
“Healer Stilwell,” Ginny said as she walked beside Harry’s Healer, “I apologize for Harry’s behaviour just now. I can’t believe he was so incredibly rude to you. He’s always been stubborn, but not this belligerent. I don’t know what’s come over him.”
The group stopped in front of Healer Stilwell’s door and he paused to unlock it. When they were all seated, he said, “Ginny, your husband is grieving right now. He’s so focused on himself and his injury and what it has done to his life that there’s no room for the person he used to be. Right now, Harry needs love and he needs patience. If I can be frank with you, I’d be very concerned if he were blithely accepting everything we told him. The fact that he nearly threw us out of his ward is encouraging to me.”
Ginny sighed, still feeling horribly frustrated. “I’m glad you see it that way, sir, because I’m having a hard time wrapping my mind around all of this myself. I can’t imagine what Harry’s feeling.”
One of the other Healers spoke up. “Mrs Potter, The Groves has counsellors for family members to speak with if there is something you don’t understand or are having trouble accepting or just need to unload. Please feel free to take advantage of that service, because in the long run, it will help your family adjust to the changes it is going through. Your children are always welcome to talk with the counsellors as well.”
Ginny breathed in deeply. This news was calming to her. She was completely overwhelmed with the sheer volume of paperwork, pamphlets she needed to read each day, and the changes to their main residence she needed to oversee, as well as trying to maintain a cheerful countenance whenever she was with Harry. Hermione and Ron were more than willing to let her ramble on each night, even scream and shout behind silenced doors if she needed to, but they had little real advice or help to give her other than a shoulder to cry on. She hoped fervently that the staff at The Groves would be able to help her. A moment later, she looked up at the Healer and said, “Thank you. I can use all the help I can get right now.”
The witch Harry had been angry at smiled at her. “We’re all here to support you and Mr Potter through this troublesome time. I’m sorry I was short with him earlier. I can see now that as overwhelmed as he is, he will take learning of the coming changes and expectations much better from you than from the rest of us. I apologize for adding to your burden, but I think you talking with your husband will help him accept the changes to come. Can we continue with the last three items on today’s agenda?”
Ginny smiled. “Yes, I’ll try to be a little more pleasant and attentive than Harry was.”
This comment brought chuckles from the other members of the group and the ensuing discussion took less than twenty minutes’ time. At the end, Ginny shook hands with everyone.
“Thank you for arranging this course of treatment for Harry,” she said as she gathered her handbag and the stack of papers she had been given. “I know he wants to walk out of here like he always has and it’s frustrating to him that that’s not possible this time.
“What time should we expect the Ministry car?” she asked.
“The driver will be round to pick you up at noon, Mrs Potter,” someone answered. “We’ll have your husband prepped and ready to go well in advance so you two can avoid the gaggle of reporters still camping out in the main waiting area.”
Again, Ginny heaved a thankful sigh. “I appreciate that, sir,” she said.
“You’re welcome.”
*
The Three Broomsticks was crowded with patrons sporting Gryffindor and Slytherin house colours when Albus stumbled out of the fireplace and onto the hearth. He waited impatiently as first Lily and then Uncle Ron followed him into the pub.
“Come on,” he urged them. “I promised James I’d meet him in the changing rooms before the match.”
“Calm down, Albus. We have plenty of time to find seats. You can go to the changing rooms after you know where we’re sitting,” Uncle Ron told him.
Albus knew he was right, but because it was up to him to cast the activation spell for his prank with James, he was feeling rather nervous. He tried to calm himself as requested by stopping to greet several of his former housemates who had come back for the match.
They finally left the village, taking the road to the school at a brisk walk. Albus could hear the crowd noise from the stadium already, and the urge to run ahead was strong. However, he stayed back with his uncle and Lily and eventually the three of them entered the school gates. A few minutes later they were climbing the steps to the Gryffindor section of the stadium and Albus knew he’d been foolish to be so anxious about how much time was left before the match. As soon as they’d found seats, he left to go talk to James.
*
James paced anxiously inside the Gryffindor changing room. Nothing his teammates had said or done had any effect on how he was feeling because he wasn’t nervous about the match. Instead, he was impatiently waiting for news of his father from Albus. The two had exchanged owls the night before and all Al would say was that he needed to tell James in person. That could only mean one thing; something besides all those broken bones and a bump on the head was seriously wrong and meant his life was about to change as Mum had hinted before he’d come back to school.
“Hey, Potter!” called one of his teammates. “Albus is outside looking for you.”
“Thanks,” James replied and swiftly left the room.
“Hey, James.” Albus was leaning against the changing room wall. As he pushed himself upright, James caught sight of his right hand and stared in amazement.
“What’d you do?” he demanded, grabbing his brother’s hand and inspecting it carefully. The scars looked fresh and he wondered why Al hadn’t wanted them healed completely.
“I punched out the window in Hugo’s room last night,” Al replied, sounding sheepish.
Suddenly, James felt scared. The only reason his mild-mannered brother would act out like that was something serious. Fear ate at his gut as he asked, “Dad’s not good, is he?”
Albus shook his head. “No, he isn’t,” he said, sounding scared and sad. “James, half of Dad’s vision is gone because of that bump on the back of his head. The Healers explained that his eyes are fine, but his brain took a beating when he hit his head on the rocks.”
James swallowed the lump in his throat. “There’s more, isn’t there?”
“Yeah,” Albus sighed, looking scared. “Dad’s what the Healers call a paraplegic. He has no feeling below his waist and can’t move his legs.”
All the blood seemed to drain from James’ head at this news and he groped for something to lean against. What he found was his brother’s arms around him, holding on in a tight hug. “Oh, Merlin!” he gasped.
The brothers held onto each other for a long time until one of the Gryffindor players, James’ girlfriend and fellow Chaser, Kendra, poked her head out the door to tell them it was time to line up.
As they broke apart, Albus asked, “Will you be able to play?”
Squaring his shoulders, James replied, “Yeah, I will. I have to be. I have a match to play.”
“Then play it for Dad,” Albus ordered as James grabbed his broom from its place next to the door and turned to follow his team.
James nodded and jogged up the ramp that led to the pitch.
*
Albus waited until he was sure James was out of sight and the player introductions had begun before he entered the Gryffindor changing rooms. He had two motives for being down here, and the first was complete. His second was about to go into motion. Carefully, he fished a bag filled with clear, gel-like balls from his pocket. He went into the girls’ changing room first and began sticking them to the ceilings and floors of each cubicle with a charm. He did the same to the boys’ cubicles. When he was done, he left the room and took a few minutes to do the same with the lockers in the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw changing rooms as well. The capsules he put in those lockers were somewhat different and had a different triggering spell than the ones he used for the Gryffindors because there were no clothes in those lockers at the moment. The first time he went to practice next week, he’d trigger the capsules to burst after the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs hung up their uniforms.
His task complete, Albus stood outside the block of changing rooms and muttered a spell. His part of the prank complete, he went to watch the match with Lily and Uncle Ron.
*
The match had been a very long and gruelling one–four hours of hard flying, to be exact–but in the end Gryffindor had prevailed and won by thirty points. Now, exhausted, angry at his dad’s fate, and ready for a shower and then dinner before the victory party, James led his teammates down the ramp and into the changing rooms. He changed back into his regular clothes quickly and left the room to find his brother and sister.
He found them in the Entrance Hall saying good-bye to Uncle Ron.
“Great match, James,” Uncle Ron complimented him. “You’re taking after your mum quite nicely. She’ll be pleased when I tell her you made so many goals.”
James studied the flagstones under his feet. “Thanks,” he mumbled. “Will you tell Dad for me, too?”
His uncle put his arm around James’ shoulders. “I will when your aunt and I go to see him in the rehab centre after your mum gets him settled in. I think he’ll be pleased, James.”
“Thanks. Tell him... tell him every goal I threw was for him,” James choked.
“I will,” his uncle replied. “Hey, if you need someone to talk to, I’m just a fire call away... even if it’s oh-dark-thirty. Madam Pomfrey won’t be too happy with you if you wake her up because you broke your hand punching a wall or something.”
James nodded, already distracted by his growling stomach. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he mumbled.
Uncle Ron left and James followed Albus and Lily into the Great Hall for dinner. He was pleased when his housemates cheered him as he sat down and pulled his plate closer to the edge of the table in anticipation of the meal.
Half-way through dinner, a commotion started at the Slytherin table, making James look up from his bowl of Shepherd’s Pie. He winked at Albus as first the Slytherin Quidditch team and then many of their housemates began scratching and squirming. The prank had worked! The Remote Controlled Itching Capsules were a success and unless he, Louis or Albus let something slip, no one would know who played the prank. James, happy for the first time since Albus had brought him the news of his dad’s paralysis, let himself smile for the first time all day.
He wasn’t smiling the next morning, though, when his own skin began to itch uncontrollably at breakfast. He looked up and down the Gryffindor table and noticed that his teammates and many of their friends were scratching and squirming just as badly as he was. Somehow, he knew that his brother was responsible for this and he watched him closely as he finished his breakfast.
Albus left the table first and headed for the door, absently scratching his left shoulder. James followed and cornered him in the Entrance Hall. Angrily, he grabbed Albus by the arm and hauled him into the first empty classroom he could find.
“What’s going on, Albus?” James demanded once the door had closed.
Albus grinned at him. “Let’s just say that for the next week not only Slytherin, but Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw will all be afflicted with cases of Remote Control Itching, courtesy of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes,” he explained.
“Why?” James asked. “If everyone itches, it defeats the purpose of the prank, doesn’t it?”
Albus shook his head. “Not at all, big brother. If everyone itches, it’ll be harder to find out who set the prank in the first place,” he explained in that calm, irritating tone he occasionally took.
James considered this and felt his anger melt at the brilliance of Al’s logic. “You got me there, Albus. How can I be mad at you now?”
“You can’t,” was his brother’s cheeky reply. “Now let’s go see who in Gryffindor hugged whom.”
Grinning, James agreed, “Yes, let’s. This should be fun to watch.”
*
Harry Potter’s chart appeared in his inbox exactly at seven o’clock as it always did. Healer Stilwell grabbed it and immediately began reviewing the day’s entries. Satisfied with what he read, he initialled the bottom of the page and then shuffled through the rest of the parchments to the very bottom. He growled in frustration when he saw that the Admittance Form was still the copy he’d discovered yesterday. What is keeping the Records Department from finding the original? He went to his fireplace, called the Records Department and demanded that the form be found immediately.
*
1 November 2020
The ward Matron came to prep him for transfer to the rehab centre while Ginny was downstairs signing his discharge parchments on Sunday morning. With her were two blue-robed attendants who pushed a floating gurney ahead of them. On top of the gurney was a long, black, zippered bag. Harry paled. He was intimately familiar with such bags... He shuddered. They were going to take him out of St Mungo’s in a body bag!
“Good mornin’, Mr Potter,” the Matron greeted him, “I hear your son’s Quidditch team won the match at Hogwarts yesterday. That’s good news, I’m tellin’ you.” She bustled about the space moving chairs and straightening things in general. Harry watched her silently: even the news that Gryffindor had won the match couldn’t break his black mood.
When she seemed satisfied, she said to Harry, “I’m not about to let you out of this hospital without a proper bath. I know we’ve been usin’ cleansin’ charms since you arrived, but it’s now time for some old-fashioned soap and water. Mark and Tim are here to assist me with the task. This won’t take but a few minutes.”
“Do I get a choice?” Harry grumbled.
The Matron scowled and put her hands on her hips, looking a whole lot like his mother-in-law used to when she’d scolded Fred and George for something. “No.”
Harry suddenly found his blankets very interesting.
“Good. I’m glad you agree with me,” the Matron said. “We shall commence the cleansin’, then.” With that, she pointed her wand at the bed and the blankets disappeared, leaving Harry covered only by his sheet. She then directed her wand at his mid-section and a moment later, he felt some rather interesting sensations in his abdomen. He flinched in surprise.
The Matron looked surprised. “You felt that, Mr Potter?” she asked.
Harry could feel his face heat up. “Erm, yes. What did you do?”
“We don’t use bedpans in his hospital, Mr Potter,” she answered distractedly. “Are you absolutely certain you felt the spell?”
“Yes.”
She smiled as she pocketed her wand. “I’ll tell Healer Stilwell you’ve made the first progress of your recovery.”
Progress? Recovery? Harry wasn’t sure how he felt about those words as the Matron stepped away from his bed.
Harry watched uneasily as the attendant named Mark approached him and unfastened the neck of Harry’s hospital gown, gently working the garment off his body and leaving the sheet thankfully covering Harry’s lower half. The Matron then lowered the head of Harry’s bed and he watched as Tim stepped forward with a large basin of soapy water. The Matron commenced her washing.
Surprisingly, the rough cloth felt good on Harry’s skin and he began to relax as the Matron washed his arms, shoulders and neck. He squirmed a bit when she washed his armpits, but grew very quiet as she washed his torso and the cloth moved nearer and nearer to the sheet.
However, before he knew what was happening, the Matron had stepped back and was levitating him in much the same manner as Healer Stilwell had done on Friday; the sheet stayed about his waist as she settled him on his stomach and began washing his back. Harry relaxed again.
His eyes flew open when he felt the sheet moving up his body to cover his arms and shoulders.
“Don’t be alarmed, Mr Potter. I’m arrangin’ the sheet so I can have access to your legs. I’ll let you know when I’m ready to turn you over again.”
But Harry couldn’t relax again. He heard the sounds of the cloth in the water and felt the bed move as the Matron manipulated his legs. He couldn’t feel a thing except for a mysterious tingling in the toes of his left foot and he felt incredibly sad because of this.
Bloody hell, I want to feel that rag, Harry thought desperately. I want to feel the roughness of it, the amount of pressure that’s being applied. But I can’t. I’m helpless... so helpless I can’t even wash myself!
“All done!” announced the Matron cheerfully. “One more rotation comin’ up. On three, two, one...”
A moment later, Harry found himself staring at the ceiling again and the head of his bed being raised so he could sit up. “Are you done?” he asked.
“Not quite,” the Matron answered. “Your hair is next.”
Harry couldn’t ever remember anyone washing his hair before. The experience felt interesting and Harry wondered if Ginny would be doing this for him at the new facility. He hoped she would because it felt really good.
“You have one more unwashed area and a choice to make,” announced the Matron as she dried his hair with a spell. “Do you want to do the honours or shall I?”
Harry reached for the cloth and the Matron handed it to him. “We’ll be outside,” she said as she ushered Mark and Tim out of Harry’s area. “Call me when you’re ready to dress. Mind the basin now...” Harry made quick work of the task and then lay back on his pillows, eyeing the gurney and the black body bag.
Getting dressed in clean pyjamas turned out to be quite a production and the reason three people were needed for the task. Harry was glad he was allowed to put on and fasten the shirt himself, but became horribly embarrassed when it took both attendants and the Matron with her wand to dress him in the trousers. They made quick work of it, but Harry’s face felt molten by the time they were finished.
The Matron shooed her attendants away and they left after saying good-bye to Harry.
“I’m sorry, for embarrassin’ you, Mr Potter,” the Matron apologized. “Unfortunately, until you learn to do this yourself, levitation is the only answer. Hopefully, you’ll soon be strong enough to dress yourself without someone helping you.”
“I hope so, too,” Harry mumbled. Then, he asked, “What’s with the body bag?”
The Matron smiled conspiratorially. “Your way to anonymously escape the horde of reporters downstairs. No one ever camps out at the door to the morgue, so the Ministry car will be waitin’ there to take you to your rehab centre. Mrs Potter will be here in a few minutes to help me get you settled.”
Harry felt his mood lighten and smiled. “I like that idea,” he said as Ginny walked through the hole in the curtains. Harry noticed that she had piled her hair on top of her head and sighed inwardly: he was disappointed that he couldn’t run his fingers through it. He wished he had the time and the privacy to ask her some rather intimate questions that had been bothering him for the last few hours, but this was neither the time nor the place to do so. Maybe, once he was settled in the new facility, they could talk.
“What do you like?” she asked as she came to stand at the right side of his bed.
“Escaping the likes of Rita Skeeter through the morgue in a body bag,” Harry told her, grinning. And how beautiful you look this morning, he added silently to himself.
“Ah, so you like Kingsley’s idea, do you?” Ginny asked. She sniffed the air close to Harry’s head. “Mmmm, I love the smell of a clean man,” she commented, giving him a quick kiss on the forehead.
Harry turned his head and shook his head at the Matron. “They kept me clean,” he protested.
“Aye, we did a good job of it, too,” she agreed.
“But you still smelled like hospital,” Ginny said stubbornly. “No spell can completely get rid of it. Eeww!”
No one said anything for a moment and Harry knew Ginny was reliving some of her memories of his previous hospital stays. Finally, he asked, “How much longer until I become a corpse?”
Both his wife and the Matron looked at their watches. “About thirty seconds,” answered Ginny. She pulled out her wand and looked expectantly at the Matron. “I’m ready. Will you talk me through this?”
The Matron explained what she wanted and the two set to work. Actually, it was Ginny who did all the work; the Matron just guided her through the task of bringing the floating gurney close to the bed and then transferring Harry without dropping him. When he was finally settled on top of the open body bag, Ginny conjured a sheet and tucked it in around Harry. Then she stepped back.
She looked at him with concern written all over her face. “I don’t have to zip it all the way,” she said, sounding anxious.
Harry closed his eyes. He hated tiny enclosed spaces, had since he was a small boy, but he decided he hated nosy reporters and their poisonous Quick Quotes Quills more. “Zip it up,” he said before he changed his mind. “I’m a big boy.”
Ginny caressed his face before she zipped up the bag. “I’ll open the zip once we’re out of London,” she told him.
“Thanks,” he said gratefully.
She kissed his cheek and then pulled the zip closed. Harry closed his eyes and tried to sleep.
*
Ginny didn’t know what to think as the zip closed over Harry’s head. It scared her that she couldn’t see his face, even though she knew he was alive in there, and she almost unzipped the bag.
“You’d best be going, Mrs Potter,” the Matron said. “Gives me the collywobbles knowing a living wizard is in that thing.”
Ginny could only agree. “Let’s go,” she said as she pulled the deep hood of her cape over her head. It completely covered her and left a small opening so she could see where she was walking.
“You should leave first, Mrs Potter. I think that would be best. I’ll bring the cadaver along in a moment,” the Matron told her, sounding playfully conspiratorial.
With a nod, Ginny walked through the curtains and out of the ward. It took her only a few minutes, using back stairways and corridors, to reach the morgue; she had encountered no one who seemed interested in where a hooded figure was going because her cape was dark green, not black.
She knocked on one of the double doors and was immediately admitted. The door closed behind her and she was instantly glad for her cape: the air in the room was as frigid as the winter air outside.
“Welcome, Mrs Potter,” a green-robed wizard greeted her. “Your husband will be along momentarily?”
“Yes, he will, sir,” Ginny said through clenched teeth that were trying not to chatter. “Thank you for helping us avoid the insanity upstairs.”
“Glad to be of service.”
The wizard seemed to sense her discomfort and invited her into his office where it was indeed warmer. Ginny sat in the proffered seat while the technician went back to work. She kept an eye glued to the main door until someone knocked and pushed a gurney into the morgue. Ginny recognized the Matron and immediately went to join her and Harry. She unzipped the top of the body bag just enough to insert her wand tip and cast her strongest warming charm inside. She heard Harry sigh in relief.
The door opened again, this time admitting Kingsley Shacklebolt who immediately walked over to her and engulfed her in a big hug.
“Car’s outside,” he reported. “If you want a quick exit, now’s the time. The reporters saw the car pull into the alley and it’s only a matter of moments before they put the clues together. Let’s hurry.”
He led Ginny and the Matron to another set of double doors that opened onto a long, sloping ramp. At the top stood an official-looking vehicle, attended by a wizard wearing a chauffeur’s uniform in mixed shades of orange.
Ginny climbed into the back seat of the car and was surprised when there was only enough room for her on the passenger’s side because of a hole created in the seat back by a fold-down cushion. She was even more surprised when the head of the body bag came sliding through the hole. The boot lid and her door closed automatically as the driver took his seat. He gunned the motor once and started for the street without letting Ginny say good-bye to Kingsley and the Matron. As the car turned out of the alley, the back seat windows turned dark grey and a glass partition rose from the floor of the car in front of Ginny, effectively separating her and Harry from the driver. They now had complete privacy.
Ginny now turned her attention to her husband, unzipping the bag to uncover Harry’s face. She didn’t like what she saw: his skin was pale and his face was bathed in sweat.
“Harry, dear, are you sick?” she asked anxiously as she gently wiped his forehead with her handkerchief.
“No, Ginny, not yet. It’s good to see daylight,” Harry muttered.
“Do you want me to remove the warming charm?” she asked.
Harry shook his head. “Leave it in place. I’m still shivering.”
“All right, but I’m transfiguring that hideous body bag into something more comfortable,” she said and she slipped her wand out of her pocket. A moment later, Harry lay in a squashy crimson and gold sleeping bag. He flashed that quirky half smile at her that always made her insides melt. “I’m glad you like it. Now try to get some sleep. It’s going to be a long ride. I’ll wake you when we get there.”
Harry closed his eyes again and Ginny settled in for the journey.
Chapter 4: 4: Settling
Author's Notes: Just a brief thank you to my pre-beta team of Jedi34, RSS, Mutt n Feathers, and RebeccaRipple for all their hard work, suggestions and questions that helped me whip this chapter into shape. Thank you, Aggiebell, for being the dedicated and conscientious beta you are.
To my loyal readers, your reviews always make my week and I look forward to discussing the chapter with you. Thanks for all your encouragement, questions and comments. They keep me working hard on future chapters.
Sunday, 1 November 2020
“Good morning, Mrs Potter. Welcome to The Groves,” the receptionist greeted Ginny as she walked into the lobby of the facility.
“Thank you,” Ginny said as she fished into her purse to retrieve a business card Healer Stilwell had given her. She inspected the back of the card. “I’m supposed to be meeting with a… Mrs Marjorie Vaughn. She’s supposed to check my husband into the facility.”
The receptionist smiled. “That would be me.” She gestured to a couple of chairs, which faced a desk perpendicular to the reception desk. “Have a seat. I’ll get Mr Potter’s file.”
A moment later, Mrs Vaughn rolled her wheelchair over to the writing desk with a stack of folders on her lap. Ginny tried not to stare, gave it up as a bad job and finally commented, “When Harry sees you I hope he’ll know there’s hope for himself. Right now, he’s lost all hope of ever getting back to work…”
Mrs Vaughn reached across the desk and patted Ginny’s hand before handing her the first sheaf of papers from her folders. “That’s one of the reasons I applied for this job and the main reason I was hired. I’m a symbol to everyone in this facility that there is indeed life after injury.
“Now let’s get started so you can go see your husband. This is the liability release form…”
The two women slowly made their way through the folder of legal, governmental and insurance forms, making small talk as the stack of signed forms grew and the unsigned one diminished. While Ginny filled out the insurance form, Mrs Vaughn explained that while the British National Health Organization required every patient to fill out insurance authorizations, the papers Ginny was signing were really an authorization of compensation to Harry through the Auror Disability vault at Gringotts. In a round-about way, it made sense: medical care was funded by the government–both Muggle and wizarding–so the Ministry of Magic had a special fund for Aurors hurt in the line of duty.
There were other important facts as well. Ginny learned that there were both Muggle and magical patients at The Groves and that although they were housed in separate wards, the more mobile patients were encouraged to take their meals and some of their exercise sessions in a mixed group as part of the integration process back into normal society. Another thing she learned was that as soon as Harry was settled in his room, a physiotherapist would begin working with him to assess his limitations, over and above the ones described in his medical reports. In addition to this, Mrs Vaughn told her that whenever possible, the patients and their families were encouraged to interact with each other.
“After we finish, I’ll show you the facility,” she informed Ginny. “Most common areas have sliding doors which lead to the outdoor grounds. We have a football pitch, a running track, a playground for the under tens and a flower garden where many of the families spend time together. I hope your family will take advantage of this while the weather’s still good.”
“Are brooms allowed on the pitch?” Ginny asked, knowing that her children would love to take advantage of a place to fly.
“Unfortunately, no,” Mrs Vaughn replied, looking sad. “All walking persons must keep their feet firmly on the ground. It would be a lot easier on the families if we didn’t have to observe the Statute of Secrecy, but we do.
“I understand,” Ginny replied with a weary sigh.
As she passed Ginny the last form, Mrs Vaughn commented, “This last form is the one that authorizes us to admit Mr Potter’s visitors to the facility without contacting you each time someone wants to see him and you’re not here. I understand that you have family living at The Burrow, Mrs Potter?”
Ginny’s head snapped up from its focus on the form. “I... I know The Groves is in County Devon, but I was unaware of the actual location,” she sputtered. “What city is the facility in?”
“Why, Ottery-St Catchpole, of course,” Mrs Vaughn replied. “Didn’t you recognize the scenery?”
Ginny put down her pen. “Sadly, no, we didn’t. After the hubbub of the hospital and the anxiety of the last week, it seems Harry and I both took advantage of the peace and quiet of the Ministry car and had a bit of a nap,” she admitted.
“That’s quite understandable. The first week after an injury for magical people and the first month or more for Muggles is often the most mentally taxing on the family of victim,” Mrs Vaughn told Ginny soothingly.
Ginny sat back and picked up the visitor’s form and stared at the paltry list of visitors she’d already authorized because she knew that even with Apparition, not too many family members would be able to visit during Visiting Hours. The fact that The Groves was so close to The Burrow changed everything. She had been worried about finding a room to let in the village near The Groves so that she could be close to Harry without going home. Now, she decided, she would definitely take advantage of her mother’s offer of the use of her old bedroom. It also meant that Harry’s nieces and nephews wouldn’t have to endure long visiting sessions and could instead go to visit Granddad and Grandmum if things became boring.
“Did Healer Stilwell choose The Groves just because Harry and I have family in the area?” Ginny asked as she added all of her brothers’ family members, Luna and Rolf Scamander, Neville and Hannah Longbottom, and Teddy Lupin as well as Teddy’s Grandmother, Andromeda Tonks, to the list. She paused and then wrote down Draco and Asteria Malfoy as well. The last time Harry had been in hospital, Draco had come to visit and had been turned back at the door because he wasn’t on the visitors’ list. Ginny didn’t want any of her husband’s friends to suffer that kind of humiliation, not when it looked like Harry was going to be in hospital for months to come.
“Most of the healers and doctors use that as one of the criteria for finding the right facility for their patients,” Mrs Vaughn replied, “but in Mr Potter’s case, the services we provide our patients and the location seemed perfect for his needs. I sincerely hope the two of you feel the same way after your first few weeks here.
“All finished? Then come with me and I’ll show you around a bit,” Mrs Vaughn said as she directed the folders back to her desk with her wand.
Ginny was gobsmacked. “You’re a witch, too?” she blurted before she could stop herself.
“Yes, does that surprise you?”
“I don’t know,” replied Ginny truthfully. “How do you keep straight who is magical and who isn’t?”
Mrs Vaughn chuckled. “It’s all in the paperwork, Mrs Potter, all in the paperwork. You see, the Muggle forms are always coloured and the Wizarding forms are always parchment-coloured. That way, everyone working with the patients knows the correct way to interact with each one,” she explained as they went down a corridor towards doors marked “Library” on one side and “Recreation” on the other. “It simply wouldn’t do to have an intern ask a Muggle to cast a Voiding Spell when the Muggle neither has a wand nor knows the proper wand movements and vocabulary.”
“No, it wouldn’t,” Ginny murmured as she looked into each of the rooms. Both rooms were full of patients and their assistants and she hoped that Harry would soon be able to come here, if he wished.
The two continued through the centre, inspecting various rooms as they went. After the Library and Recreation rooms, there were several common rooms, and an audio room where patients who had trouble reading to themselves could come and listen to books read on Muggle machines. The dining hall was located close to the main doors, while the mail room–which included roosts for owls in a separate Owlery off the main room–and the Transportation Office were on one of the central wings. This last room’s door was guarded and admission was granted by pass only. Ginny learned this was also the room she would Apparate to and from if she chose to travel that way. Since she was there, the guard handed her a pass and instructed her on its use.
Mrs Vaughn next took Ginny out into the courtyard overlooked by some of the Magical rooms and the facility offices. “Unlike other facilities of this kind,” she explained, “each patient has a private room. It’s a necessity because of the make-up of our population. Besides the no broom-flying rule, we also strictly enforce our no wand rule when patients and their families are out in the grounds.”
“I remember reading that somewhere,” Ginny murmured as she looked about. She could see parts of the garden and the football pitch. It was a lovely fall day and from what she could see of the gardens, the foliage had taken on the distinctive hues of autumn and she knew it would be a very soothing place to go.
Finally, they toured the therapy wing. Ginny was impressed by the variety of therapies and medical diagnostic equipment available to the patients and commented on her observations.
“We have a high success rate, Mrs Potter,” Mrs Vaughn stated proudly. “Nearly all of our patients eventually re-enter mainstream society.”
“And those who don’t?” Ginny asked curiously.
Mrs Vaughn shrugged. “Most of those people we never hear from again, mostly because they never successfully matriculate back into the main population.”
“Oh,” Ginny said, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. At this point in time she didn’t want to entertain the possibility that Harry would be one of those people. She briefly closed her eyes thinking, Harry’s not a quitter. This is just another obstacle for us to hurtle...
Eventually, Mrs Vaughn took her back to the reception desk and presented her with a magical facility map. “Just tap the map and say ‘I’m lost’ and your location and destination will appear,” she instructed. “Now off you go. Mr Potter is most likely anxious to see you by now.”
Ginny nodded absently for she had just told the map she was lost and answered its question about her destination. “You Are Here” appeared on her map followed by blinking green arrows, which showed her the way to go. I can do this! she told herself as she set off for Harry’s room.
*
James sat with his girlfriend, Kendra, at a table in the Gryffindor common room scratching his itches and trying to concentrate on a History of Magic essay he was trying to write. The writing wasn’t going well at all, mostly because his mind was elsewhere, but also because he hadn’t found any relief from Albus’ prank. Usually, showering to wash off the itching powder worked, as did cooling charms, but not this formula. James suspected that some sort of oil-based product was what would be needed. Sighing loudly, James shut his books and rolled up his parchment. He was going to the kitchens.
“Where are you going?” Kendra asked curiously as he stood up. She pulled her wand from her pocket and used it to scratch between her shoulder blades.
“Kitchens,” James answered. “I think I might have found a solution to the itching problem.”
“Oh, can I come? I’m tired of sitting here scratching.”
James held out his hand to her. “I’d like that,” he said.
The two crossed the common room and James held the portrait hole door open for Kendra. She smiled shyly as she passed him, sending shivers up his spine that had nothing to do with the itching powder.
“Have you had any more news of your dad?” Kendra asked as they took a shortcut that took them several floors down in quick succession.
“Not yet. My Uncle Ron told me my Mum would write to us after she finished settling Dad into the rehab centre. I’m not expecting the owl until tomorrow morning,” James reported. He wondered why all this should bother him, but it did.
Kendra squeezed his hand. “They’ll take care of him, you’ll see,” she said soothingly and James hoped she was right.
They entered the corridor leading to the kitchens and eventually stopped in front of the still life that guarded the entrance. James tickled the pear and after a moment, they were allowed to enter.
“Master James! Master James!” cried several of the house-elves excitedly. Word of their arrival travelled through the room and a moment later, James and Kendra were surrounded by their small friends.
“Hello, everyone,” he greeted them. “I have a favour to ask. Can someone bring me some cooking oil, please?”
A huge container appeared almost instantly and James took off the stopper and dripped some oil onto his handkerchief.
“Why ruin a perfectly good handkerchief?” one of the elves asked. “Morton spends hours cleaning them.”
“I know he does and I’m sorry,” James said as he rubbed the oil onto his arm and smiled as the itching instantly went away. “However, the oil is the antidote to our itching powder affliction,” he answered as he rubbed the cloth over Kendra’s arm, making her sigh happily. “May we take the oil with us? Anyone who hugged a Quidditch player yesterday needs to bathe in this stuff.”
“Yes, yes,” several elves replied. “Do you need anything else?”
“Not this time,” Kendra smiled at them. “Thank you so much for helping us.”
“I can’t wait to get back upstairs,” James said as they climbed back towards Gryffindor tower, floating the container between them. “Erm, would it be mean not to tell Albus about the solution?”
Kendra tilted her head before she answered. “Nope, not at all. I’m not feeling very generous towards him at the moment,” she stated, making James chuckle.
“Then, let’s gather the rest of the team, some new clothes and meet at the Prefects’ Bathroom,” James proposed. “Let’s make a party of de-itching each other.”
Kendra smiled. “I like that idea,” she said and she hurried up the stairs to the girls’ dormitories to alert all the itchy girls.
*
Ginny found Harry’s ward easily with the help of the facility map and was pleasantly surprised to see Healer Stilwell emerging from her husband’s room as she approached it.
“How was the ride over?” he asked as she joined him in the corridor.
“Quiet, but a little scary for Harry. He tends to avoid dark, closed-in spaces whenever he can,” she admitted. “That’s why I transfigured the body bag into a sleeping bag... it allowed him to see out and wasn’t quite so humid inside. I hope he’s calmed down by now. I’ve never seen him as frightened as he’s been this past week. It worries me.”
“We’ve given him a calming draft and his physiotherapist is in there now teaching him some simple relaxation techniques,” Healer Stilwell told her.
“Is that a good thing?” Ginny asked hopefully.
“Yes, it is,” Healer Stilwell replied. He paused as if mentally adding something he didn’t want Ginny to know. “During the next few weeks your husband will be learning many things which will tax not only his patience, but his body as well. He’ll be sore, grouchy or unresponsive at times, impatient, discouraged, encouraged, and probably never satisfied with the amount of help you and his recovery team are giving or not giving him. At the moment, he’s learning several ways to release his muscle tension and ease his own pain through simple stretches and breathing techniques.”
Ginny briefly closed her eyes. She could use the tutelage herself right now, she imagined. “Then I’d best get in there and learn them myself so I can help Harry when his therapists aren’t available. Thank you for coming to see him,” she said, feeling rather resigned to the fact that she now had even more responsibility. She turned towards Harry’s door.
Healer Stilwell stopped her with a hand on her elbow. “Mrs Potter, a word of caution... Take time for yourself and your children. Your husband is here to learn how to be independent in his disability. He doesn’t have to be the centre of the universe all the time, you know.”
“You’re right... I’m just worried and confused and so overwhelmed by what’s happened. I think it’s my mothering reflexes kicking into autopilot,” she admitted, trying to explain how she felt at the moment.
“Go see Harry now. Maybe seeing that he’s in capable hands will ease your worries a little.”
Ginny nodded. “Thanks,” she murmured and stepped through the door to Harry’s room.
She was greeted with a very pleasant space. The walls were a pale blue colour that she immediately found soothing and the darker blue curtains at the window matched the upholstery on the two overstuffed chairs that sat beneath it. There was also a chest of drawers, a small table and a tiny writing desk arranged about the space that was dominated by Harry’s bed. At the moment, he was sitting with his feet dangling over the side, twisting his body first one way and then the other when coached by a woman dressed in yellow. They ignored her approach and only acknowledged her presence when they finished their task.
“Hello. You must be Harry’s wife, Ginny, correct?” the woman asked. Ginny nodded. “I’m Silvia Redmond, Harry’s physiotherapist here at The Groves. It’s nice to meet you.”
Ginny smiled. “I see you’re already helping Harry. How’s it going?”
“Very well.”
Harry spoke up. “I told Silvia and Healer Stilwell about what happened during the transfer. I’m feeling much better now that I’m here.”
Ginny felt some of the tension leave her body. A positive comment from Harry! Maybe this place really would help him... She walked over to her husband and gave him a hug, being careful about which side she stood on so she wouldn’t startle him when she put her arms around his waist.
“I’m glad you are. You had me worried for a while,” she admitted, planting a kiss on his cheek. She turned to Silvia. “Do you want me to stay while you work with Harry?”
Silvia shrugged. “It’s up to you. Sometimes it’s good to know what we’ve covered in case Harry wants to practice after I’m gone for the day,” she told her.
Ginny took the hint and sat down in one of the overstuffed chairs. Something told her to get out the small notebook she kept in her handbag and she spent the next hour taking notes on the stretches Silvia was teaching Harry.
Silvia finished with Harry just before lunch. As she was packing up her bag of equipment, she asked him, “Do you remember the correct way to lift your legs onto the bed?”
“I do,” Harry replied evenly. His tone made Ginny look up from scanning her notes.
“I’d like you practice several times this afternoon,” said Silvia.
“Must I?” Harry whinged.
“Yes, you must. The more you practice, the easier it will become.”
“Why can’t I use my wand?” Harry demanded. “It would make the chore much easier.”
“Harry,” Silvia began in a patient voice, “I really wish you could, but Healer Stilwell has ordered that you are not to use your wand or do any sort of magic for another week. The potions you are taking affect your magic and if you were allowed to cast spells while taking them, the results could be dangerous.”
Harry scowled. “I’ve lived with danger all my life,” he argued. “I can handle a few Levitation spells. Ginny, I want my wand.”
Startled at being pulled into Harry’s argument with Silvia, Ginny said, “I’m sorry, I don’t have it with me. I took all your belongings home with me several days ago.”
“I want my wand!” Harry demanded loudly. “Go home and get it now!”
Silvia stepped between them. “Mr Potter, you will stop yelling at your wife right now,” she ordered softly but firmly. Harry eyed her belligerently. “She has done nothing to deserve your anger, so I expect you to apologize to her and then let her help you practice lifting your legs later this afternoon. Have I made myself clear?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he grumbled petulantly, sounding very much like his youngest son at the age of five. He turned to Ginny and mumbled, “Sorry.”
If she hadn’t been so hurt by his hostility, she might have laughed. Instead, she nearly whispered, “Thank you.”
Silvia deliberately walked to the left side of Harry’s bed. He tracked her movement by turning his head in her direction and Ginny wondered why she was making him compensate for the blind left side. She’d have to ask about that later.
“Listen to me, Harry, we have rules here,” Silvia ordered, once she was standing still. “The magical folk who come here to The Groves learn all the Muggle techniques for taking care of themselves before spells become involved. They build the upper body strength you need in case you ever are separated from your wand and need to get yourself out of trouble. Besides, as public a person as you are in your job, you are out in the Muggle world quite a bit, I imagine. You need to know what Muggles expect to see from a disabled person.”
“Big deal,” Harry shot back. “It’s not like I’m going back to work any time soon. Not when I can’t read easily because I’m partially blind and I’m stuck in a bed all day.”
“Ah, there’s the rub,” Silvia chuckled. “One of the items on tomorrow’s agenda is to get you measured for your two special chairs. You’re going to need that Muggle wheelchair I hinted at earlier, as well as the broom spell-powered locomotor chair Healer Stilwell was describing. The sooner you’re mobile, the better.”
“That’s what you think,” Harry muttered, sounding dismissive. He pulled his covers higher on his chest and closed his eyes.
“I think he’s had enough, Mrs Potter. Let’s take a walk down the corridor,” Silvia suggested, turning to Ginny. When they were well away from Harry’s door, she asked, “Has Harry always been this dismissive when he doesn’t want to interact any more?”
“No.” Ginny shook her head. “The surliness has cropped up within the last several days. I don’t know what’s come over him. Harry’s usually a much milder-mannered person than this, and definitely more patient.”
“It happens to the best of us,” Silvia said. “Maybe once he’s decided that he still has control of his body, he’ll stop trying to control most situations.”
Ginny raised an eyebrow. “You think that’s it? That because Harry’s lost the ability to walk, he’s grasping at every situation he can to maintain control?”
“I do.” Silvia pushed open a glass door that opened onto a path leading to the flower garden and waited until Ginny went by before following her onto one of the paths. “May I call you ‘Ginny’, Mrs Potter?” she asked. When Ginny murmured her consent, she continued, “Ginny, I’ve had many patients who were top executives in various companies over the years and they, like your husband, have had tremendous responsibility in their jobs. They run companies, supervise thousands, make business deals worth millions and when they suddenly find themselves disabled because of a stroke or a heart attack or an accident of some sort, they suffer greatly because all of a sudden the one thing they were sure of, never gave second thought to, has been taken away.
“The thing is, when control over a part of themselves disappeared, they were lost,” she explained. “So when presented with the opportunity to regain some control, such as a meeting with their doctors or a therapist like me, they jumped at a chance to say enough, even if they want to continue the activity. Harry’s doing the exact same thing; he’s reacting normally for a person in his situation.”
“So how do we deal with it?” Ginny asked. “I feel so helpless and small when he attacks me like that.”
“I know you do,” Silvia said sympathetically. “So we’ll let Harry have most of the control he desires, but also guide him into realizing that what he’s learning is giving him the control he craves.”
“That’s going to take a lot of work.”
“It is and this is where you come in...”
They used the rest of their walk to come up with a plan for the rest of the week. By the time Ginny returned to Harry’s room, lunch had been served, but Harry was sound asleep. Ginny took the time to glance at his meal and discovered a card on the tray which read, “Magical Room. Meal preserved with appropriate heating and cooling charms.”
Satisfied that Harry would have a fresh meal when he awoke, Ginny decided to let him sleep and went to make a fire call to The Burrow.
*
The egg timer in Molly Weasley’s kitchen was clucking softly when the fireplace flared green and Ginny’s head appeared.
“Ginny, darling, it’s so good to see you! How’s Harry?” Molly inquired, wiping the flour from her hands and laying a towel over her bowl of bread dough.
“Ill-tempered,” Ginny replied. “May I come through?”
“Of course. I’ll start the kettle.”
Ginny withdrew her head and a moment later, stepped through the Floo and into her mother’s arms. The two witches held each other until the shrill whistling of the kettle caused them to part. While Molly prepared the tea, Ginny took cups, utensils, milk and sugar from their places and put them on the table.
“I can’t stay long, Mum,” Ginny sighed. She looked weary and very worried, not at all like the confident woman Molly knew her to be. “Harry had an eventful morning and fell asleep before lunch arrived. I want to be back at The Groves when he wakes up.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Molly said, patting Ginny’s hand. “Harry’s been placed at The Groves in Ottery-St Catchpole? That’s a marvellous place, dear. Several of our neighbours have recuperated there after various ailments. The healers and therapists are tops.”
Ginny smiled. “I’m glad you approve, Mum. I feel better knowing you do,” she said, accepting her cup and pouring a generous amount of milk into her tea.
“Tell me about your day,” Molly prompted and for the next half hour, she listened raptly while her daughter recounted the events of the morning.
When Ginny finished, Molly handed her a handkerchief saying, “Remember, Harry loves you with all his heart and I know your love for him is just as strong. There are going to be some trying times ahead for both of you that will test your love severely, but I know you and Harry have a strong marriage just like your father and I have. You will get through this and be better people for it.”
Ginny looked at the clock. “Thanks, Mum. I needed to hear that.” She sighed forlornly. “I need to go.”
“You’re coming to stay the night tonight?” Molly asked.
Ginny smiled. “I’d like that very much, Mum. Visiting hours for family are over at ten o’clock, so I shouldn’t be much later than that,” she said, rising from her chair. She came round the table and Molly stood to hug her daughter.
“We’ll be expecting you,” she said.
A moment later, her youngest was gone in a flare of green flames.
*
The group of itchy students that descended on the Prefects bathroom was bigger than James had anticipated, but given the circumstances, the only one he wanted to deny entrance to was his brother.
“Oi! Listen up!” he commanded before he gave the password. “I have enough of the itching antidote for everyone, so you don’t have to push and shove like a bunch of old women at a charity sale! Help each other out, especially if someone’s back is itching. This isn’t time for shenanigans, either. The bathroom knows when there’s a mixed crowd inside and for those of you who have never been in here, it will alert our heads of house if we’re doing something we shouldn’t. Does anyone have any questions?”
No one did, so James turned and gave the password. The door opened and, much to his relief, his friends all filed in and went to the appropriate dressing rooms the room had provided.
“That went well,” Kendra commented.
“For now, at least,” James said sceptically. “I just hope they behave themselves once they’re itch-free.”
“They will,” Kendra told him confidently. “I counted three other Prefects besides myself who can help keep the peace if need be.”
James smiled at his girlfriend. “Thanks. Now I suppose the girls will want some of the oil,” he teased, causing Kendra to harrumph. He cast his eyes about the space, looking for some smaller containers. He spied two on a shelf of towels and quickly grabbed them and filled them with oil from the larger container. “Here. This should do. I’ll leave the big jug here, all right?”
Kendra smiled at him and grabbed several face cloths. “Let the de-itching begin!” she laughed and disappeared into the girls’ room. James took a few cloths with him and headed into the boys’ room.
A quarter of an hour later, the first shouts from the itch-free students rang out as the tub filled with fragrant, soapy water and someone conjured a beach ball. Soon, a group of colourfully-costumed students were batting it about, dunking each other and having a thoroughly enjoyable time.
All except one, that is.
James sat on the edge of the tub with his feet dangling in the water, but he just didn’t feel like joining the fun. He couldn’t allow himself to let go of his cares and laugh and shout and jump and swim when he knew his dad would never do those things again. It felt like betrayal...
A hand gently descending upon his shoulder caused him to look in that direction and he discovered Kendra’s soft blue eyes staring back at him.
“You’re a thousand light-years away,” she said as she sat down next to him. “Is it something I can help with?”
James shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he muttered as he turned his head to stare at the mermaid preening on her rock in the painting over the tub.
Kendra wound her fingers through his. “Maybe not, but I know you’re hurting and want you to know I’m here.”
Someone batted the beach ball their way and James automatically caught it and threw it back into the tub. “Thanks,” he mumbled. He wasn’t ready to talk about what was bothering him, but just having Kendra say that helped a little. They sat in silence until she began to shiver. “You’re getting cold. Go play. I’ll be right here.”
Kendra shook her head and grabbed a towel from where it lay on the floor. She dropped his hand for a moment as she slung the towel over her shoulders. As soon as she was settled, she took possession of his hand again. “All better. No more shivering,” she said lightly. She laid her head on his shoulder and he was grateful that she wasn’t going to make him try to explain how he felt. He knew he would eventually, but right now, he just couldn’t find the words. They stayed like that until the beach ball suddenly disappeared with a loud pop.
James stood up. “I guess that’s time,” he called, making the others in the tub groan. “We’ve been in here almost two hours. I, for one, am getting hungry. Who wants to stay in here during dinner?”
“No way!” someone answered.
“Not me!”
“I’m not missing dinner!”
“Plug pulling time!”
“Then all out for the next dressing room!” James called, finally getting into the spirit a little.
As she began herding the girls back into the changing room, Kendra winked at him and mouthed, “Thanks.”
James smiled back and reached for a towel.
*
1930 hours
Ron pulled his head out of the fireplace, looking grim.
“What was that all about?” Hermione asked as she began preparing dinner for the two of them.
He grabbed a butterbeer from the cold cupboard. “Robards wants to take me off the case now that Harry’s been hurt,” he grumbled.
“And you don’t agree, do you?”
“No, I don’t. I’ve been involved in this investigation since we started it six months ago, Hermione. I can’t very well just let go of sixth months of work: I need to see it through to the end,” Ron replied emphatically. He took a long pull on the bottle as Hermione turned to face him.
“Well, for what it’s worth, I think Robards is right,” she commented, reaching for the bag of sprouts she’d put on the counter. She dumped the tiny cabbages into a colander and ran water over them.
Surprised, Ron asked, “Why?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Ron! You’re far to close to one of the victims to be objective right now,” she exclaimed, sounding exasperated.
“How can I be objective when my best friend is lying in a hospital with the prospect of never walking again?” Ron demanded, his mood becoming blacker with each passing moment. “I want to find the suspect who escaped and make sure he and the other two either get the death penalty or are locked away in Azkaban for the rest of their lives for what they did to Harry and the others!”
“See, Ron, you just proved my point,” Hermione said calmly. She pointed her wand at the sprouts and they began jumping out of their outer leaves and onto the counter where two knives were waiting to slice them into slivers. “You’re too emotionally involved to think clearly now that Harry’s been hurt.”
“I am not!” Ron protested.
“All right, answer me this... would you be saying you want revenge if it had been Susan or Terry or one of the other two Aurors who had fallen into that pit?” Hermione asked as she fished butter and scallions from the cold cupboard. “Oh, don’t look at me like that! We both know that’s what you mean.”
Ron was silent for several seconds as he considered his answer. “Yes, I want revenge,” he answered truthfully. “Anyone who deliberately sets that kind of a trap just to injure or kill an Auror for the fun of it deserves that sort of punishment. It’s unconscionable!”
“Well, then, I think you need to find a new line of work,” Hermione replied heatedly, “because revenge for revenge’s sake does not a clear head make.”
“That doesn’t make sense, Hermione,” whinged Ron. He finished his butterbeer and threw the bottle into the recycle bin. It belched happily, but neither Ron nor Hermione noticed. “I’m not out for revenge, I want justice!”
“Then let another team take over the investigation,” she urged. “They’ll be able to put the clues together without prejudicing themselves so that they think the evidence points one way when it really points another.”
“I can’t do that!” Ron yelled, finally aggravated enough to vent his feelings.
“Why not?”
“Because I owe it to Harry?” he blurted.
“Why do you owe him anything?”
“I owe Harry because this is the first time he’s unable to help himself,” Ron finally admitted. “I want to get those bastards so we’ll know why they hurt those innocent people and disabled Harry for the rest of his life!”
Hermione put down her spoon and turned off the cooker. She walked over to Ron and put her arms around him. “Oh, love, I understand why you want to do this, but Harry needs you more than ever now, and if you go off on whatever wild goose chases these people lead you on, you won’t be there when he calls.”
Ron sighed and hugged her close. “That’s a risk I need to take. If I’m out chasing down the bad guys Harry will understand, I just know it. He went on the mission that night because it was important to him to get those people; the case’s been eating at him since the first victim showed up at St Mungo’s. It’s been eating at me. You see why I can’t let it go?”
Hermione laid her head on his chest and he knew she was mulling over what he’d said. At length, she said, “If it means so much to you, then go talk to Robards after dinner.”
Ron tightened his hold on his wife. “Thanks, Hermione.”
*
The hours after dinner went quickly for Harry and Ginny. She had gone down to the library late in the afternoon and found several books she thought her husband might like to have her read aloud. They now chose a book and Ginny began reading to Harry. From time to time, she’d stop and they’d talk about the action, the characters’ motives and their own memories or dreams the story evoked.
When the chime for the end of visiting hours sounded, Ginny closed the book and hopped off the bed.
“Ginny?”
“Yes?” She turned and was surprised to see a troubled expression on his face.
“Do you... no, are you still... attracted to me? Now that I’m an invalid?” he asked hesitantly.
Ginny sighed. Healer Stilwell had said these questions might come up. “Oh, my darling,” she began as she picked up Harry’s hand and held it in both of hers. “I am still very attracted to you and I always will be. You’re my knight in shining armour, have been since you rescued me from Riddle and the Chamber. I want you to know that I find you handsome and brave and the one I will always want to have as my best friend and husband... no matter whether you’re standing on your own two feet or floating next to me at eye level when we kiss.”
Harry closed his eyes. “I wish... I wish I could believe that,” he whispered as a tear trickled down his cheek.
Ginny smiled at her husband. “Will this help you believe?” she asked and she leaned over him, her lips seeking his. Her first kisses tenderly caressed his lips, teasing them the way she knew he liked. Harry turned his head up towards hers, opened his mouth, and flicked his tongue across hers, seeking entrance. Her breath quickened as their tongues met and she tasted him in the familiar dance that usually led to more intimate things. Finally, very reluctantly and out of breath, they parted and Ginny stroked Harry’s fringe away from his forehead with her fingers.
Harry smiled back at her. “It did,” he said. “Thank you.”
*
Hermione looked up from her book as Ron entered their bedroom. “You’re back in one piece,” she commented wryly. “And you don’t look chewed-upon, so your meeting with Robards went well?”
Ron laughed as he began his preparations for bed. “Let’s just say I’m still on the case and still in one piece,” he answered, as he approached the bed and sat down next to Hermione.
She raised an eyebrow. “That bad, huh?”
“Could have been worse. He could have refused and disciplined me if he’d really wanted to, but he didn’t,” Ron commented. He leaned in with his lips puckered and Hermione reached up and brought his face to hers. Their kiss was intimate and only broken when Hermione pulled reluctantly away.
“So... what’s next?” she asked in a somewhat dazed tone.
“I’m taking Susan and Brodie with me tomorrow when I go back to the site,” Ron answered as he headed for the bath. Hermione heard him start the shower and picked up her book again.
“What do you expect to find?” she called. “The evidence team will have scoured the place thoroughly, I suspect.
Ron stuck his head back into the bedroom. “No idea, but I’m open to anything.”
“Then I hope you find something that will help,” Hermione told him sincerely. “Will you be coming to bed soon?”
“Five minutes tops,” Ron replied. He shut the door and began singing his favourite Weird Sisters song in a voice that made Hermione cast a Silencing Charm on the door.
*
A lamp burned late into the night in Healer Stilwell’s office at The Groves. He’d come to the Centre early that morning after signing off on Harry Potter’s charts at St Mungo’s to watch the transfer process from the Ministry car. He hadn’t liked what he’d seen: Mr Potter had been pale and sweating and looked to be in pain when he really shouldn’t after a relatively short journey.
As soon as his patient was settled in his room, Healer Stilwell had gone to see him. In their conversation, he had discovered that while the transfer had gone without a hitch and he hadn’t been accosted by hordes of reporters, Mr Potter had still suffered greatly. It seemed a long-suppressed childhood memory had reared its ugly head when his patient had been zipped into the body bag; only the fact that his wife had opened the bag during transport had helped him remain calm enough to complete the journey. After several hours and a round of meds, his patient had finally begun to look normal and Healer Stilwell began to relax. However, his concern regarding Mr Potter’s condition kept him at The Groves, checking in on him periodically all during the afternoon and evening, and caused him to call home to have his wife cancel their dinner reservations. He’d been in his office ever since.
Something about Mr Potter’s condition wasn’t normal. In fact, nothing about this case was “normal”. The more he thought about it, the more puzzled he became because by all accounts, Mr Potter should have gone home to finish convalescing instead of ending up here. He picked up Mr Potter’s file and began reviewing it from the beginning.
Mr Potter had been admitted to St Mungo’s at approximately half-three in the morning on October the twenty-first. His injuries were extensive, the most pressing of the lot being the punctured lungs, internal haemorrhaging and broken vertebrae. The Accident and Emergency team had gone to work stabilizing Mr Potter, healing his broken bones and the internal damage with routine potions and spells. The situation had become grave when Mr Potter’s lungs wouldn’t respond to any of the healing spells the healer intern and his supervisor had tried. It was then that the decision to use the enchanted Muggle ventilator was made.
Once Mr Potter was breathing with help, measures had been taken to heal the spine and assess the amount of swelling taking place in the brain and spinal cord. Certain potions had been magically administered and due to the time it usually took for the potions to work, Mr Potter had been admitted to the ward.
Healer Stilwell scratched his head and scowled at the parchment in front of him, thinking about what could possibly have gone wrong with the course of treatment. So far, the admittance, diagnosis and care seemed to have gone just as it should, just as he’d thought the day before yesterday when he’d done his review of the file. Then, he remembered something: there were certain procedures the A and E Healers did for Aurors that they usually didn’t do for ordinary patients. His eyes widened and he scanned the report again. The top parchment was different than the one he’d read before: this was the original, the one he’d had to demand to see, instead of the copy which had been in the file for the last few days. That one was also in the folder, fastened underneath as if it was the very first parchment recorded for the patient.
Carefully, he unfastened the lot and took out the bottom two pieces of parchment. He noted that there were subtle differences in the two reports. On both forms the occupation box for “Auror” had been checked as it should have been. He knew this automatically triggered a series of other items to appear on the form, one of which was the Foreign Body Detection Spell check-off box. The spell had been added in the last year and was now supposed to be a routine part of the preliminary diagnosis if the patient was an Auror. However, on Mr Potter’s original chart the FBDS box had not been checked off and was still flashing feebly–it had been checked on the copy. Apparently, the spell had not been carried out after all. Healer Stilwell looked at the diagnosing Healer’s signature–the intern had signed the papers–and growled angrily. Rising swiftly from his chair, he shut the folder, secured it in his safe and headed for the Transportation Office. He had a fire call to make.
*
Something stirred in the darkness at The Groves. A lone figure, just barely visible as an outline when it moved, lurked in the bushes just beyond the square of light coming from a certain window. The concealed wizard watched as Ginny Potter kissed her husband intimately and then smoothed the fringe from his forehead. The action sickened the man who muttered a curse under his breath. He was pleased, a moment later, to see Potter suddenly go rigid with pain and his wife scramble frantically for the call button attached to the bed. The plan was working... in a few more days Harry Potter would be dead.
Chapter 5: 5: Evidence
Author's Notes: I had a very pleasant surprise this week when Rosina Ferguson contacted me. I welcome her to my pre-beta team and thank her, RSS, RebeccaRipple, Mutt n Feathers and Jedi34 for their hard work, comments and suggestions which made this chapter not only better, but gave it a more authentic feel. I also thank my beta, Aggiebell, for making me think about how I want my characters to come across in various situations. To my readers, I appreciate your thoughts and questions more than you know. I look forward to Thursdays as much as you do.
2310 hours 1 November 2020
“Harry! Harry!” Ginny screamed. “Talk to me!”
She sounded panic-stricken at the sudden change in his condition, but he couldn’t concentrate on anything but the unexpected, debilitating pain that swept through his body in waves and seemed to emanate from the middle of his lower back.
“Tell me where it hurts!” she demanded.
His breath coming in ragged gasps, Harry could only squeeze her hand, but that seemed to be enough for the moment as Ginny scrambled frantically for the call button and pressed it several times in quick succession.
As the pain continued to course through his body, he tried to focus on something other than how it was making him feel, just as Silvia had instructed earlier that day, and he was able to stop writhing quite so much. Being still seemed to help, and he began analyzing the source and what he had been doing just before the pain started. It had hit him without a trace of preamble, no warning at all, and the onset had vaguely felt like the beginnings of a torture spell. It was much worse than anything Harry had ever experienced, much worse than the Cruciatus Curse could ever be, he thought numbly. Maybe that was a clue of sorts...
“Lower... back... Feels worse... than... Cruci...atus,” he gasped, hoping she’d understand him. “Torture... spell!”
The pain subsided somewhat as his wife anxiously cast her Patronus and sent the horse racing down the hall towards the nurses’ station.
*
The man lurking in the bushes outside Harry Potter’s room grinned in satisfaction as his victim thrashed about from the internal torture inflicted upon him. He waited until Potter lay gasping for breath and then cast his spell again. This time Potter bellowed like a stuck pig... which, of course, he was. The man knew certain things about what was going inside Potter’s body, things that made his skin crawl should this new kind of torture ever be used on him, and he almost gave himself away laughing aloud at Potter’s discomfort. Serves him right for poking his nose where it doesn’t belong...
The man watched several facility staff enter Potter’s room at a run. They pushed Potter’s wife aside and began working on their patient. The man knew he should go, but he was having too much fun aiding his mentor in the slow torture and eventual death of one of their long-time enemies to not inflict one last agonizing surge of pain on his victim. He cast his spell again, changing it subtly to prolong the suffering until the incantation was lifted. Potter passed out and the staff began the process of reviving him. It was time to leave...
Immensely pleased with the success of the last few minutes, the man left his hiding place, crossed the flower garden to the wood surrounding the property and Disapparated.
*
“Get me Healer O’Donnell and Healer-in-Training Sheridan. NOW!,” Healer Stilwell snapped to the startled Welcome Witch in charge of routing fire calls this time of night.
“Yes, sir!” she squeaked and scurried away, leaving Healer Stilwell’s head suspended in the fireplace.
She came back several minutes later followed by two green-robed men. They looked equally scared and puzzled as to why they had been called out of Accident and Emergency when they were so desperately needed there tonight.
“Are you the Healers who worked on Auror Potter last week?” Stilwell nearly shouted, causing the two to quail at his obvious anger and the way it seemed everyone in the hospital was now focusing their attention on them.
Healer O’Donnell found his voice first. “We are, Healer Stilwell. What can we do for you?”
“Find your records for the night of October twenty-first and meet me at my office in five minutes!” Stilwell ordered. Without waiting for the two to respond, he withdrew his head, cancelling the call. Then, he dashed back to his office at The Groves, retrieved Harry Potter’s file and left the building after notifying the front desk where he’d be if anything happened to his patient while he was absent.
He stepped out of his private Floo at St Mungo’s and strode to the door, ignoring the vibrations coming from his mobile phone. He’d call the nurses’ station at The Groves later to find out what they wanted. Right now, he had more important matters to attend to.
Yanking the door open, he was satisfied to see that the two A and E Healers were waiting for him. “Thank you for being so prompt,” he said in a slightly more civilized voice. “Come in. We have much to talk about.”
The two filed in and perched nervously on the edge of the couch. “Why couldn’t you wait to talk to us until later?” Trainee Sheridan whined. “It’s the middle of the night and all the loonies come in at this time. Besides, the Potter case took place a week ago.”
“I know,” Healer Stilwell said slowly. “Pass over your records, please.” He opened the files they handed him and paged through them for a long moment before deciding how to answer the first question. When he looked up the two Healers before him were obviously sweating. “If I wait, my patient will be dead!”
O’Donnell and Sheridan visibly paled and Healer Stilwell had the satisfaction of knowing they suspected they were being called upon to answer for something serious.
“Why do you say that, sir?” Healer O’Donnell asked.
Stilwell picked up the Admittance Form from his copy of Harry Potter’s records and passed it across his desk. Healer O’Donnell took it and began looking it over, with Trainee Sheridan peering over his shoulder.
“Who is this Admittance Form filled out for?” Stilwell asked with exaggerated patience.
“Harry Potter,” Sheridan answered, raising his eyes to look at Healer Stilwell.
“Now look at the Occupation Box. What is Harry Potter’s occupation?” Stilwell questioned.
“He’s an Auror, sir. Everybody here at the hospital knows that,” Sheridan continued without looking at the form. “He’s admitted on a regular basis because he’s always duelling dark wizards.”
“Look at the form,” Stilwell directed, “and tell me what you see.”
Sheridan looked down this time, although he kept casting nervous glances at his mentor. He ran a finger over the parchment where it stopped under the ticked off “Auror” box.
“This is the original,” he said, sounding almost incredulous.
“Yes,” Healer Stilwell barked, pouncing on this inflection as a Kneazle kitten would a string. “It is. It took the administrative secretary downstairs two hours to find it! Why wasn’t it placed in Mr Potter’s file the way it should? Was there something WRONG with it?”
O’Donnell glared at Sheridan who sputtered, “I–I–I guess it just became mixed up in another file I was working on. There wasn’t anything wrong with it.”
“LIAR!” shouted Healer Stilwell. “You deliberately hid that parchment from me and filed a COPY in Harry Potter’s file. Did you think I wouldn’t notice it? Well, you’re wrong. I did notice. Now... look at the original parchment again and tell me what you see.”
“Someone ticked off the ‘Auror’ box, sir, just like I said.”
“All right,” Stilwell said evenly. “Do you remember what happens when someone ticks off the ‘Auror’ occupation box?”
O’Donnell answered, “A series of routine spells to be performed for this specific occupation shows up on the form.”
“That’s right. Read that section of the form carefully, please,” Stilwell instructed. His mobile vibrated again. Angrily, he turned it off as the two began murmuring and conferring with each other. It was almost comical to Healer Stilwell when they both muttered, “Oh, Merlin!” and looked up at him with stricken faces.
Healer Stilwell stared at them expectantly. “Well?”
Healer O’Donnell answered, “The FBDS box has not been ticked off, sir.”
“And it looks like someone has erased a tick,” added Trainee Sheridan.
“You’re right. Now tell me why, since Auror Potter was in such serious condition, neither of you took the time to perform that spell. Or if you did do the spell, why the tick was erased. You know that as soon as the form detects the magic it automatically records the fact that the spell has been performed.”
“It was a hectic night, sir,” Healer O’Donnell explained, sounding defensive. “There had been a pub fight in Yorkshire and most of the victims had been sent here instead of the local clinic. All the beds in the A and E were filled with patients whose wands had not been confiscated and all the healing staff were dodging spells right and left as the wankers tried to keep hexing each other. Auror Potter and several others arrived in the midst of the chaos and even though his condition warranted our utmost attention, we were constantly being interrupted. It was a wonder we completed the other spells at all.”
“Do you mean to tell me that no one sealed the door to Mr Potter’s examination room?” Healer Stilwell demanded.
“Yes, sir. The door was left unlocked in case we were needed in another room,” O’Donnell stated.
“How many times during the examination were you interrupted?”
“At least ten,” answered Trainee Sheridan.
“At any time during the examination was Mr Potter, a critically wounded patient, left completely alone?” Healer Stilwell could feel his blood beginning to boil.
“Maybe... once... or twice,” squeaked Sheridan.
Healer Stilwell shot to his feet as he roared, “Did it ever occur to you that someone could have hexed, jinxed or enchanted Mr Potter while you were out of sight? Did either of you think that by leaving the door open that someone could have slipped into the room during your absence and harmed him in another way? Did either of you think to perform the FBD Spell because Harry Potter is an AUROR? ” When the two Healers in front of him meekly shook their heads, Healer Stilwell continued in a much quieter, but no less furious voice, “Why was the FBDS box added to the form?”
Healer O’Donnell answered, “A year ago, suspects had begun enchanting foreign objects to invade Aurors’ bodies during duels, similar to the way shrapnel does but with the power to close the entrance wound immediately. We nearly lost several Aurors to infection and untreated internal injuries because of this.”
“That’s correct, and has the performance of this spell become a routine part of an Auror’s examination that has saved several Aurors’ lives?”
“It has, sir.”
“THEN WHY DIDN’T YOU NOTICE THE SPELL HAD NOT BEEN CARRIED OUT WHEN THE FORM CLEARLY INDICATED THAT IT HAD NOT BEEN DONE?”
Healer-in-Training Sheridan answered, “Because I was exhausted when I was writing up my charts and decided only to sign them.”
“YOU IMBICILE!” Healer Stilwell bellowed, pointing at Sheridan. “YOUR NEGLIGENCE HAS COST HARRY POTTER HIS HEALTH!”
Sheridan’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head while O’Donnell buried his face in his hands.
“If I perform the spell and find foreign bodies that you two neglected to detect, you are in serious jeopardy of losing your licenses at the least and being sued for malpractice before the Wizengamot at best,” Healer Stilwell hissed. “As of right now, you, Healer O’Donnell, are relieved of your duties for not supervising your trainee properly and will be required to appear before the St Mungo’s Disciplinary Board next week. And you, Trainee Sheridan, you will also appear before the Disciplinary Board, which will then review your records and decide whether or not you will be allowed to complete your training. Have I made myself clear?” He skewered the two men with his eyes. They nodded silently.
“Wait here.” He crossed his office in three long strides and disappeared into the fireplace to emerge in the Transportation Room at The Groves. He raced to the nurses’ station and breathlessly addressed the Matron on duty. “How is Mr Potter?”
The Matron consulted her chart. “Resting, still in a great deal of pain. None of the pain potions he’s been given have worked for long.”
“What do you mean, ‘still in a great deal of pain’?” Healer Stilwell asked in surprise. “What happened to my patient?”
The Matron reported the night’s events while Healer Stilwell had been at St Mungo’s. “Why didn’t you page me?” he demanded when she finished.
“We did, but you had already left the building,” she answered.
Healer Stilwell sighed. He had ignored the mobile calls while he was interviewing O’Donnell and Sheridan. Damn it! “I apologize for not being available,” he said. “Will you come with me now to Mr Potter’s room? I need a witness.”
The Matron nodded and followed him to Auror Potter’s room. Mrs Potter was sitting on the bed, leaning against the raised head. Her husband lay with his head against her chest looking pale, spent and very much in pain. Before Mrs Potter could ask any questions, Healer Stilwell said gently, “I must request that you leave the room, Mrs Potter. I have a very important spell to cast and it must be cast only on your husband. I will debrief you as soon as I know its results.”
Mrs Potter scowled at Healer Stilwell. “I will not leave,” she stated quietly but forcefully. “Where were you when my husband’s pain started? It’s taken hours to make him comfortable enough to lie quietly and block the pain mentally. Nothing the facility Healers have done has been effective for very long, not even the Dreamless Sleep potion. I will not leave.”
Healer Stilwell sighed. If Mrs Potter didn’t leave he couldn’t perform the FBDS. “Mrs Potter... this is a life or death situation. I am asking you one more time to leave the room so I can perform the spell. Otherwise, I will have you removed.”
Mrs Potter glared at him. Finally, she murmured something in her husband’s ear and slipped carefully from her place. The disturbance caused his patient to cry out piteously. When she’d left the room, Healer Stilwell sealed the door and turned to the Matron.
“Please stand aside where you can see the results of the spell,” he directed her as he gently levitated his patient onto his side.
She moved to the side and stood watching him expectantly. He performed the spell. They both gasped. No wonder he was in such pain... Harry Potter’s body was riddled with foreign metal objects.
Healer Stilwell swore loudly, spat some instructions at the Matron, wrenched open the door as it was unsealing itself and charged down the corridor to the Transportation Room without pausing to speak to Mrs Potter. The two Healers at St Mungo’s were in more trouble than they could ever imagine.
*
0100 hours, Monday, 2 November 2020
“We’re taking your husband to the CT Scanning room, Mrs Potter,” one of the attendants announced as he came back into Harry’s room a few minutes after Ginny had been let back inside. “Healer Stilwell’s orders. He thinks he knows what’s causing Mr Potter’s paralysis and the pain. He will meet you there in a few minutes. We’re to get Mr Potter prepped for the procedure.”
Ginny sighed in relief. Something was actually going to be done other than just pour potions that didn’t seem to work down Harry’s throat. Maybe the CT Scan pictures would show something that Harry’s Healer’s spells didn’t. Mrs Vaughn had explained the purpose of the Imaging Rooms the other day on Ginny’s tour of The Groves and what the big machines inside each did. I wish Dad were here, she thought somewhat distractedly. He’d be thrilled to get to see the machines in action... She shook herself out of her reverie because the attendant seemed to be waiting for her response.
“Thank you,” she murmured as another attendant began casting spells over Harry. “May I stay with him until we get to the Scanning room?”
The two attendants shared a look. One shrugged. “I don’t see why not, but you’ll have to leave when we put him on the table,” he said as the two transferred Harry to a trolley.
“Fair enough,” Ginny said as she reached for Harry’s hand, which lay rigidly at his side because of the binding spell that had been cast to keep him from moving. She couldn’t resist caressing his cheek as she murmured, “I hope this works, darling. I want this to be over as much as you do.”
Harry closed his eyes, the only part of him besides his chest that had been allowed to remain mobile. He blinked twice at her, using their signal for “yes” or “me, too”, and she smiled back at him.
The first attendant caught her eye. “Mrs Potter, we will be leaving the magical section of the facility in a moment. Please remember that you are not to draw your wand while in the Muggle-accessible corridors or in the presence of Muggles,” he instructed her. He paused, seeming to reconsider his words, and then said, “In fact, I suggest that you leave it here because the Muggle imaging machines are highly sensitive to anything magical.”
“All right, I’ll leave it here,” Ginny agreed reluctantly. She scanned the room for an appropriate place to leave her wand.
“Mrs Potter, put your wand in the top drawer of the bureau,” the second attendant suggested. “Then close the drawer and put your hand flat against the middle of the drawer front. There is a magical lock that memorizes your hand print and will only open for your hand once it’s been activated.”
Ginny smiled her thanks and swiftly crossed the room to deposit her wand in the drawer. Her hand tingled a little when she flattened it in the middle of the wooden drawer front, and when she tried to pull it open again, the drawer remained closed. “Thank you. I’m ready now,” she said.
The group left the room and was soon in the deserted corridor outside the CT Scanning room. At the attendant’s knock, Healer Stilwell opened the door from the inside and the little procession entered. The space was dominated by an enormous white machine that reminded Ginny of a square pastry with a round hole in the middle. There was a platform that resembled a bed located in front of the hole and she supposed it slid the patient into the hole during the scan. Ginny stayed with Harry until she was told to enter the control room.
“You will be able to see everything that is happening to Harry as well as what the machine is scanning,” Healer Stilwell told her as she turned to go. “I’ll come in as soon as he’s settled.” He pulled out his wand. “Your communication system... Two blinks for ‘yes’? One for ‘no’?”
“Correct,” Ginny confirmed and she shut the door between them and went to sit in one of the swivel chairs behind the technician running the machine.
The scanning of Harry’s head, neck and “trunk” took nearly an hour as thousands of images were snapped by the giant machine. Healer Stilwell kept up a running commentary throughout the process so that both Ginny and Harry knew what was happening all along. At long last, Harry was rolled out of the machine and placed back on the trolley. Ginny stood up.
Healer Stilwell held up a hand, stopping Ginny from going to her husband. “Harry will be fine for a few minutes without you,” he said. “I want you to help me look for anything unusual you might see in the images.”
Ginny raised an eyebrow at this, but sat back down in her chair as the technician began scrolling slowly through the images. Healer Stilwell sat next to Ginny, again explaining what she was seeing, and pointing out the clotted blood that was still collecting at the back of Harry’s head.
“The blood causes pressure on the brain which in turn is causing Harry’s blindness,” he said as he pointed to a spot on the image. “Later in the week, I’m going to siphon this clot magically. Hopefully, we’ll see some improvement in your husband’s eyesight.”
There was nothing unusual in the neck and upper spine images and Ginny began wondering just what she was supposed to be looking for when a very long, thin, sword-shaped object began taking shape on the screen. The object had pierced the lung and was within a hair’s breath of reaching the heart. Both Ginny and Healer Stilwell reacted at the same time.
“What the bloody hell is that?” Ginny exclaimed, rising out of her chair to point to the object. “How did it get in Harry’s body?”
“Richard, isolate this set of images and keep going,” the Healer barked at the radiographer. The startled man typed frantically on the computer’s keyboard and two more screens suddenly illuminated, showing various side views, front views and the original set of images. Ginny’s hands flew to her face as Healer Stilwell said, “It’s an unknown foreign body, Mrs Potter. Until it can be removed surgically, we won’t know quite what it is. However, I assume someone introduced a needle-like object into your husband’s body and charmed it to worm its way into his heart.”
The terrible truth was in front of them. Someone was trying to kill Harry!
Ginny stared in horror at the screen.
“Let’s see what else there is,” Healer Stilwell said grimly and the radiographer activated the original screen again.
As the images continued travelling down Harry’s body, more of the needle-like objects began showing up. Most had been placed in his lower back, with many of them sticking directly into the spinal cord, while others balanced between the bones and seemed to be leaking droplets of fluid into the area between the bone and Harry’s spinal cord. In all, Ginny counted a total of five needles that were deeply embedded in the cord itself and another ten that were balanced between the bones. She pointed to the needles.
“Those aren’t supposed to be there, are they?” she asked incredulously. “This is what you wanted me to look for.”
Healer Stilwell stared at the images as he said, “You are correct. I suspected something like this, but not so many. Your husband’s paralysis is being caused by the embedded needles and most likely, the pain he suffered tonight was related to the needles positioned in the spinal canal.
“Mrs Potter, if your husband is to get well or even stay alive longer than a day, I must take him back to St Mungo’s for emergency surgery. The hospital has the magnifying equipment I must use to extract the foreign bodies. I do not want to attempt removal of the objects–especially not the one close to the heart–with simple Summoning Charms. I need to see what I’m doing, so I must make an incision in the skin and manipulate the objects under magnification. Do you consent to this surgery?”
“I do, sir,” Ginny stated emphatically. “Are there papers I must sign to make the surgery legal?”
“Yes, but you can take care of that while Harry is in the operating theatre. I want to begin the surgery as soon as possible.” He stood and indicated that Ginny do the same. He led her out of the control room before he continued almost in a whisper, “I will also inform the Auror Department that they now have an attempted murder case on their hands.”
Ginny gasped and leant against the nearest wall. “Why?” she managed to squeak as the horror of the situation hit her full force. “Why would someone do such a thing?”
“I don't know, Mrs Potter,” Healer Stilwell replied. “It is now a matter for the Aurors to figure out.”
*
Arthur jumped as his daughter’s head appeared in the fire and screamed, “MUM! DAD! HELP!”
“What is it, Ginny?” he asked his nearly hysterical daughter. He hastened over to the fireplace to talk with her face to face.
“Dad, I’m so glad I caught you,” his daughter cried. “Something terrible has happened to Harry and I need you to meet me at St Mungo’s morgue in a half hour.”
Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Why the morgue?” he asked in alarm. “Is Harry dead?”
“Not yet,” Ginny said cryptically. “Just get Mum and get over here. I’ll tell you what I can when you get there. I need to call Hermione now.”
“We’ll be there,” Arthur answered as Ginny withdrew her head.
He glanced at the family clock: Harry’s hand rested on Mortal Peril as it had the first night. They needed to get to St Mungo’s fast.
“Molly!” he yelled as he raced up the stairs. “Get up, we’re needed at St Mungo’s again.”
*
0545 hours
“All right. You two know best what went on inside that night,” Ron said to Susan Bones and Brodie Carmichael as they stood in the wood surrounding the house, just as they had on the night of the raid. It looked very different in the early morning sunlight, making it appear less sinister and more dilapidated than it had by moonlight. Ron found it easier to quell his fears about what they might find inside.
“Ron,” Brodie asked, “What exactly do you expect to find here?”
Ron sighed and shook his head. “I have no expectations at the moment. I’m open to anything that might help us solve this case, though.”
Susan and Brodie exchanged a concerned look and then nodded.
“Right... let’s go, then,” Ron said, knowing he should have said something more, like Harry usually did to encourage his fellow team members, but at the moment, Ron was feeling rather overwhelmed and far too inadequate to find the appropriate words.
The three of them crossed the expanse of weeds the same way Harry’s team of Aurors had on the night of the raid. As they reached the steps leading up to the front porch, Ron cancelled the Aurors’ security charms. He then turned to Susan.
“What happened before you entered the house?” he asked.
Susan repeated her recollections and the three proceeded up the stairs. They entered, leaving the door open for more light in the gloomy entrance.
“We found nothing upstairs,” Brodie volunteered as they faced the staircase. “The rooms are completely empty up there; bare floors and a lot of water and animal damage to the walls. We found no traces of blood or other signs of torture having been carried out up there. As our report stated, we suspected the perpetrators didn’t use the upper rooms.”
“I still want to see what’s up there,” Ron said, putting his foot on the first tread, not catching the hurt look on Brodie’s face. “Someone please close the front door.” Susan flicked her wand at it and it shut with a squelching noise that told Ron she’d used a sealing charm on it. Then, the three proceeded up the stairs.
The three bedrooms were as Brodie had reported, their bare floors and damaged walls showing no traces of lingering magic at all. Nevertheless, Ron walked the perimeter of each room, scanning for anything that might shed light on how the rooms had been used. He found nothing worth taking a second look at.
Finally, he wandered into the bathroom. He did a quick visual inspection before casting a series of spells. When nothing immediately caught his attention, he turned to leave.
“Hold on, Ron,” Susan said suddenly. “What’s that?” She pointed to a faint pink glow coming from the back corner of the tub.
“Good eye, Susan,” he said.
Susan flashed him an appreciative smile.
Ron lit his wand and directed the shaft of light towards the pink light emanating from the tub. On the floor lay a clear vial. Brodie bent to pick it up.
“Use your wand, Brodie,” Ron instructed. “You’re not wearing protective gloves and there might be traces of poison on the vial. I don’t want to have to find a replacement for you just yet.”
In answer, Brodie levitated the vial to eye level while Susan cast a Residue Detection Charm first on the tub and then on the vial, causing them to glow a violent shade of fluorescent pink. The tub showed numerous dried drips as well as a splash mark just above where the vial had come to rest. The vial itself glowed brightly, the contents at the bottom sparkling in the light from Ron’s wand when he shone it on the vial.
“Hand me an evidence bag, please,” Ron ordered. “This could be something and it could be nothing. Do you agree with me that whatever is in here is poison of some sort?”
“Yes, it’s the correct colour for a poison,” Susan agreed.
“Then let’s bag it,” Ron told Brodie. “Please label the bag with location, the detection spells used, and the spell used to reveal the evidence. Do everything using magic, then take a picture of the tub before the RDC wears off.”
“Yes, sir,” Brodie answered as he went to work and Ron and Susan stepped out of the bathroom.
“What do you think?” Susan asked.
“Nothing at the moment, but if we find other similar vials somewhere in the house, that may point to the manufacture or use of poisonous potions which could explain the condition of some of the previous victims,” Ron said, thinking out loud.
Brodie came out of the bathroom. “All done. I’ve Banished the vial to Evidence,” he reported, referring to the room at the Ministry where evidence from the Aurors’ active cases was kept.
“Very good. Let’s go back down and have a look on the ground floor,” Ron said.
The two rooms on either side of the entrance were sparsely furnished. One had clearly been a dining room at one point while the other had served as a lounge. Revealing spells showed nothing in the lounge except for a few faint pink footprints, but there was ample evidence that something had been going on in the dining room, although without the detection spell the room was clean. They spent several minutes photographing the signs of struggle and the variously coloured splash, drip and puddle residues that marked the walls and floor before moving on to the kitchen.
“Did you use these revealing spells that night?” Ron asked as he cast another revealing spell he’d just remembered. The three of them recoiled as the bright red of the Blood Residue Revealing Spell added its frightening presence to the fluorescent pink of the RDC.
“Merlin preserve us!” breathed Brodie. “What were they doing in here?”
“Nothing good, I can tell you that,” Ron returned dryly. He flicked his wand at the door separating the dining room from the kitchen, not wanting to disturb any of the gruesome evidence smeared across its surface. He was beginning to suspect that what they’d find in the cellar wasn’t going to be very easy on the stomach.
“I reported to Harry that the cooker was still warm in here,” Susan stated as they surveyed the sunny room. “At the time, we both assumed that the suspects were only using the kitchen for cooking meals. We had no evidence to the contrary.”
“Then what made Harry decide to go down the cellar stairs first?” Ron asked.
Susan frowned. “I can only tell you it was one of Harry’s hunches. Because of the Anti-Disapparation Charms set on the house, we all knew the suspects had decided to go to the cellar when the ground and first floors were vacant. I think we were all a little apprehensive and rather grateful to him that he decided he needed to lead us down.”
“All right, let’s pull the curtains and see if we can make this place darker. We can’t see the revealing spells with this much light,” Ron said, raising his wand and flicking it at the blinds.
With the blinds drawn, it was much easier to see the results of the detection spells they cast. The sight that greeted them made them sick. The entire kitchen, especially the work surface, the table and the top of the cooker were covered in multi-coloured splashes, each representing the residue of several types of potions. In addition, there was more blood residue smeared on the floor leaving a trail from the dining room to the door to the cellar. Ron, Susan and Brodie just stared in horror at the sight.
After a moment, Ron cleared his throat. “The most prominent potion seems to be a poison of some sort,” he said, trying to be professional when all he really wanted to do was go outside and vomit. From the victims’ accounts, he’d known the suspects were sadistic, but this was just plain sick. “It matches the hue of the potion splashes we found upstairs and in the vial we found there.”
Susan added, “As well as what’s in the dining room.” Her voice held the revolted tone Ron had been trying to keep out of his.
“If I’m correct, the blue-hued droplets represent class one anaesthetics while the green represents class two,” Brodie volunteered, pointing to one specific section of the work surface where there was a cluster of blue and green rings. They probably were the result of the potions dripping down the sides of the containers they were being put in.
“But what about the orange over there?” Susan asked. She walked over to the opposite side of the work top. “It’s some sort of medicinal narcotic, I think. Possibly derived from some Muggle-based drug.” She put her hands on her hips and shook her head, adding almost to herself, “They certainly weren’t very clean about their potion making.”
The three of them looked at each other and then through the doorway to the dining room.
“If the suspects were experimenting with poisons, anaesthetics and narcotics,” Ron said slowly, “that would explain some of the torture victims’ injuries. Right?”
Brodie shuddered. “That’s really sick, you know?”
Susan murmured, “Yeah, it is.”
Ron cast a Patronus and sent it on its way. “I just called the forensics team. They need to get in here and take samples before the evidence deteriorates any further.” He wished the first forensics team had known about the potions lab and torture chamber... Why hadn’t they seen the equipment and suspected something? Or rather, why hadn’t there been a better description of the cellar in the original reports he’d read? Ron sighed inwardly; he now had another thing to investigate!
“How long before they get here?” Susan asked.
“I told them to give us an hour,” Ron said as he took three tiny lanterns from his pocket. As he enlarged them and handed them to his companions, he said, “I don’t relish going down there, but we need whatever clues the cellar can give us concerning how this house was used and why.”
“I’ll go first,” Susan volunteered. “I weigh the least... just in case the staircase is still unstable.”
Ron exchanged his lantern for hers. “You take the more powerful one, then,” he suggested. He gestured to the door. “After you.”
Susan lit her lantern and opened the door to the cellar with her wand. Ron and Brodie followed her, also having lit their lanterns. The three lights lit the stairwell quite well at first, but as they descended the wobbly stairs, the gloom from below seemed to swallow the brilliance. Ron held his lantern over Susan’s head, trying to see further into the darkness. This only caused long shadows to form ahead of them and he put it down again.
Ron felt something bang gently against his leg and put his hand in his pocket. The Deluminator! He’d forgotten he had it with him. He pulled it out and held it ready to click.
“Susan, stop, please. We need better light. Hang on a minute,” he said, making his voice deliberately calm. “Lights out.” He clicked the Deluminator, immediately plunging the three into complete darkness as it sucked the flames from the lanterns. He clicked it again, this time directing the three balls of light out into the room below them. To their surprise, three torches flared to life. Ron thought there might be a few more, so he relit the lanterns and again sent the flames out into the room to light three more torches. With six torches lit, the cellar was revealed in all its gruesome glory.
“Oh, Merlin...” breathed Brodie from behind Ron. His whisper echoed several times, causing shivers to run down Ron’s back.
The space below them was a huge cavern, easily three times the size of the house’s footprint. Directly below them was the pit Harry had fallen into. It was so deep, the torchlight was swallowed by its depths. Ron yanked his gaze from the pit and swept the rest of the cellar with his eyes.
We’ve found the ‘where’, he thought bleakly. We have two of the suspects. We sort of know the ‘how’ and suspect the ‘why’, but this... this is SICK!
Indeed it was, but before Ron would let the others help him inspect the cellar, there was one more thing they had to do. He cast the RDC and clicked the Deluminator at the same time, again plunging the cellar into darkness. All three gasped. The magical mess below them was testament to the fact that the cellar had indeed been the place the suspects used for their potions testing and torture experimentation. The floor, walls and even the ceiling were splattered with blue, green and pink residue. Ron glanced down into the depths of the pit and nearly vomited. The potions had been used down there, too.
Brodie muttered, “It’s gonna take a lot of Mrs Scower’s to clean this mess up.”
Ron was glad for the young Auror’s remark; it had been a long time since he’d been able to make comments like that in situations like this. “Thanks, Brodie. I needed that,” he whispered back.
Brodie answered, “Any time.”
He looked back up in time to see Susan cast another non-verbal spell. The colour red was now added, showing up in great puddles in several corners of the cellar and as drips and splatters on the furnishings and the walls.
“What on earth were they doing down here?” squeaked Susan.
“I think we’ve found where they tortured and experimented on their victims,” Ron said. “Let’s Apparate down there.” He felt the stairs shake as Susan and Brodie nodded. “Let me light the cellar again.” He clicked the Deluminator and once more the torches flared to life. The three of them Apparated. When he was certain they were both next to him he clicked the Deluminator five times, leaving only one of the torches lit. The phosphorescent glow of the Revealing spell still dominated the space, and they could now see the entirety of the cellar.
The pit dominated the centre of the space as an enormous black void. A gigantic pile of dirt and rocks filled the space to one side, almost to the ceiling. Opposite the pile, the space was largely empty except for a set of wooden stocks–used to restrain the head and hands of a standing victim–and several pairs of manacles that were attached by iron pegs to the wall at two different heights. All of this equipment was drenched in blood residue.
“The holding area?” Susan guessed, gesturing towards the equipment. She was standing so close to him that Ron felt her shiver at the idea.
Ron replied, “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“It’s like something out of the Medieval Period,” Brodie remarked, his childhood Muggle education making itself known.
“Actually,” Ron remarked, “it reminds me of the haunted barn Harry and I took the kids to at Halloween a couple of years ago. The Muggles had splattered fluorescent paint all over the floor and walls of several of the scenes and then used special lights to make it all glow in the dark, much like our detection spells are doing now.”
“Were the kids scared?” Susan asked.
“Lily and Hugo were,” Ron replied, “but then, they were only eight at the time. Rose and Albus thought the whole thing was pretty funny, even though it was somewhat gruesome.”
“I can see why the older kids would find something like that humorous, but when it’s real, I don’t know... it gets to you,” Brodie commented, and Ron could hear him taking several deep, calming breaths.
Ron exhaled forcefully, gathering his courage. “I guess we’d better start looking the place over.”
Susan sighed. “I really don’t want to know what’s behind us, but I guess I must.”
That makes two of us, Ron thought as they slowly turned around and looked behind them.
A long table sat in the middle of the floor. On both sides of it were a dilapidated chest of drawers and a tall cupboard unit. In back of this set-up were another set of stocks–this one for a seated victim–as well as six more sets of manacles that were, again, chained to the wall. In the dim light emitted from the torch and revealing spells, it was evident that this was where the main experimentation had taken place. The sight caused Ron’s stomach to lurch uncomfortably again.
He walked over to the edge of the pit and lit his lantern. Then, levitating it cautiously over the edge, he lowered it into the chasm, looking carefully at the walls and finally the floor when the light was near enough.
“What’s down there?” Brodie asked. He had not followed Ron.
“Boulders, just like Harry’s rescue team reported. I’m going down,” he said determinedly as he caught the lantern. “You two start taking notes about what’s here as inventory. See if there's anything in the wardrobe and chest of drawers we might send to Evidence. Use magic whenever you can and put on your dragon hide gloves, too.” He pulled a pair out of his pocket and put them on.
“Gotcha, Boss,” Brodie quipped as he moved towards the holding space.
“Be careful,” cautioned Susan. “Those rocks could be unstable.”
“Thanks. I’ll call if I find anything,” Ron promised, clicking the Deluminator again to relight the other torches for them. He clicked it again to capture his lantern’s flame, and then visualizing the smooth dirt floor he had seen next to the pile of rocks, he Apparated. When his feet touched bottom, he opened his eyes, lit his lantern again and looked about carefully.
The pit was a rough rectangle, fifteen by about twenty feet. In the middle of the floor was a fairly flat pile of boulders that, on second glance, looked arranged. Ron cast a magic-revealing spell. To his surprise, the stones in front of him seemed to be held together with magic, they were so widely spaced. It was as if they were hiding something...
Ron walked the perimeter of the pit, examining the rock slabs carefully before he cast the RDC once again. The phosphorescent glow he’d seen from the staircase wasn’t coming from the middle of the pit he was standing in, but from another, smaller pit that was dug in the centre of the larger one. He hadn't seen it (or noticed it, maybe) before because it was covered by the rock pile! Feeling sick, he spent a few moments searching for the entrance to the second pit. He found it directly under the ruined staircase.
Here goes nothing... he thought as he descended into the second pit. At the bottom, he stopped and captured his lantern’s flame before he cast a different version of the RDC they’d been using so far. This spell was more sensitive to trace amounts of potion residue and caused it to fluoresce more readily than the other spell. He also cast an Object Detection Charm, a useful tool for dark places such as this one. Ron was glad he had because directly in front of his feet were three yellow-highlighted vials filled with blue and green residue.
Not good...
He scanned the space again to determine its length, width and depth, coming to the conclusion that it was ten feet wide by fifteen feet long by six feet deep. Directly under the centre opening in the boulders above his head was a curious line of three, two-foot high, roughly hewn stone blocks that divided the floor into two halves. The blocks were just wide enough to be used as a step. The multi-coloured splashes he’d seen earlier decorated this feature. Apprehensively, he cast the BRDC Susan had used to determine where blood had been shed. There was blood here as well.
Ron pulled several collection bags from his pocket and began labelling them. When he was done, he levitated the three vials at his feet to eye level and peered at them. His eyes widened as he realized there were needle-like objects still in these vials. His wand hand shook as he lowered the three vials into one of the evidence bags. He set it to one side on the steps behind him and ventured further into the space. When he reached the line of stone blocks, he looked up. He had been expecting the covering stones to be thick, but in reality, they were only a hand-width high. It was tempting to step up on the smooth-topped stones without collecting the evidence first, but he managed to stop himself; Auror-crushed evidence was not admitted to the Evidence Room because it never revealed clues correctly. Instead, he stooped and examined the yellow-highlighted objects littering the stones and the floor around them. He found more vials, several more needles... and Harry’s holly and phoenix feather wand! He’d recognize it anywhere...
“Godric’s gonads!” he muttered to himself. How could the wand have been dislodged from its special shoulder holster?
Ron felt sick. When he had joined the Aurors, Harry had elected to have Mr Ollivander make him a heavy-duty work wand along with a special shoulder holster in which to carry his original wand. He used the holly wand only in dire emergencies and at home and kept it secured in the holster while he was working. Ron knew Harry’s work wand and the holster had been returned to Ginny, but neither of them had thought to look inside it.
What happened that night that would dislodge the wand from its hiding place under Harry’s Auror robes?
As he tried to puzzle through the clues he was finding, Ron collected the loose needles and the potion vials and put them in separate bags. When he was certain that he’d collected all the evidence, he stepped up on the stones and had a look around. The numerous bloody drips on the sides of the overhead stones were too much for Ron: quickly conjuring a basin, he vomited violently into it. Without a doubt, the blood running down those stones and splattered on the stone blocks at Ron’s feet was Harry Potter’s. His best friend was undoubtedly one of the victims whose injuries had puzzled the St Mungo’s Healers for so long.
*
1035 hours
He had seen the Aurors enter the house, but he had not seen them come out. That was bad news, he decided. He would wait for a few more minutes and then report in.
He was about to leave, when the forest echoed with the sounds of Apparition. He glanced up to find a group of four witches and wizards standing in a tight circle not six strides from his hiding place. They all held identical white cases. Two of them had their backs to him... the Killing Curse is quiet... He took careful aim and cast the first curse. His victim never knew what hit her. The wizard quickly aimed again, felled his second victim, and sighted on the third Auror as the victims’ companions raised their wands, casting spells in his direction. Wildly, he cast the Killing Curse again and then Disapparated, kicking himself for not killing all the Aurors, and without knowing that all four Aurors were dead.
Chapter 6: 6: Action
Author's Notes: Words cannot adequately express my excitement and thankfulness to you, my readers, for voting for this story in the SIYE Silver Trinket Awards. It’s such an honour to have this story voted first in the Best Drama category as well as the overall Best New Story. I will continue to strive for the excellence you have come to expect from this and may other stories. I hope I will not disappoint.
I also am thankful for my pre-beta team of Jedi34, Mutt n Feathers, RebeccaRipple and RSS as well as my Brit-picker, Rosina Ferguson, who have combed through the chapter and posed all sorts of questions and comments which have ultimately made this chapter better. To my beta, Aggiebell, thank you for nudging me at the very last minute to add all sorts of details to the operation scene. You’re right... they have definitely improved the clarity of the scene!
0600 Hours, Monday, 2 November 2020
In a little-used operating theatre deep in the bowels of the wizarding hospital, Healer Stilwell prepared for a delicate surgical procedure that utilized both Wizarding and Muggle medical techniques. Because he would have to remove the foreign bodies from a critical region of Mr Potter's body, the Healer would be using a high-powered light microscope which was lit using an oil lamp with a specialized lens. This lens was reminiscent of those used in Nineteenth- and Twentieth- Century lighthouse lamps and would focus and magnify the feeble light source many times over until it was nearly as bright as sunlight. Once the light source was focused on Mr Potter’s body, the Healer would look through the microscope as he used his wand to first locate and then extract each of the sixteen objects embedded in his patient’s spine and thoracic cavity.
But before he could begin, he needed to view the films he’d brought with him from The Groves. He quickly washed his hands and then crossed the room to the back-lit glass box holding the transparent images. He felt fairly confident that he could extract the metal objects from the lumbar area of Mr Potter’s spine without causing much additional damage. The tricky one was the object in the lung; its point was precariously close to the heart and Healer Stilwell was very apprehensive of what might happen if the object actually touched it. Strangely, although the object had wormed its way through the right lung, it had not collapsed it. That meant the object was protected by spells meant to keep the patient breathing normally and unaware of the damage being done. It also meant that somehow, the object was self-propelled and if there were any barbs or projections keeping the object in place, pulling it out the way it had come would cause serious damage to the lung. The more he stared at the films of Mr Potter’s heart and lungs, the more convinced he became that he needed to Summon the object all the way through the lung and catch it just before it pierced the heart. He would only have one chance to catch the thing and if he missed, Harry Potter would be dead.
The surgery began with Mr Potter laying face down on the table with his back exposed. Using his wand, Healer Stilwell made his incision and exposed the lumbar area of the spine. As soon as the skin and muscles parted, he could see the tiny metal objects protruding from between the bones and nerves. He looked through the microscope and began to gently tease the first object from its place. When it slid out easily, Healer Stilwell sighed in relief and pulled away from his patient to look at what he had extracted.
About an inch long, the object looked like an ordinary sewing needle until he examined its tip. The light from his wand revealed a miniscule hole just above the point and Healer Stilwell was horrified when a tiny dot of green liquid dripped out and landed in the bottom of the collection dish. The needle was hollow and most likely contained a potion of some sort! Was this the source of the pain? he wondered.
Shaken, he drew in a calming breath and went back to work, assisted by Senior Medi-witch Johnson. The next nine needles were identical to the first and they all dripped various coloured potions when they were dropped into the dish.
The last five proved much harder to extract. They were somewhat larger in circumference, a little longer than the hollow needles, and seemed to be anchored in the spinal cord itself. Only a Widening Spell, carefully placed on the hole surrounding each needle, allowed him to extract them without damaging the surrounding tissue. When at last he pulled the final needle free, he took the time to magically close the incision he had made before he gave in to his curiosity.
These needles were much heavier than the first batch he’d extracted. One was bent nearly in half, so he held it under the microscope light. The needle appeared to be hollow and contained a black powdery substance. He hoped none of this had leaked into the spinal fluid, because infection would be a big risk if it had.
“Sir, the patient is ready for the second procedure,” the medi-witch announced, pulling the Healer away from his inspection.
“Thank you. Please seal the collection dishes and send them to Auror Ronald Weasley for admittance as evidence in his investigation,” he instructed.
“Yes, sir,” said the attendant as Healer Stilwell adjusted the lights and opened an incision in Mr Potter’s chest. He hated to do it, but his course of action required the breaking of four of his patient’s ribs in two places and extracting the bones to expose the lung and heart. He worked quickly and carefully, putting the bones in a tray filled with a special potion to keep them alive and at body temperature. Then, glancing at the images on the light box, he cast a shield spell around the heart and slowly Summoned the sword-like object from within the lung. It slid out easily and the Healer sighed in relief. The procedure was almost done.
“Auxiliary wand,” Healer Stilwell requested without taking his eyes from the microscope’s eyepiece. He held out his left hand and a moment later the instrument was placed in his palm. Now came the hard part, extracting the metal object completely. Using his auxiliary wand, he cast a slowly-advancing Summoning Spell while simultaneously cauterizing the wound with his original wand. His hands shook slightly with the effort of maintaining both spells and he wondered whether he should stop for a moment. He decided against it, preferring to slow down and finish the job before resting. Suddenly, one of the barbs near the tail end of the object began to lengthen, catching on the surrounding tissue. Healer Stilwell stopped his Cauterizing Spell and tried to widen the hole around the sword-like object. This only made the object unstable and before he could cast another spell, the object tipped forward, touched the shield around the heart and exploded! To his horror, Harry Potter’s heart stopped beating as bits of metal, lung tissue and blood began filling the cavity.
“Quick! Attendant Petrovich! Find a magnet!” he barked. “Muggle instruments drawer! Now!” He dared not use a Metal Summoning Charm because the fragments could tear the delicate tissue further. A magnet is best, he thought as he surveyed the damage the explosion had done. He heard Attendant Petrovich leave the room as he pointed his wand at the heart and attempted to restart it magically. I must not let Harry Potter die! Not like this, surrounded by Healers and without his family members! The heart jumped twice and lay still. He sent another spell at the heart, but the heart still would not start.
“Sir, the shield spell,” his medi-witch whispered timorously.
“Thank you,” Healer Stilwell said gratefully. He cast a special Revealing Spell and sighed in relief. Remarkably, the shield was still intact and in place, even after the violent assault from the explosion. He removed the shield and cast his spell a third time. The heart jumped, shuddered a bit and began pumping again.
An attendant reached up and mopped Healer Stilwell’s brow. “Let’s get this cleaned up, sir,” she said as the second Healer returned with the requested magnet.
“Aim the magnet where I point with my wand,” he directed as he began siphoning the blood out of the heart cavity.
It was tedious work to locate all the metal fragments that were embedded in the lung tissue and the bloody cavity surrounding the heart, but the magnet gathered them all. Each fragment was then placed in a collection dish and when Healer Stilwell was satisfied that no more were to be found, he repaired the object, personally sealed it in an evidence bag, labelled the bag, and Banished it to Ron Weasley’s desk.
He was tired now that the stressful operations were nearly over. It took only a few moments with the help of the medi-witches to repair the damaged lung, clean the heart cavity completely and reassemble Mr Potter’s ribs. Then, using a combination of Dittany and healing spells, he closed the incision and erased the last traces of scar tissue. There would be no trace of the operation whatsoever, except some soreness and loss of energy for a day or two.
“Do not send the patient upstairs to the morgue yet,” he instructed the medi-witches and attendants. “He must be guarded by the Aurors. There is one outside the theatre. Please instruct him to come inside without crossing the sterile shield line. Then all except Medi-witch Johnson may leave the ante-room. We can clean up later.”
The others scurried away and a moment later, a wizard dressed in Auror’s robes came to stand just inside the door.
“I’ve been told the operation is finished,” the wizard stated after he answered questions about his identity.
“Yes, please guard the door,” Healer Stilwell directed. “I have placed monitoring spells on my patient, which will let me know if he needs me. Senior Medi-witch Johnson will also be with him. I’ll be talking to the family and then we will take him back to the recovery room.”
“Very good, sir,” the Auror, whose name tag read T. Boot, said. “Shall I wait inside or out?”
“Outside the room is preferred,” Healer Stilwell said. He led the Auror from the room and then sealed the door before taking the stairs up to the tiny waiting room where Mrs Potter and her supporters waited.
*
1050 hours
“Brodie, go upstairs and see if the forensics team has arrived,” Ron yelled from the bottom of the pit. The hour he’d given the team to get here was up and someone needed to unseal the front door to let them in.
He heard Brodie tell Susan, “I’ll be right back.”
“Want me to go with you to seal the door again?” she asked.
“No, that won’t be necessary. See you in a bit.”
He waited until he heard Brodie’s footsteps in the house above before going back to searching the second pit for more evidence. He had just finished his work and cancelled his detection spells when Susan called his name. He Apparated out of the pit and found her standing in front of the wardrobe.
“What did you find?” Ron asked as he tucked his notebook in his pocket and Banished his evidence bags to Evidence.
“Look at this!” she exclaimed, pointing to the contents of the wardrobe. “Most of these cauldrons still have potions in them. They’re covered in preservative and protection spells, some of which I guarantee will be Dark and nasty.”
Ron walked over to the wardrobe to have a better look. He never had the chance, though. The silence of the basement was suddenly broken by Brodie’s strangled yell, “The forensics team... They’re all dead!”
*
1100 hours
Ginny rose to her feet at the sound of Healers Stilwell’s footsteps.
“How is Harry?” she asked breathlessly.
“The extraction of the metal fragments went fairly well. It will probably be a few days before we see any improvement, though,” Healer Stilwell told her. “The spinal cord was swollen and the extraction process didn’t help.”
She sagged in relief against Hermione, who stood next to her. “And the other?” she enquired almost fearfully.
“Your husband’s heart stopped when the object exploded.” Ginny’s hands flew to her mouth as she uttered soft cry.
Hermione put her arm around Ginny’s shoulders. “What made it explode?” she Hermione demanded.
“The object touched the Shield Spell I was using to protect the heart. It took a few moments before I was able to restart his heart after the explosion; however, his heart is beating strongly again and there seems to be no permanent damage done to the lung,” Harry’s Healer said. “Assuming there are no complications, he'll be moved to the recovery room shortly.”
“Who is with Harry now?” Ginny demanded.
“The Auror’s badge read ‘T. Boot’,” said Healer Stilwell.
“I know him,” Ginny said, relaxing a bit. “He’s a good friend of ours. When are you leaving?”
“I need to confer with the Senior Medi-witch about Mr Potter’s readiness for travel, and if he’s stable enough we can be on our way,” the Healer said. He leaned in and nearly whispered, “I’ll meet you in the morgue shortly.”
“Fair enough,” Hermione agreed. Ginny shook hands with Healer Stilwell and allowed Hermione to lead her back towards her parents.
“Harry’s going to be all right,” she reported, leaving out the part about Harry nearly dying. Hermione poked her in the ribs. Ginny ignored her sister-in-law and leaned in to whisper her next bit of information. “We’re taking him back to the facility to recover. It’s a safer place. Will you meet us there?” she asked her parents.
“Of course, dear,” her mother said, giving her a quick hug. “Now go see to your husband and don’t worry about us.”
“I’ll see you soon,” Ginny said. She ran lightly down the stairs, eager to be with Harry.
*
At Brodie’s announcement, a surge of guilt like no other he’d ever experienced coursed through Ron’s body. Thinking the clearing safe, he’d called the forensics team to come help with his investigation, just like he had in fifty other cases. But it had not been safe, and now, it seemed, he was responsible for four deaths that shouldn’t have occurred. With his heart in his throat, he stepped back from the potions wardrobe and turned to Susan.
Taking a deep, calming breath, he instructed, “We’ll have to deal with this later. It appears we’re not as safe here as I thought and it’s up to the three of us to investigate what happened to the forensics team.”
“I agree, Ron.” Susan closed the wardrobe door and took off her gloves. She stowed them in her bag, stored in a protective sack, just in case they were contaminated, Ron knew. She put her notebook away and shouldered her bag. “I’m ready.”
They Apparated into the kitchen to find it deserted, so they walked through the sitting room to the entrance. Brodie sat on the stairs, his head in his hands.
Ron went over to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. “You going to be all right?” he asked.
Brodie shook his head. His face was marked with tear streaks and it was obvious he had been crying. “One of the dead is my girlfriend,” he choked out.
Oh, Merlin! This is getting worse and worse! Ron thought with a renewed sense of guilt. “I’m sorry, Brodie,” he said, “but we need to go out and find anything we can about how they died.”
Brodie stood up slowly and Susan came over and let him lean on her for support as Ron cancelled the seal on the entrance door. When they were all out on the porch, he said to Brodie, “I really hate to ask you to do this, mate, but you’re going to have to show us where the bodies are.”
The younger Auror nodded woodenly and led Ron and Susan into the woods, almost to the exact spot where the three of them had landed just hours ago. The four bodies lay crumpled amongst the trees, their equipment spilled from two of their white cases, which had opened when impacted by their carrier’s bodies.
Brodie immediately strode over to one of the witches, a beautiful blonde, whose expression was peaceful and business-like. He reached out to touch her and Ron felt more guilt stab at him.
“Not yet, Brodie,” he cautioned gently. “We can’t disturb the evidence and if we so much as close an eyelid, what we collect might be erroneous.”
As he had earlier, the young Auror stepped back, not bothering to hide his grief, as more tears coursed down his cheeks. “Let’s get this over with so I can take her body back to her family,” he said.
The three of them stood gazing at the bodies, looking for clues.
“What was your girlfriend’s name,” Susan asked in a hushed tone.
“Emily. Emily Dawson,” Brodie said with a visible effort. “The other witch is Crystal Thompson. The two wizards are Noah Wallace and Robert Dryden. Dryden was the head of the team.” He pointed to the special insignia on the wizard’s robes.
Susan pointed at Emily and Dryden. “I think they died first. The other two have their wands drawn, but Emily and Dryden don’t,” she remarked. She cast a sympathetic look in Brodie’s direction. He didn’t notice since he was staring at Emily’s lifeless body.
Ron looked closer at the victims. “Their faces are relaxed and alert, but not wary or defensive, as if they weren’t expecting to die,” he muttered.
“So you’re saying Emily died first?” Brodie asked, sounding hopeful.
“Most likely she never knew what hit her. We’ll know in a moment when we start combing the underbrush for clues,” Ron remarked. “What about the other two?”
Susan put on a new pair of gloves and knelt by the wizard identified as Noah Wallace. His wand was out and his arm fully extended. “I’m guessing Auror Wallace died while trying to protect Auror Thompson. Look at their expressions,” she instructed. “They might have seen their killer or killers and definitely watched Aurors Dawson and Dryden die.” She waved her gloved hand at the horror-stricken, determined faces with their wide-open eyes.
“In which direction do you think the killer was hiding?” Brodie asked.
Ron exchanged a glance at Susan. She pointed farther into the woods. “I concur,” he said, beginning to walk in the direction she’d pointed, looking for clues. He picked a spot several paces from the circle of bodies and began pacing a small circular area. “The killer was probably spying on the house,” he said as he looked for broken branches, trampled underbrush or even footprints.
“The killer couldn’t get in because of the enchantments we left on the house,” offered Susan as she began searching in a small area a little farther into the woods, “so I’m guessing he or she took revenge on the group nearest at hand.”
“That’s completely sick, but it makes sense,” agreed Brodie. He stood up and fumbled with the zip of the jacket he wore over his Auror’s robes. “I’m going to get some pictures of the scene. I need to do something to help us understand what happened or I’ll be of no use to anyone.”
Ron looked up from his clue search. “Thank you, Auror Chambers,” he said, using Brodie’s title to give the young wizard some verbal support and to help him focus. “When you’re done, please Apparate back to the Auror Office and go directly to the Deputy Director. Only Robards and Dryden know, erm, knew the location of the house besides the investigative team. He needs to know about this and you need to be debriefed.” He smiled in sympathy at Brodie’s look of disgust at the prospect of being debriefed by Randolph Robards, even if the Assistant Head Auror was the former Head Auror’s son.
Harry should be the one to debrief him, Ron thought sadly. It really is Harry’s investigation still... But with Harry as ill as he was, the responsibility would fall to Robards, who usually demoralized even the best Aurors with his harsh method of questioning that often reminded Ron of techniques used just after the war on escaped Death Eaters. “You know,” he added, “both Susan and I will be questioned, too. You’re just lucky enough to get Robards when the news is fresh.”
Brodie took a few pictures of Auror Wallace. He looked up and rejoined, “Ah, so I’m the lucky one to be debriefed by a wide-awake Deputy Director. Gee, thanks.”
“He’ll be grouchier later in the day,” Susan added pessimistically. There was a slight pause while both wizards went back to work. Then, Ron heard her call, “Hey Ron, Brodie! I think I’ve found something.”
Ron and Brodie hastened to where she stood behind some bushes.
“The killer stood here,” she said, pointing to several quarter-inch deep shoe prints in the soft earth.
Brodie clicked his camera, recording the prints. Ron waited until he was done and then waved his wand over them. The detector spells began beeping wildly, indicating recent Dark magic had been performed less than an hour ago in the area and that the spells were most likely Unforgivable Curses. He silenced the charms.
“We need a casting of the prints, a permanent record of the detector spells’ results, and any other data or evidence available to us,” Ron stated. Brodie and Susan set to work and Ron paced slowly about the small area, carefully avoiding the space the others were working. At length, he came to a stop several paces behind the prints and faced the direction the toes of the shoes were pointing. The bodies were positioned exactly as he, Susan and Brodie had speculated for the timing of the deaths: Dawson, Dryden, Wallace and finally Thompson. Ron stared at the bodies, thinking... The killings don’t look premeditated, but without other clues or a full confession, they wouldn’t make much progress in solving this case...
Ron fought the guilt that threatened to choke him as Brodie stood up and addressed him, “Auror Weasley, I’ve finished. I will be leaving shortly. Any further instructions?”
Ron walked over to him and laid a hand gently on the young wizard’s shoulder. “I’m very sorry about this, Brodie,” he said. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
Brodie cracked a small smile. “Send Susan to be debriefed first?” he asked.
“Sorry about that, mate, but I can’t. Good luck with Robards. I hope he’ll go easy on you,” said Ron seriously. The younger wizard sighed sadly, his eyes closed, his head bowed. When he looked up again the pain of his personal loss was visible and went straight to Ron’s heart. “Send me a message if you need someone to talk to. I know a couple of all-night pubs where we can get a secluded table, a couple of pints and the privacy some of the more popular places don’t provide.”
A tear ran slowly down Brodie’s cheek and he swiped at it. “Thanks,” he sniffed as Susan came over and gave him a hug.
“We’ll take good care of Emily’s team,” she promised as she pulled away.
Brodie glanced one last time at his girlfriend before walking a few paces towards the house and Disapparating away.
When he’d gone, Susan touched Ron’s elbow. “This is not your fault, Ron. You need to remember that, no matter how horribly Robards twists things later,” she said, reminding him of all the times he’d told Harry the same thing over the years.
“Thanks, Susan. I needed that,” Ron admitted, trying to be stronger than he felt. “All right, let’s do one last visual sweep, take a few more pictures of each victim and then get the bodies to the morgue before going to see Robards.”
“You’re welcome, Ron,” she said. Then, she knelt and pulled a camera from her bag. “I’ll take the photos. I have four Portkeys in here but they’re all destined to go to triage at St Mungo’s.”
“I have that covered, Susan,” Ron said as she began taking the requested photos. He charmed four stones into appropriately-destined Portkeys before completing the visual sweep and carefully marking the area with a perimeter spell. Then he walked closer to the house and reinforced the spells the Aurors usually cast on crime scenes. By the time he returned to the murder scene, Susan was done with the camera and was just finishing securing the area. She waited until Ron was inside her perimeter before casting the last spell. Then, using the Portkeys Ron had made, they took the bodies and their equipment to the morgue.
*
Word filtered up through the floors that Harry Potter was once again in St Mungo’s hospital. The news disturbed the witch greatly, but she couldn’t do anything about it, not now, at least. Perhaps a little later, after Potter was assigned to a ward, she would have access to him again… She hoped Stilwell would not send him back to the infernal recovery facility out in the country. That would complicate the plan no end!
Stilwell–the meddling wanker–made her skin crawl at the thought of his smarmy deference to his patients. Sure, he’d worked some minor miracles on his patients right after the war, miracles that had used the potions and charms she had developed! Stilwell had taken all the credit, when half of it was hers! He’d taken all the reward money, he’d given interview after interview and not once had he mentioned her. He would pay when Harry Potter died and the truth of how he died–because of his arrogance and negligence–came out in the Prophet.
The woman went back to work, back to the decision on how to long she needed to lay low before she tested her newest potions on her next victim.
*
2100 hours
Her entire body was shaking with suppressed rage as she searched the tiny desk in Harry’s room for a quill and couldn’t find one. There was plenty of parchment and envelopes, but not a quill in sight and sometime today, in all the rush and hubbub of St Mungo’s, the self-inking quill she always kept in her handbag had finally given up and returned to being an ordinary quill. At the moment, she was so angry she couldn’t remember the spell for reactivating the Self-inking charm.
A biro suddenly appeared in front of her and Ginny looked up to see Hermione holding the Muggle writing implement out for her to take.
“Use this, Ginny. It’s quicker than searching for a non-existent quill,” her friend said quietly.
As Ginny took the pen, some of her anger melted: the sheer exhaustion of staying awake for nearly two days was finally taking over, but underneath it was a burning desire to hex someone for the way Harry’s case and life had become so terribly botched. “Thanks, Hermione,” she said, finally looking up. “And thank you for taking the day off to be with me through all of this.”
Hermione opened her arms, inviting Ginny into a hug. She went gratefully, and the two women held each other tightly as they both finally allowed themselves to shed tears of relief.
“It’s almost over,” Hermione said as they turned in unison to look over at Harry. He was once again in a potion-induced coma, although after the surgery, he’d been awake for a brief period. “Harry’s going to get better now. You’ll see.”
“I know he will, he already is,” Ginny said, pulling back. “Once the poison stopped leaking into his spinal fluid, the feeling began coming back into his legs.” She sighed. “It’s just going to take time to see how much permanent damage has been done.”
“You’re right, but Harry is going to get better.”
“But he’ll never be completely well. Too much time has passed, too many nerves have been damaged... It makes me so frustrated that someone would deliberately maim another human being, take away a part of their identity.” Her voice had risen far too much and Harry shifted at Ginny’s strident tone.
Hermione touched Ginny’s elbow and the two walked out of the room to continue their conversation. They left the door open so they could watch Harry and once they were in the corridor, Hermione cast a few charms to give them privacy.
“Why, Hermione? Why would someone want to do such a terrible thing?” Ginny cried angrily, voicing the question that had been tumbling about in her head the entire time Harry had been in surgery. “What do they gain from crippling people senselessly like this?”
“Only the ones who did it can tell us that,” Hermione said bleakly. She paused, then said, “I hope Ron finds out who it is soon so I can hex them from here to kingdom come.”
Ginny harrumphed. “You’ll be first in line behind me,” she said. “We’ll give Ron and Harry what’s left.”
“That won’t be much,” Hermione said. “Will you be all right now?”
“Yeah, I will. James, Albus and Lily need to know about this. I’ll go home to bed after I send the owl,” Ginny promised.
Hermione hugged her one last time, then cancelled her charms. “See you tomorrow, then. Good night.”
“Good night.”
As her friend’s footsteps receded down the quiet corridor towards the facility entrance, Ginny entered Harry’s room, took up the biro and began to write.
Dear children,
It’s been an eventful and very scary day since we almost lost your father early this morning. However, I’m glad to say that due to the extraordinary efforts of Healer Stilwell and a team of dedicated Healers, your dad will recover much more thoroughly than we thought possible. I’m sorry, but I can’t say more in a letter. As both your dad and your Uncle Ron would tell us, this is now an open investigation and if word of certain things were to leak out, the wrong people might hear… and we don’t want that to happen.
Tomorrow, I will write to Headmaster Wolcott to ask if it would be possible for the three of you to come home for the weekend. Please answer this letter to tell me whether your school activities will permit your coming home. Dad and I will understand if Quidditch or time in the library prevents you from spending the weekend with us.
Hugs and kisses,
Mum
*
He Disillusioned himself as he left the flower garden. His Mentor had sent an owl with a note ordering him to cast his spells one last time on Potter and he relished the opportunity to do so again so soon. Casting the spell was almost as thrilling as watching her experiment on their victims; his reaction was always quite physical and he always needed the services of a scarlet woman after he’d reported Potter’s response to his “treatment”. Shaking himself from these delicious thoughts, he crossed the small expanse of lawn to the security of the bushes outside Potter’s window.
The wizard cast his spell and waited impatiently for Potter to start screaming. Nothing happened: Potter kept his eyes closed and remained still. Alarmed by the victim’s non-reaction to the spell, the wizard cast the modified spell he’d used to prolong the pain. Still no reaction.
This is not good. She will not be pleased, he thought as he tried a third time. When Potter remained unresponsive, the wizard Disapparated without first moving to the safety of the woods on the other side of the flower garden.
He reappeared at the designated location moments before his Mentor did and had only just removed the Disillusionment Spell when she approached his hiding place.
“Compromised,” the wizard reported.
“I thought as much,” she growled, raising her wand. “Crucio!”
The spell caught him unaware; he fell to the pavement, revelling in the delicious pain he hadn’t felt for many years. When the curse was lifted, he raised his eyes to his Mentor and gasped, “Thank you, Mistress.”
Her response was an angry grunt. She Disapparated without saying a word.
*
0625 hours, Tuesday, 3 November 2020
Harry had been back in his room at The Groves for over an hour. He wasn’t due to be awakened or allowed to wake naturally for several more hours, but from the satisfied looks on Healer Stilwell’s, the Matron’s and Silvia Redmond’s faces, his operations, even with the debacle of the explosion, seemed to have been successful. Ginny had been surprised when Silvia had stopped by to look in on Harry.
“I heard Harry was going under the wand when I arrived this morning,” Silvia said in answer to Ginny’s unspoken question. “I sincerely hope the operation will be successful, even if he doesn’t have a complete recovery.”
Ginny raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?” she asked.
Silvia leaned against the small desk. “I’ll be frank with you, Ginny. If those needles were positioned where I think they were, and if the potions they were leaking turn out to be substances detrimental to nerve tissue, Harry may have suffered permanent damage. The needles were most likely in his body for a week, so they had plenty of time to disrupt the signals going to and from his brain and extremities. I’m hoping that with time and patience, your husband can walk out of here using ring crutches. He’ll probably have to use those for the rest of his life.”
Ginny closed her eyes and inhaled a shaky breath: she wouldn’t get angry, not in Harry’s room. Why didn’t Healer Stilwell tell me this? she wondered to herself. “Thanks for the warning, Silvia. I was hoping for a complete recovery,” she admitted aloud.
“I know you were,” Silvia commiserated, “but nerve tissue is some of the most delicate tissue in the body and once a nerve is severed, it won’t regenerate completely, not even with the most powerful nerve restorative potions developed since the war. I think Harry’s going to have to accept a life of limited mobility.”
“Will he be able to fly again?” Ginny asked hopefully. “The one thing Harry loves to do for recreation with our children is fly. He’ll be crushed if he can’t at least get up on a broom every once in a while.”
Silvia sighed. “It’s too early to tell, Ginny.” She looked at her watch. “I’m sorry, but I have to leave. I have a patient in five minutes and I need to get ready for her.”
Ginny nodded. “Thanks for stopping by.”
“I’ll be by later to check on Harry, Ginny. See you soon,” Silvia said as Ginny answered despondently, “Sure, see you soon.”
After Silvia left, Ginny grabbed her notebook and quill and began making a list of all the things that had gone wrong with Harry’s quality of life since the beginning of the mission that had started it all. The list was quite long and the longer she looked at it, the angrier she became. Finally, she couldn’t stand it any longer. She picked up her list and her handbag and left Harry’s room.
In no time, she had her head thrust into the communications fireplace and was facing Harry’s, no Randolph Robards’, rather startled secretary.
“Patricia, I am calling a meeting on Harry’s behalf in one hour,” Ginny stated. “If Deputy Director Robards knows what’s good for him and his department, he will come to Healer Stilwell’s office at The Groves in Ottery-St Catchpole. Otherwise, I will be going directly to the Minister for Magic with my complaint.”
Patricia, who had never seen Ginny when she was angry, quickly scribbled a note on an inter-office memo. When she finished, the little piece of purple parchment folded itself and took wing, zooming off down the corridor. “I will see that Randolph makes your meeting,” she said.
Ginny thanked her and placed a call to the Director of St Mungo’s, Madam Felicity Nigel. When Madam Nigel’s secretary refused to even give the Director Ginny’s message, she didn’t hesitate to use all of her and Harry’s considerable influence to coerce the maddeningly stubborn witch into seeing that the Director appeared at the meeting.
Finally satisfied that everyone was coming, Ginny allowed herself to relax for a few minutes before going up to Healer Stilwell’s office a little early... because he didn’t know she or the others were coming.
At precisely nine o’clock, Ginny knocked on his door and then entered without being asked in. The Healer was at his desk, looking tired and rumpled, but at the moment, Ginny didn’t care.
“Mrs Potter, what brings you here?” he asked as he closed the file he was writing in.
Ginny glared at the Healer as she said, “Sir, I am unsatisfied with my husband’s care. Therefore, I have called a meeting of people important to his case. This office seems to be the most neutral of the possibilities, other than my home, and since I have not been there in nearly ten days, I am formally requesting that I be allowed to hold it here.”
Healer Stilwell was about to reply when his fireplace flared and discharged Randolph Robards and Madam Nigel in quick succession. A moment later, Humphrey Webber, the Director of The Groves walked through the door followed by a white-aproned kitchen worker bearing a tea service. The worker deposited the tray on a small table surrounded by three chairs and a sofa and then scurried away.
Ginny waited until everyone was seated with a cup of tea and then addressed her guests. “Thank you for coming. I have called this meeting because I feel there have been some egregious mistakes in the handling of my husband’s case.” She consulted her notes as her guests watched her in stony silence. “I shall start with St Mungo’s, Madam Nigel.
“I realize the Accidents and Emergency department is always busy, especially at night. However, according to my sources, for the last six months the A and E has been seriously understaffed and overworked. That was the case on the night my husband was brought in. Again, my sources tell me that he was left unattended numerous times because of the need to subdue the unruly crowd that had been brought in prior to my husband’s arrival.”
At this, both Healer Stilwell and Director Nigel responded, “How did you find out about that?” and “That’s confidential information!”
Ginny scowled angrily at them. “I’m a professional reporter working for a major Wizarding newspaper,” she snapped. “It is my job to learn things others don’t want the public to know about. I’ve had over a week to talk to people and let me tell you, the Healers and attendants are very discouraged with their working conditions. The article I’ve written reflects that attitude and if my editor chooses to print it, your hospital and its staffing problems will be front page news!”
Madam Nigel hissed, “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh, yes, I would,” Ginny retorted. “The Wizarding public relies on St Mungo’s for quality care and I don’t call leaving a critically wounded patient unattended in an examining room numerous times quality care!”
“Then what would you call it?”
“I’m calling it wrongful neglect and dereliction of duty!”
“I see,” Madam Nigel said stiffly. “And I suppose you know that as Healer-in-Charge of one of the wards, Healer Stilwell has already disciplined the two A and E Healers involved.”
Ginny shook her head. “I was unaware that disciplinary measures have been instated.” She turned to Healer Stilwell. “When was this matter taken care of?” she asked pointedly.
Healer Stilwell had the grace to look sheepish. “This morning about half past twelve.”
“Ah, so that was where you were, then,” Ginny commented angrily. “I wondered.” She took a steadying breath before continuing, her voice rising in tone and pitch with each sentence, “Harry suffered horribly last night. He could hardly breathe, his muscles twitched uncontrollably, he screamed for mercy! The one time the attendants subdued the pain all we could understand as a description of what he was feeling was something about the Cruciatus Curse. We needed you, Healer Stilwell, and YOU IGNORED OUR SUMMONSES!”
Healer Stilwell recoiled as she pointed an accusatory finger at him. “YOU are just as culpable of wrongful neglect and dereliction of duty to your patients as Madam Nigel is with her hospital! If you weren’t the best Healer for cases like Harry’s in England and Scotland, I’d ship him off to the Continent or America so quick, your head would spin!” she exclaimed, knowing that she needed to get control of herself if the meeting were to continue.
“Mrs. Potter,” Healer Stilwell began quietly, “I thank you for your confidence in my work, such as it is. However, I have been working with erroneous information pertaining to your husband’s case for over a week. Otherwise, I would have operated much sooner than I did.”
“That doesn’t excuse you from not answering your mobile,” Ginny snapped. She consulted her notes as the Healer squirmed in his chair.
Madam Nigel cleared her throat. “Have you turned in the article to your editor, Mrs Potter?” she asked, sounding hopeful.
Ginny eyed her suspiciously. “Not yet. I was going to turn it in this afternoon. Why do you ask?”
“I would like to look at it. Perhaps, if you’ve suggested ways the hospital can better serve its patients, I can implement some right away and take the others to the Board of Governors,” she explained.
Ginny couldn’t refute the witch’s reasoning, so she pulled out two copies of the article she’d written and handed one each to Madam Nigel and Healer Stilwell. The room was silent while they quickly skimmed the parchment.
Healer Stilwell finished first and slowly rolled up the article before addressing Madam Nigel. “Madam, is there money in the budget to cover everything Mrs Potter is suggesting?”
Madam Nigel shook her head. “No, there isn’t, but that doesn’t mean there won’t be in a year’s time,” she answered. She looked at Ginny. “Mrs Potter, of the items you cover in the article, which do you think are most pressing?”
Ginny consulted her notes. “Understaffing of the A and E for certain as well as the need for more Healers’ assistants in the various wards,” she replied. She looked at Healer Stilwell. “You said you took care of the neglectful Healers. How did you discipline them?”
“They’ve been relieved of their positions until an investigation of the matter is completed and they will be appearing before the disciplinary board,” he replied.
“That’s no solution,” Ginny protested. “The Accidents and Emergency Department is already understaffed! You just took two more Healers out of a department that needs more Healers on duty, not fewer!”
“What will you have me do? Reinstate them to harm other patients?” he asked, sounding frustrated.
Ginny looked at him thoughtfully. Then, she said, “Do you really believe the two Healers intended to harm my husband? Did they purposely cast spells that would make him sicker? Did they insert the needles into his back or were they working in conditions so stressful that it was inevitable that at some point or other they unintentionally left my husband completely unattended?”
Madam Nigel looked at Healer Stilwell. “What she says is true. The conditions in the A and E need to change and they won’t if we keep reducing the numbers of qualified Healers through dismissal. Please reinstate the Healers O’Donnell and Sheridan, Payton. They must still come before the Review Board, but our patients will suffer if there are too few Healers to care for them,” she ordered.
“Very well,” agreed Healer Stilwell. He consulted the article before adding, “Could we also add either another medi-witch or another assistant to each of the wards? According to her article, Mrs Potter has talked to some of the workers on other floors and reports that every department is shorthanded.”
“I would have to meet with the Board first on that issue, but you have my permission to add one more person to each shift immediately,” Madam Nigel told Healer Stilwell. He murmured his thanks and made a note on a piece of parchment which he put in his pocket.
Madam Nigel now turned to Ginny. “You’re asking St Mungo’s to make quite a few changes, my dear. I realize they are needed and necessary, but if our budget cannot sustain them over time, would you be willing to help us?”
Ginny cocked her head, wondering what the hospital director had in mind. “What sorts of things would I be doing?” she asked warily.
“You were a famous Chaser not so long ago, Mrs Potter, and your readers still know who you are because of your job at the Prophet,” Madam Nigel said thoughtfully. “Would you be willing to either sit on the organizing committee or arrange for personal appearances at fundraising galas which would raise the additional funds needed to subsidize the necessary additions to the healing staff?”
“I could do that as long as I have control over whom to ask to come,” Ginny agreed. When Madam Nigel smiled, she asked, “Doesn’t the Ministry provide all the gold St Mungo’s needs to run efficiently?”
“The Ministry gives us a set budget, Mrs Potter,” Madam Nigel explained with a frown. “What they give us isn’t enough, so every year we organize at least two fund raiser galas to collect the necessary Galleons and rely on endowments from private citizens and businesses to make up the deficit.”
“I see,” Ginny murmured, thinking about something Harry had said years ago about overhearing Lucius Malfoy bragging to someone about his huge monetary gift to St Mungo’s. She hadn’t understood what that meant at the time, but now she did. “And if I don’t help with the fundraising?” she hedged.
“Conditions will revert to their current levels,” Madam Nigel said.
“Then I accept,” Ginny stated, deciding the compromise was acceptable. Most likely, Harry would be back at the hospital for check-ups next year and she’d be able to do some checking herself. “And you’ll consult with the Board of Governors about making the changes permanent?”
“I will, Mrs Potter. And thank you for agreeing to help the hospital,” Madam Nigel said. “I’ll have the fundraising chairwitch contact you in January when she begins planning the year’s galas.”
Ginny nodded, feeling somewhat satisfied that some of her concerns were going to be met, and then looked over at Mr Weber. “You need better security for this facility,” she began. “Magically, this facility is unprotected. You need perimeter spells, Dark magic detectors, and guard dogs as well as a wall around the facility. Did you know that someone stood outside my husband’s window at least twice in the last two days?”
When Director Weber shook his head, Ginny pulled a Muggle plastic bag from her handbag and handed it to him. Inside was a small vial. However, it was Robards who asked pointedly, “Mrs Potter, where did you get this?”
“I found it in the bushes outside Harry’s room along with two sets of boot prints, made by two different sets of boots, both the same size. I also found traces of Dark magic lingering in the area,” she replied to the astonished Auror.
“How did you know to look and, more importantly, when did you look?” Robards pressed.
“Harry’s only clue was the Cruciatus Curse and how it feels when it’s first applied,” Ginny answered. “I took a few moments this morning to follow up on his comment about the onset of a Dark spell. It was a good thing I did, because the rain would have washed all the evidence away.” She turned towards the small, rain-splattered window that let a bit of wintry light into the office.
Robards turned to face Director Weber. “You, sir, definitely have security problems. If I go down there and find that Mrs Potter is correct, not only will you have her on your case, you will have the Ministry of Magic hounding you. Do you know who your patient is?” When Director Weber nodded, he asked, “Then why didn’t you see fit to protect your patient from outside terrorism? You know he’s the head of our Inspection Division, so why not protect him from anyone who means to harm him when he is at his most vulnerable?”
“The room he’s in has the highest level of non-magic security without putting bars on the windows and a metal detector outside the door,” Director Weber protested defensively.
“Muggle security can’t stop spells nor can it detect invisible people entering or exiting a patient’s room, sir. Now I suggest you and I take a quick trip to the bushes outside Mr Potter’s room.” Mr Robards took Director Weber’s arm and Apparated the two of them away only to come back a few minutes later, Robards looking furious while Director Weber’s face held an expression of stunned incredulity.
Robards addressed Ginny, “You were correct, Mrs Potter, and I have cast the security charms the Aurors use for protecting the Minister for Magic.”
Ginny answered, “Thank you, but what of your efforts to find who hurt Harry?”
“I’m sorry, Mrs Potter, but I can’t divulge information pertaining to an on-going investigation. I assure you that the Aurors are working on the case.”
His non-answer didn’t satisfy Ginny’s growing frustration. Typical, she muttered to herself, I seem to be getting nowhere fast. She turned to Director Weber and Madam Nigel, although she included Healer Stilwell in her questions.
“Now that my husband has been operated on, how is his course of treatment going to change? I also want to know how long he is going to be disabled and whether he can expect full recovery.”
The three medical personnel looked at each other uncomfortably. Finally, Healer Stilwell broke the brief silence. “Mrs Potter, I’m sorry, but Harry’s course of treatment will remain as it was first outlined at St Mungo’s. He is a critically ill paraplegic who needs to learn how to cope with his challenges for the rest of his life. Now, if you’ll excuse us, I have patients to attend to and Mr Weber and Madam Nigel have their institutions to run.” His tone changed to that of a parent addressing a recalcitrant child, “I suggest you go back to your husband’s bedside and wait for him to wake.”
At his dismissal, Ginny finally lost control, feeling that all her concerns had been for naught. With tears pouring down her face, she screamed, “YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND, DO YOU? MY HUSBAND IS SENTENCED TO A LIFE FILLED WITH PERMANENT PAIN AND LOSS OF CONTROL OVER HIS LEGS AND NO FEELING IN HIS LOWER BODY AND YOU’RE DISMISSING HIM AS IF NOTHING CAN BE DONE TO CHANGE IT! HOW CAN YOU STAND THERE AND TELL ME HE WILL BE CHAINED TO A FLOATING CHAIR FOR THE REST OF HIS LIFE BECAUSE HE WASN’T GIVEN THE PROTECTION AND CARE HE WAS ENTITLED TO THE NIGHT OF HIS ACCIDENT? I WANT ANSWERS TO WHY HE’LL NEVER BE WHOLE AND I WANT THE ONES RESPONSIBLE FOUND AND PROSECUTED! AND I WANT IT DONE YESTERDAY!”
As her four guests sat in stunned silence, Ginny crumpled into her chair and gave in to all the uncertainty, frustration and mental anguish she had been holding inside. She cried for Harry. She cried for her children. She cried for the members of Harry’s Auror team, even if she didn’t know why right now, although she felt she should. She cried for herself, too, and the distance she’d been feeling from Harry since the accident. She even cried for the four frustrated people sitting with her, but most of all, she cried for Harry because it was his life that had been changed so irrevocably.
Surprisingly, it was Randolph Robards who rose from his chair and came to kneel beside Ginny.
“Mrs Potter, Ginny,” he began. Ginny looked up, somewhat startled by the compassion in his voice, for Harry had told her time and again that Robards most likely had ice in his veins because of his demeanour around the office. “I promise to give your brother and Harry’s team free rein to carry out the investigation of what happened to Harry and the other victims to the best of their ability. I want to see these people caught and prosecuted just as much as you do and I’m sorry that it’s taken Harry being hurt to open my eyes to the danger the Wizarding public is in because the Department hasn’t caught the perpetrators.”
Ginny sniffed and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “Thank you, Mr Robards. I know Ron and the others will do their best for you and Harry.”
“I will see that they will,” he said as he stood up.
Ginny nodded as Madam Nigel asked pointedly, “And if I make the reforms at the hospital we’ve discussed, you will ask your editor not to print your article?”
“How long will it take to hire the additional personnel?” Ginny asked, hoping it wouldn’t take too long.
“A week at most,” answered Madam Nigel, “barring a deadlock amongst the Board members.”
“Then I will ask him to hold off printing the article for two weeks, but if my sources tell me you and the Board done nothing to alleviate the problem, it will be published,” Ginny said.
“That won’t be necessary, Mrs Potter. You have agreed to help with the additional fundraising gala, so I will be hiring more Healers.” Madam Nigel stood up and walked to the fireplace. “I have another meeting I am late for. Good day, then,” she said and throwing a pinch of Floo powder into the fire, she exited the room in a whoosh of green flame. At the same time, Director Webber excused himself and left quietly through the office door.
Randolph Robards followed Madam Nigel to the fireplace, but at the last moment, he held up the bag containing the vial. “Thank you for this,” he said. “I’ll send someone from Ron’s team out to examine the area under the window later today.”
“I appreciate that,” Ginny replied as he, too, left the office. Ginny stood watching the flames, lost in thought and wondering if she’d just made a complete and utter fool of herself.
“Mrs Potter...”
Ginny turned at the timid tone in Healer Stilwell’s voice.
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry.”
“I haven’t forgiven you yet.”
“I understand. Thank you for helping St Mungo’s even though we failed your husband rather spectacularly.”
“Healer Stilwell, I agree the hospital did fail him to a huge degree, but in other ways it didn’t: he would be dead and my children fatherless if you and Healers O’Donnell and Sheridan hadn’t been there to help him.” Ginny sighed.
Healer Stilwell looked at his watch and sighed as well. “Thank you, Mrs Potter. I’d better get to the hospital.” He closed the files on his desk and put them in his case. Ginny took the hint to walk to the door.
“Will you be round to see Harry later?” she asked.
“Yes. I hope to return in a couple of hours.”
“Very well. I’ll be in Harry’s room,” Ginny informed him. She gathered her bag and notepad and then left the office without thanking him. She was back in her chair by Harry’s bedside in no time and for the first time since the accident, Ginny allowed herself to sleep while holding Harry’s hand.
*
1315 Hours
A knock at the door awakened her.
“Mrs Potter, you’ve had an owl,” the Post Room clerk whispered.
Ginny raised her head from the back of the chair where she was resting. She rose slowly as her weary body protested having to move again. “Thank you for bringing it,” she said as she took the envelope.
The attendant nodded and left. Ginny looked at the name on the envelope and recognized the handwriting immediately as Teddy Lupin’s. She opened the letter and began reading.
Dear Ginny,
I’m so sorry Harry’s in hospital again. From your letter the situation sounds quite grave and I’m saddened that I can’t be with you and your family right now. Thank you for understanding that it is impossible for me to get away at this time; the journey back to England would take a minimum of two days and right now I can’t spare the time if I want to come home for Christmas. When you next see Harry, please tell him he is in my thoughts and that I wish him a speedy recovery.
Keep your fingers crossed that I can come home for the two weeks at Christmas. Again, I wish I was there with your family and hope to be in England during the Holidays.
Affectionately,
Teddy
Well, now Teddy knew. It saddened her that he couldn’t come home, but in a way it would be better for him to be present at Christmas. At least then Harry would know who was visiting him because at the moment, she didn’t think he was very aware how many people had come to see him even though she’d kept a list. She knew Harry would be upset if he’d been too comatose to realize Teddy had made the effort to travel half- way around the world and he didn’t remember his coming.
Sighing, Ginny tucked the letter into her handbag and then went to her husband’s bedside to gently run her fingers through his hair. He’d been so lucky... again. A weird thought flitted through her weary brain; if Harry had been Lily’s Kneazle how many of his lives would he have left? Ginny was sure he’d expended at least two this time. She shivered thinking about how very lucky her family was that Harry had survived the fall and now the operation. She just hoped he would survive the recovery...
*
1405 Hours
Harry was getting tired of waking up like this; “groggy” and “lethargic” didn’t begin to cover the description of how he felt at the moment. As he had so many times before, he took inventory of his aches and pains.
The overwhelming feeling was lack of energy. He wasn’t in pain; in fact, this was the first time in over a week that he didn’t hurt unbearably somewhere. What he felt was minor discomfort compared to when he’d awoken at other times recently...
He wondered what day it was. He distinctly remembered the body bag, and the much warmer sleeping bag Ginny had conjured, too. He even remembered his first few hours in his new room and learning to mentally block pain which had come in useful just a few hours later. After that, his brain had been in such a fog of misery that he really had no recollection of how much time had passed.
Harry let his mind drift and it settled on his lower body and he noticed his feet were cold. His eyes flew open.
My feet are COLD!
He took in his surroundings, his room at The Groves, wildly excited, and desperately wanting to share this piece of information with someone. His eyes landed on the sleeping form of his beloved wife seated in a chair next to his bed; she looked careworn even in her sleep.
Harry pushed himself up on one elbow and twisted about so he could see her better. “Ginny?” Harry whispered softly.
At the sound of her name, her eyes flew open and she jumped to her feet. A tear trickled down her cheek as she gathered him in her arms. “Oh, Harry, love, I’m so glad to see you’re awake. How are you feeling?” she gushed.
Harry was surprised. His wife hardly ever gushed like she was doing now. Something really terrible must have happened to cause her to act like this. He sighed and said, “Erm... pretty good actually, although my feet are cold.”
Ginny nearly dropped him back on the bed and threw back his covers, her hands frantically seeking his feet. Her eyes grew wide and more tears made tracks down her cheeks. “They are cold!” she exclaimed. “Harry, the operation worked!”
He stared at her uncomprehendingly. “What operation?” he asked, feeling rather stupid.
Ginny drew her wand and cast a warming charm over his feet before replacing the blankets. Then, perching next to him on the bed, she told him the whole story, stopping every now and then to answer his questions. She was nearly finished when Healer Stilwell walked in. When he saw Ginny, Harry noticed a terrified expression flit across his face before it was replaced with the Healer’s usual smiling bedside demeanour.
“Erm, Mrs Potter, am I allowed to enter?” inquired Healer Stilwell.
Harry raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. He just observed his wife and his Healer, trying to piece together what was going on between them.
Ginny replied coolly, “Of course. Harry has some wonderful news. Tell him, darling.”
Rather uncertainly, Harry said, “When I woke up, my feet were cold. Is that a good thing?”
Healer Stilwell smiled, and this time it reached his eyes. “Mr Potter, that’s very good news.” He took out his wand and cast a spell over Harry’s body. Harry could just make out the faint colour change in the orange mist that surrounded his body for a few seconds and then dissipated. His Healer smiled at him. “You’re making progress, Mr Potter. I’ll come back tomorrow to give you a more thorough test; I want to give your spinal cord another day to recover from the operation.”
Harry felt somewhat disappointed as he agreed, “All right, if you say so.”
The Healer left and Harry turned to face her as Ginny sighed, “Now... where was I?”
Harry answered, “I’m not sure, but I’ve wanted to do this the whole time you’ve been sitting there.” And reaching up he gently brought her head down so he could show her how much it truly meant to him to have her at his bedside. Their lips met and Harry poured as much passion into their kiss as he could manage. When at last they parted, Ginny’s expression was somewhat dazed.
“Thank you, Ginny,” he whispered tiredly. “I love you so very much.”
A tear trickled silently down her cheek. “I love you, too, Harry, and I’m so very thankful you’re alive,” she sniffed.
“Me, too, love, me, too,” he yawned and satisfied that she knew now how much her presence meant to him, he drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 7: 7: Emotions
Author's Notes: I hope you’ll enjoy this chapter because I found much pleasure in writing it and moving the action along a little.
Many thanks goes to my pre-beta team of Jedi34, RebeccaRipple, RSS, Rosina Ferguson, and Mutt n Feathers for the comments, corrections and criticisms which helped me smooth out the rough spots and write a better chapter. Not to be forgotten is my beta, Aggiebell. Despite some frustrating computer problems, she’s soldiered on and edited this chapter on two different machines so it would be ready for posting today. I sincerely hope the computer technicians can fix the problem in a timely manner.
November 3, 2020
It was midnight and Ron had yet to come home. Hermione wasn’t very concerned yet–Ron had been kept out late in the field sometimes in the past–but still, it would have been courteous of him to call or send word somehow... and he usually did.
However, the longer she waited, the more acutely she felt a nagging something that finally compelled her to Floo call Susan Bones at half past twelve. She was startled to find her normally cheerful friend looking tired and very sad.
“Susan, did I wake you? I’m sorry if I did,” she apologized.
“Oh, no, you didn’t wake me, Hermione. I... I... I was just thinking,” she sniffed as her husband, Justin Finch-Fletchley, came into view and briefly greeted Hermione. “What can I do for you?”
“Erm, I’m looking for Ron,” Hermione admitted sheepishly. “When did your team finish up? I was expecting him home hours ago.”
Susan murmured something to Justin and then came to sit cross-legged in front of the hearth. “I think Ron finally left Headquarters with Brodie about ten o’clock,” she said, her voice quiet and cheerless.
Hermione’s eyebrows shot upward. “You’re telling me you were out at the site for fifteen hours?” she demanded.
Susan shook her head. “Oh, no. We were done at the site by ten in the morning,” she said. “It was the debriefing and having to contact four families of the deceased that took forever.” Tears trickled down her cheeks as she finished speaking. She pulled a limp handkerchief out of her pocket and wiped them away.
“Deceased? New dead bodies?” Hermione asked, a feeling of dread engulfing her. “What did you find?”
Susan began crying in earnest. “I’d better let Ron tell you that. He took Brodie to some Muggle pub after we finished with the families. Poor kid was absolutely beside himself with grief. I... I... I don’t know how he managed to get through that last visit...” She trailed off into a series of sobs. Justin knelt beside her and held her while she cried.
Hermione waited a few moments and then asked, “Is there anything I can do for you?”
Susan shook her head. “Just find Ron. He’s taking the deaths very, very hard.”
Something clicked in Hermione’s head. “How many dead Aurors?”
“Four.”
Hermione closed her eyes. Four Aurors dead, and all of them probably helping Ron in some capacity. “Thank you, Susan. Call me if you need someone to talk to,” she offered.
Susan nodded and Hermione ended the call. Relieved and very concerned at the same time, she sat with her back against a pouf, thinking hard about where Ron might have gone.
There were two possibilities she knew of from things Ron had said in the past. One was a pub called The Drunken Butler, the other was a place called The Seldom Inn. She’d never been to either one, but knew they were the Muggle equivalent of the Hogshead circa 1995; in other words, places where people kept to themselves. One thing was certain: she needed to find Ron, but she wasn’t going to attempt to do so wearing her court shoes and pearls. Sighing heavily, she stood up and headed for the master suite where she pulled out the jeans she usually reserved for gardening and an old jumper with a stretched-out neck. She dressed quickly and then took the time to look up the pubs in a year-old directory her parents had given her. Then she Apparated to an alley near The Drunken Butler.
As she hesitated outside the door, it was thrown open and two very drunk Muggles stumbled out of the pub. Alarmed, Hermione quickly cast a Muggle Repelling Charm around herself and the two men decided to go the other way, although one said to the other, “I thought your–hick–car–hick–was that way.”
Shaking her head, Hermione entered the pub. It was dark inside the tiny building. Hermione counted six small tables and a short bar across the rightmost wall. A quick glance about the place told her Ron was not here and she quickly left, Apparating to an alley near The Seldom Inn.
She found the pub quickly and entered the building. Like the other pub, The Seldom Inn was dark inside, but it was quite a bit larger. The bar itself was much longer, too. She counted two dozen tables of various sizes in the middle of the room and a dozen booths lining the other three walls. As her eyes became accustomed to the gloom, Hermione searched the booths, finally finding Ron hunched over a table covered in shot glasses and a large whiskey bottle in the darkest corner booth. She could tell by the slump of his shoulders that her husband was carrying a large burden and her heart flooded with sympathy for his grief.
“May I help you?” a voice to her right enquired, making her jump.
Hermione turned towards the voice. “Erm, yes. Do you have any strong, black coffee?” she asked the barmaid. “I need to sober up my husband a bit before I take him home.”
The barmaid followed Hermione’s gaze to Ron’s booth. “It’s going to take more than coffee to sober up that one,” she said. “He’s a quiet drunk. I like them better than the loud ones.” She poured the coffee and set it on the bar. “That’ll be 2.50, ma’am.”
Hermione handed over the money and picked up the coffee.
“Hey, Ron,” she murmured as she slid into the booth beside her husband. She gently removed the shot glass from between Ron’s fingers and replaced it with the coffee mug. He finally looked over at her.
“’lo, love,” he mumbled. He gripped the mug with both hands and cautiously took a sip of the hot liquid.
Hermione moved closer to him and began rubbing his back. “Can you tell me about it?” she asked.
Ron shook his head. “It’s... it’s... it’s not pretty,” he mumbled.
“Darling, you’ve told me about a lot of ugly and unpleasant things; one more won’t make me think any less of you or what you do for the Wizarding world.”
“I... I can’t.” A tear trickled down Ron’s cheek. “It hurts...”
“I know it does. Let’s go home, then, Ron,” she whispered. With her free hand, she pulled two vials out of her bag and concealed them in her lap. Then, pulling her wand out of her sleeve just enough to control it, she used it to uncork the vials and added their contents to the coffee.
“Don’ wanna. Don’ deserve it...”
“Shhh. Yes, you do,” Hermione soothed. She kissed his stubbly cheek. “I’ve added a sobriety potion and a stomach-calming draft to your coffee, so drink up.”
Ron picked up his cup obediently and took a large gulp; the potions had cooled the liquid considerably, but not enough to make it unpalatable. He quickly finished the coffee and shook his head to clear it.
“Hermione, I think I’d rather be drunk,” he mumbled a moment later.
She hugged him and countered, “No, you don’t. Besides, we have all the Fire Whiskey you can hold at home if you’re bent on drowning your sorrows in drink.”
Ron looked away. “I don’t know what I want, Hermione, but I know it’s not this.”
She pushed the empty cup towards the glasses in the middle of the table and then dropped a five pound note amongst them. “Come home with me anyway,” she coaxed.
“All right,” he mumbled and stood slowly, as if testing the soundness of his knees. Hermione slid under his arm and wrapped an arm around his waist. Together they slowly made their way out to the street where Hermione looked about quickly before Apparating them home.
As soon as they appeared in their lounge, Ron collapsed onto the sofa and buried his head in his hands. Hermione sat next to him, again rubbing his back as his body shook with great, gasping sobs.
Finally, Ron pulled out a soggy handkerchief and blew his nose. “Four Aurors dead...” he lamented.
“What happened?”
Ron struggled to control his emotions as he told her about the events of his day and how he and Brodie had finally ended up at The Seldom Inn. By the time he was done, Hermione was in tears, too.
Finally, she asked, “When are the funerals?”
Ron shook his head. “I don’t know,” he sighed. “The information will be posted on the Auror Office notice board in a day or two.” His shoulders slumped. “I... I know I have to go and I know I’ll be expected to say something to the families, more than I have already, but I have no idea what to say, Hermione.”
“Would you like my help?”
Ron laid his head on her shoulder. “I would, love, but not tonight...”
She ran her fingers through the collar-length hair at the back of his head and smiled when he made a purring noise deep in his throat.
“Why were you alone when I found you?” Hermione finally asked.
Her question caused Ron to stiffen and he groaned, “Brodie had just left. His mother had come looking for him because she somehow knew where we were. He... Emily... they were engaged. He’s heartbroken. Last night he was threatening to leave the Aurors and become a bounty hunter so that he wouldn’t have to work under the constraints of our office to catch the one who murdered Emily and the others. I think I’ve convinced him to stay, but he blamed me for calling her team to a dangerous place.”
Hermione was indignant. “That’s not fair! You had no idea someone was lurking in those woods, Ron!”
He sighed. “I know, Hermione, but no matter what, I can’t shake the feeling that what he accused me of is true. I’m responsible for four people’s deaths!”
“Well, if you are, so is he,” Hermione shot back a little too heatedly.
Ron eyed her warily. “Why do you say that?”
“He’s part of your investigative team, isn’t he? He was the one to open the door to let them in, so why isn’t he just as responsible as you?” she asked.
“Because I was the one who sent the summons,” Ron said. “I told them we needed expert evidence gatherers and when we would need them. It’s my fault four people are dead!”
“How could you know there was someone lurking in the woods outside the house?”
Ron jumped up and began pacing in front of the fireplace. “I could have set perimeter warning spells, I should have set them, but I was too determined to get into the house exactly the way Harry did the night of the raid to bother doing my job correctly!”
“What if the killer was already watching the house?”
“We would have known instantly because the spells are keyed to our magic,” Ron explained.
“All right, you win on that account,” Hermione huffed, “but I still don’t see how not setting perimeter warning spells puts you to blame for four deaths!”
“If I had,” Ron explained in an overly-patient tone, “an alarm would have sounded inside the house telling us someone had arrived or was moving about outside. We then could have gone up to investigate.”
“Oh, so putting all three of your lives at risk would have been just as smart?” Hermione folded her arms across her chest. “I don’t think so.”
Ron glared at her and sat back down. “This isn’t getting us anywhere and is only making me feel worse,” he sighed. “Tell me the latest on Harry. Weren’t you supposed to spend the day with Ginny?”
“Yes, I was.”
“So what happened?”
When Hermione finished telling him about what has happened with Harry, Ron shook his head. "Merlin, Harry died AGAIN?"
When she nodded, he shook his head and murmured, "That bloke has more lives than a cat!"
Hermione couldn't help it; she burst out in giggles. Ron looked at her quite scandalized and then the corner of his mouth twitched and finally he joined her. When their laughter finally subsided, she sighed and laid her head on Ron’s shoulder. They sat together watching the flames in the fireplace die down and finally become glowing embers. The clock struck two and they silently went up to bed.
They didn’t sleep much, however, and as dawn was breaking, Hermione cuddled close to her husband and he clung to her as if he craved their closeness. They fell asleep with Ron’s head on her shoulder and his arm slung around her waist and when he woke several hours later from a nightmare she was there to comfort him and sooth him back to sleep... and she wept silently for what this case had done to her husband, their best friend, the four dead Aurors and the other victims.
*
A strange owl settled in front of James at the breakfast table on Tuesday morning. It held a letter with his and his siblings’ names on it: he recognized his mother’s handwriting and recalled that he’d asked Uncle Ron to have her send updates on their father’s condition every few days. This must be the first one…
He took the letter and the bird immediately flew off, not bothering to wait for the piece of bacon he’d picked up to give it as a reward. James hoped the letter contained good news and used his table knife to slit open the envelope.
A moment later, he felt his stomach lurch at his mother’s opening words. Dad nearly died? How? Why? “Oh, Merlin!” he breathed as he felt his eyes begin to prickle. He would not, could not cry, not here in the Great Hall in front of everyone. Dropping the letter onto the table, he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes until the feeling passed and he felt a little more in control of his emotions.
At that moment, Lily elbowed her way onto the bench beside him. “What’s wrong, James?” she asked.
In answer, James handed her the letter. She read it and then asked in a small, squeaky voice, “What does Mum mean about us nearly losing Daddy? He couldn’t go anywhere, could he?”
Her last question made James incredibly sad for some reason. “No, Lils,” he replied. “What Mum means is that Dad nearly died yesterday.”
Lily’s face crumpled and she lunged at James, wrapping her arms around his waist and hiding her face in the shoulder of his robes. He squeezed her tightly in a one-armed hug, murmuring, “Mum said the healers kept him alive, so that’s a good thing, and so is her wanting to know if we want to come home this weekend.”
“I want to go home,” Lily sobbed. “I don’t like being away from Mummy and Daddy!”
“I know, Lils,” James said as he rubbed her back, “right now I don’t like it much either.”
James shoved his plate of half-eaten food away and picked up the letter again with his free hand. He was just beginning to puzzle out why there was an on-going, open investigation into their father’s near-death when Albus threw his book bag under the table and dropped onto the bench opposite James and Lily.
“Why the long face and why is Lily upset? Another bad mark on one of Binns’ tests?” he asked, filling his plate with sausages and eggs. He began eating noisily as James handed over the letter.
Albus took it and began to read. Almost immediately, he dropped his fork with a clatter, causing Lily to jump and sit up. James looked down at the wet mark her tears had left on his robes and quickly dried the spot with a spell.
“Do you want to go home this weekend?” he asked Albus. “I know we have Quidditch practice on Saturday, but under the circumstances, I think we can get out of it.”
Albus took up his fork and began eating again. “Yeah, I want to go home. I need to tell Uncle George how well the prank went off. I can’t believe it took the Ravenclaw team three days to figure out how to stop itching. They’re supposed to be the smart ones around here.” He glared at James. “And I can’t believe you withheld the antidote from your own brother!”
James raised an eyebrow. “You sound more like me than me!” he said incredulously.
Albus’ face fell. “It’s the only way I… I need… I can’t… James,” he sputtered, “it’s the only way I can get through a day without hurting.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” James agreed sadly. “Dad’s never very far from my mind, either.”
“I worry constantly about Dad…” Albus added, “…and yesterday, Professor Longbottom kept me after class to find out why my work had gone downhill.”
“Why’d he do that? The teachers all know you went home last week,” James said, frowning.
“Erm, I didn’t turn in any of my assignments,” Albus confessed in nearly a whisper to his plate. “I started every one of them, but never finished because I just couldn’t.”
“So what’s going to happen?” asked Lily. She was still snuggled up to James’ side, but her face was less blotchy and she looked more like herself.
Albus didn’t raise his head. “I have detention starting tonight with Madam Pince. And I have a week to turn in all my assignments.” He stopped and looked thoughtful. “If I go home with you two on Friday, do you think Aunt Hermione will write my essays for me?”
“No!” answered James and Lily together.
“She might proof read them the way she did for Dad and Uncle Ron when they were at school, though,” James added.
Lily asked, “Why not have Mum do it?”
Albus glared at her. “Do I look crazy? She’ll go through the roof if she finds out I didn’t do my homework all last week. You know how she is. Sometimes I think she’s channelling Grandmum when she starts ranting at us.”
James chuckled, in spite of himself. “Albus is right, Lils. I’d pick Aunt Hermione over Mum any day if I hadn’t done what I was supposed to.”
Lily harrumphed and asked, “So are we going to wait for Mum’s letter to Headmaster Wolcott to get here, or are we going to corner Professor Longbottom before he finishes breakfast?”
James looked up at the teachers’ table; Professor Longbottom was just finishing up his meal. “Let’s corner the professor and show him Mum’s letter,” he said, getting up and starting down the aisle between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables.
“Oi, wait for me!” Albus called. James glanced over his shoulder to see his brother sprinting to catch up with him and Lily, carrying his bag and three more pieces of toast which he had wrapped in a serviette.
James stopped and waited for his brother. “You’re as bad as Uncle Ron,” he commented with a small smile. He was feeling better now that they were acting instead of reacting.
Professor Longbottom looked up at their approach. “What can I do for you three?” he asked as James and his siblings stopped in front of him.
James handed him their mother’s letter. “This was just delivered, Professor. We want you to help us get permission to go home this Friday after classes,” he said boldly.
Professor Longbottom read the letter. “Consider it done,” he said, handing it back. “Your mum sent me a similar letter and unless there are extenuating circumstances,” he looked pointedly at Albus who turned bright red, “I’ll see that you get permission to go home for the weekend.”
Albus looked relieved as he said, “My detention’s only for three evenings, sir, starting tonight, and I promise to turn in everything to you next Tuesday.”
The bell for the end of breakfast sounded as Professor Longbottom said, “Fair enough, but I warn you... you’ll be in even more trouble if I don’t get that homework from you as promised. Now run along, you three. We can’t have you arriving late.”
The three Potters thanked the professor and left the teachers’ table. James stopped by his place at the Gryffindor table to scoop up his book bag and then followed his brother and sister out into the Entrance Hall.
*
0835 Wednesday, 4 November 2020
Ron sat at his desk, staring at the multitude of reports that had accumulated over the last two days. He had taken the previous day off because he couldn’t face his fellow Aurors so soon after the ordeal Monday. He was grateful to his wife for understanding that he needed the time away from the office to sort through his emotions; what his team had found and what he’d been through had affected him profoundly and the time away had helped him put everything into perspective. He was now willingly sifting through the reports he, Susan and Brodie, as well as the wizards in Evidence, had produced in the last twenty-four hours.
What a kettle of flobberworms the vials and needle-like metal objects had turned up! Not only did they seem to be similar to the shrapnel extracted from the St Mungo’s patients and critically injured Aurors over the last six months, they were identical to the potions and needle-like objects Harry’s healer had taken from his body during the surgery! It was becoming obvious to Ron that the case was much bigger than he, Harry and the others had ever anticipated.
Ron ran a hand through his already messed-up hair and grabbed a report Robards had written about a vial of needles Ginny had found outside Harry’s hospital room window. He turned to the last page where a Wizarding photo of two sets of boot prints was located. He stared at each print, wondering why they looked familiar... and then it hit him. He ploughed through the reports until he found the one Susan had written about the boot prints at the forensics team site. Excitedly, he compared the photos, carefully examining them for similarities and differences. Then, he tore three memo parchments from his pad and hurriedly scribbled a note which instantly duplicated itself and then folded up into paper airplanes, which went zooming off to Susan, Terry and Garrett’s desks.
A moment later, the three came charging into Ron’s office to find him grinning from ear to ear. “I think I’ve found something,” he announced excitedly. He handed over the photographs saying, “Have a look. What do you think?”
Garrett raised an eyebrow and handed Ron a folder he’d brought with him. “We think we’ve found something, too.”
*
Thursday, 5 November 2020
Early the next morning, three days after his operation, Harry sat in a Muggle wheelchair watching the first snow of the season cascade past his window. It was the first time he’d been out of bed since Monday, but instead of seeing the change as progress, he could see only the hideously ugly conglomeration of metal, leather and rubber that formed the chair and the defeat that having to sit instead of stand represented to him.
The snowflakes offered a distraction, a chance to see the frozen beauty outside, an escape from his misery. However, he didn’t see the individual flakes as he often had in the past when he watched the snow falling with his children. Instead, his thoughts were focused inward on the incredible lack of energy he had been feeling since his operation. The elation of waking and discovering that his feet were cold had long since passed, due, mostly, to the long list of things he still couldn’t do. Despite the smiles and encouraging words from Silvia, Ginny, the ward Matrons and Healer Stilwell, the fact that his legs were still more or less useless frustrated him greatly.
He shifted in the chair, stretching his body and craning his neck to see into the blanket of whiteness all the way to the edge of the rose garden. The movement hurt him enough to make him gasp and he gave into the pain, slumping down in the chair again in defeat. After a few minutes he raised his head and focused on the scene outside again. The bleak landscape past the leafless shrub under his window fit his mood perfectly. He recognized that he was mourning the loss of his legs–an audio book Ginny had found in the library had explained the emotional stages he would most likely go through–as well as the ability to be completely independent if he wished, although he hadn’t wanted to be alone or completely independent for over twenty years. Harry closed his eyes against a sudden surge of sadness that brought unwilling tears to the corners of his eyes.
Will I ever feel like myself again? he wondered, realizing for the first time how much his self-image was wrapped up in his ability to do his job. Will I ever work again? How can I work if I can’t pass the Auror’s physical? Bloody hell, I’m useless! No one wants an Auror who can’t duel or capture criminals or be an example to the trainees who cross the threshold of the department doors...
The thought made him wonder why his fellow Aurors kept showing up in the evenings. Terry Boot had come to see him the day after his operation, and last night, Susan Bones had dragged her husband Justin and their twin daughters all the way from their estate in Lincoln, just to give him a vase full of autumn leaves the girls had collected before the snow started. Ginny had told him as she was leaving after Susan’s visit that Randolph Robards was planning on coming this evening if nothing pressing turned up. Why were they even bothering with him now that he couldn’t do his normal duties, much less even stay awake long enough to dress and get to the office?
A sudden, disheartening thought occurred to him. Why hasn’t Ron been to see me?
Was he so pathetic that his best friend couldn’t be bothered to even send an owl bearing a get-well card? If Ron can’t make the time to come see me, I must be...
The thought brought back memories of how isolated Harry had felt at times during his years at Hogwarts. Was he doomed to repeat the experience of being the local pariah once again? Harry didn’t want other people’s pity and if people were going to point out his misfortune over and over again, he decided that he’d just have to bear the torment of being shunned for what he’d become... a useless drain on society.
His melancholy thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of his physiotherapist. Silvia was all smiles today and seemed not to notice Harry’s black mood.
“Good morning, Harry,” Silvia greeted him enthusiastically and Harry almost barked at her to shut it about the day being any good at all. “This is your big day... time to see what we can do to kick-start your recovery.”
Her cheerfulness almost made Harry growl, “Bah, Humbug!” in imitation of his favourite Christmas story character. Instead, he chose, “What’s good about it? My legs are useless.”
Silvia crossed her arms over her chest and scowled at him. “Come, now, Harry,” she scolded. “What sort of attitude is that? Why aren’t you happy you’re up and out of that bed?”
Harry glanced at the bed. He glowered at it and considered Silvia’s question. “I’m not standing up or packing to go home,” he grumbled.
“I see,” Silvia murmured as she walked behind him, released the brakes on the wheelchair and began pushing Harry out into the corridor. To his surprise, a plain-clothes guard standing outside the door followed at a discrete distance. Harry wondered if the bloke was there to keep him from making a run for it.
“Where are you taking me?” Harry demanded. “I want to go back to my room!”
“Sorry, Harry. Healer Stilwell’s orders. You’re to come with me to the PT Room to start your exercises and physiotherapy challenges. It’s time you had more than fifty minutes of massage and twenty minutes of stretches,” Silvia explained as she pushed him past the mail room and rounded a corner. They passed the CT Scanning room that Harry only vaguely remembered as a source of great pain and headed for a door marked “Physiotherapy.” When they reached it, Silvia opened the door wide and looked at Harry expectantly.
“Now that you’re here, you’ll need to get yourself through the door. My part of this little ride is done,” she said.
Harry gaped at her. What? How was he supposed to manoeuvre the heavy chair into the room? Silvia smiled at him, causing him to anger quickly. What was she playing at? He was a helpless cripple! Why was she expecting him to propel himself into the room? When no answer was forthcoming except an encouraging smile and a pointed look at the wheels on his chair, he looked down at them and tried to remember what he’d seen Muggles doing to move their chairs forward. Sighing resignedly, Harry put a hand on each wheel and pushed down. Nothing happened. He adjusted his hands and the chair inched forward and stopped. Growling in frustration he tried again and again the chair stopped before he could get his hands back into position.
“You’re doing it, Harry,” Silvia encouraged him softly from beside the door. “Go on, give it another try.”
Snarling under his breath, Harry pushed on the wheels and then quickly brought his hands back into position and pushed again when the chair started to slow. Silvia stayed where she was until Harry had rolled the chair fully into the room. Then, she closed the door behind him and he felt her take hold of the handles again.
“Very good, for your first go,” she said as she pushed him farther into the room. He looked about, taking in the various machines and apparatuses which, to him, looked like instruments of torture. “Let’s go over to one of the weight machines,” suggested Silvia.
“I don’t want to,” Harry grumbled, still angry that she’d made him push himself into the physiotherapy room. Louder, he demanded, “Take me back to my room.”
From somewhere to his right he heard someone remark, “So that’s the new patient. He has a thing or two to learn.”
Someone else countered, “Silvia will keep him in line,” and the two shared a laugh. Harry seethed with resentment.
Silvia parked his chair facing a big metal weight machine that had a long metal bar suspended from a cable. Glancing at the big clock hanging on the wall near the door, she said, “Sorry, Harry, can’t do that for another half hour. Have you seen one of these?” She gestured to the machine in general and raised an eyebrow. Harry didn’t answer.
Apparently, Silvia was used to hostile patients. “I’ll assume you’ve never seen one,” she continued. “This machine is designed to work you arms and shoulders. We need to strengthen your upper body because you’ll need to be strong enough to become independent. Ginny won’t always be around to help you, you know.”
Harry scowled.
Again, Silvia ignored his hostility. “We’ll start with the minimum weight today just to get you used to the proper technique. After today, you’ll have a clipboard with a list of exercises you’re to do while I’m working with other patients. You’re to do four sets of ten pulls on your own now.” She showed him how to choose the proper number of weights and the method for getting the most benefit from the machine. Then, she stood back.
Harry reached above his head to grab the bar with both hands, but was only successful in snagging the right side of it because he couldn’t see where his left hand needed to go. Growling angrily, he turned his head until he could see his left hand; only then did he succeed in grabbing the bar with both hands. He cursed under his breath. Silvia smiled.
“What’s made you so happy?” he enquired between grunts. Even with the minimum weight selected he was rapidly becoming tired.
“You’re problem solving, Harry,” she answered. “Stop. That’s ten. Wait ten seconds and then do another ten.”
Harry did as he was told, grateful for the short rest. When the ten seconds were up, he began again, this time not quite as frantically and he discovered that although he was still working his muscles, he wasn’t tiring quite as quickly. In no time he was done with this exercise.
“Back your chair up a little, please,” Silvia ordered. “You’ll be using the lower bar for this one.”
Again, Harry followed Silvia’s directions while she taught him the new exercise. He felt a little silly doing this one–it required him to pull the lower bar towards his body–but he felt a different part of his arms working, so he said nothing. When he was done with this second exercise, Silvia asked him to back into the machine for a third exercise, this time with the overhead bar directly above his head. By now, he was becoming tired, but strangely, he didn’t want to leave the room until he had completed his exercises. Again, he struggled to find the bar with his left hand, ignoring the painful twinges in his back as he craned his neck to see it with his eyes.
Four sets of ten repetitions later, he let the weights drop with a loud clang. Silvia immediately rebuked him.
“Sorry,” Harry mumbled, the good mood created by the exercise evaporating quickly.
“Apology accepted, Harry.” Silvia smiled at him. “We have one more important thing to do this morning. Follow me.” She walked across the room towards a set of vinyl mats that covered a large portion of the opposite corner. She sat down on the mat and looked at him expectantly.
Harry stared after her. How the bloody hell am I supposed to get over there without help? he fumed. He actually knew, but was resisting helping himself with all his might. He waited to see what Silvia would do if he didn’t roll himself over to her. To his dismay, she just sat and watched him, retied her trainer, and then watched him again. Harry still sat. Silvia looked at the clock and then tapped her wrist, her expression impatient. I’m not giving in, Harry thought petulantly and he waited some more.
Finally, Silvia stood up and came over to him. “Harry, I must bring in my next patient. I expect you to be at those mats by the time I get back,” she said, sounding very much like Ginny when she gave the children an ultimatum.
Harry scowled and stayed where he was.
“Suit yourself,” Silvia said, and turning on her heel, she left the room.
Harry was furious. How dare she treat me like a child, he fumed. I’m an adult! What right does she have to order me around?
A small voice at the back of his head answered, It’s her job to help you get back what was taken from you. Do you want to get out of here?
Harry answered back, Hell, yes, I want to get out of here!
Then do as she asked you and get yourself over there!
Harry knew the voice was right, so he released the brakes on his chair and began the interminable journey across the room. By the time Silvia admitted her next patient, he was waiting for her at the mats. She nodded her approval and followed her patient to the same weight machine Harry had been using.
“Thank you, Harry,” Silvia said as she came up to him. She turned back and indicated another therapist who was following her. “This is Matilda. She’s going to help me lift you onto the mat. Then, we’re going to do some Commando Crawling and learn some basic rolling techniques that you can practice on your own. These are necessary survival skills you’ll need to know when you fall out of your chair.”
Fall out of the chair? Harry hadn’t thought of how helpless he’d be if he suddenly found himself on the floor, unable to lift himself back into his chair. “What do you want me to do?”
“For today, just relax and don’t panic when we lift you,” Silvia instructed. She and Matilda positioned themselves and on Silvia’s count, lifted him out of the chair and onto the mat, placing him on his front.
“I haven’t been on a floor like this since my kids were tiny,” Harry volunteered, surprised that he’d brought up the cherished memory.
“It’s a different way of looking at the world, isn’t it?” Silvia asked as she lay on her stomach beside him. “You ever watch military movies on the telly?” Harry nodded. “Good, then you’ll have seen the soldiers pulling themselves under fences and wires using their elbows. I want you to push your trunk up and pull yourself across the mat to me like this.”
After she demonstrated what she wanted, she sat up and looked at him expectantly. Harry sighed and forced his upper body up onto his elbows and began pulling himself towards her. It was hard work, much harder than he’d imagined without the aid of his legs pushing him along. He was winded by the time he reached her.
“Well done, Harry,” praised Silvia as he flopped down in front of her. “Let’s do it one more time and then I’ll take you back to your room.”
“All right,” Harry agreed.
Silvia repositioned his body for him and then went to stand at the far edge of the mat. Harry started towards her again, breathing hard and grunting with the effort of pulling his entire body weight across the mat. As he neared Silvia, he realized what he had accomplished; he had a way to help himself now. It felt... good.
“Nice work, Harry,” Silvia said. “Would you like to rest on your back?”
“Yeah, I would,” he answered. He paused, thinking that it might not hurt to be cooperative before he requested, “Please... Show me how.”
A minute and several attempts later, he successfully rolled his entire body over and suddenly found himself staring up at the ceiling. “I did it,” he murmured.
Chapter 8: 8: Sorrow
Author's Notes: I need some help. I’m trying to come up with ideas for the prank James will play on Albus for his birthday in an up-coming chapter and I’m drawing a complete blank. The prank must be genial and tasteful in nature, not mean or spiteful, because it comes at a time when Albus is feeling very low and his spirits need to be lifted; the situation is so serious not even the prospect of turning fifteen has lightened his mood. James genuinely cares about his brother and wants to try to cheer him without using a Cheering Charm. If you have any ideas you want to share with me and don’t mind my using, you will be given full credit for the idea in the author’s notes for the chapter. Please write to me through my author page at this website and thank you in advance for your help.
As always, my thanks goes out to my pre-beta readers for all their help and suggestions. Jedi34, RSS, RebeccaRipple, Mutt n Feathers and Rosina Ferguson, you’re the absolute best! And to my fantastic beta Aggiebell, I’m so glad your computer problems have been solved. Thanks for soldiering through this and the last chapter on your other computer. Finally, to you, my readers, thank you for your unwavering support and fantastic reviews which keep me smiling all week.
1556, Friday, 6 November 2020
The cubicle belonging to Brodie Chambers was as cluttered as any other in the Auror Office (except the Head’s, which Harry always kept tidy, even when he was working). It was covered in parchments, with photos tacked to the walls and personal mementos sitting on shelves above the desk alongside the standard Auror manuals. It was also occupied by a very forlorn-looking Auror who was currently staring at a photo of his recently-deceased fiance, Auror Emily Dawson. The sight went straight to Ron’s heart as he knocked on the divider wall.
Brodie startled, his head whipping round to face Ron. “Sorry, Ron,” he said quickly, as he guiltily stashed the photo under several file folders. “I just was taking a break...”
Ron conjured a straight chair, turned it backwards and straddled it so his arms rested on top of the chair’s back. “Relax, Brodie,” he said calmly and letting his concern for the younger wizard colour his tone. “I’m not angry, although I’m surprised you came back to the office so soon. Didn’t Robards give you the rest of the week off?”
Brodie nodded. “Yeah, he did, but I just couldn’t stand sitting around at home when things are piling up on my desk,” he explained. “Three days was enough.”
Ron smiled. “I know the feeling. I took Tuesday off. I needed it, too, after what happened on Monday,” he said as Brodie pulled the photo out from under his files and put it back in its place. “But when I came back on Wednesday,” Ron continued, “I found a small mountain of reports I needed to go through waiting in the middle of my blotter. I just put the last file in my outbox not three minutes ago.”
“Did the lab find anything we needed to know about from the samples the second forensics team collected?” Brodie asked, sounding simultaneously hopeful and guilty.
“The preliminary reports are saying the potions we found all test positive for the same ingredients. The Evidence wizards are working on word combinations to activate the torture spell Harry reported and also the release of the potions into his system. At the moment, they’re not sure if there are two activation spells or one.”
“What about the footprints we found?”
Ron took great pleasure in telling Brodie, “We don’t have identification yet, but the person who tortured Harry on Sunday evening is the same one who killed Emily and her team the next day.”
Brodie’s body sagged and a fat tear rolled down his cheek. When he looked over at Ron, his expression was hopeful. “Merlin, that’s good news, Ron,” he breathed. “I... I’ll have someone to blame for Emily’s death... someone other than you.”
Ron reached over and squeezed the other wizard’s shoulder. “It’s all right to blame me, Brodie. I blame me, too, even if my wife says I shouldn’t,” he said.
“Does the pain ever lessen?” Brodie asked after a moment.
Breathing deeply, Ron thought back to the first weeks after Fred’s funeral. “It will, eventually,” he said. “The time it takes is different for everybody.”
“That’s what my mother told me,” Brodie said. “She also said keeping busy helps you forget for a time.” He stopped and gazed at his photo. “But I don’t want to forget Emily, not even for a moment! It wouldn’t be fair to her.”
“You’ll never forget her, Brodie. She’ll always be with you in your heart,” Ron said. “My brother died twenty-two years ago fighting at Hogwarts, and to this day there are things that trigger a memory of him or makes me want to share the moment with him.”
“Do you still talk to your brother?”
“I do, especially when it’s something I know he’d have been interested in. It keeps me close to him,” Ron volunteered. He thought a moment and then said, “Harry says that those who have crossed over know when we’re thinking of them and that they watch us, too.”
Brodie closed his eyes, his body relaxing a little. “Thanks for that, Ron. I’d like to think that Emily is watching me from wherever she is.”
“When is her funeral?” Ron asked, hating to have to do so.
“Monday at eleven at St Michael’s Church...” He scrambled amongst the folders on his desk and came up with a piece of yellow parchment. “... in Leeds. The interment is in the graveyard of the church at twelve.”
“I’ll be there,” Ron promised. “Do you want me to speak at either service?”
Brodie shook his head. “No. Em’s parents have already planned everything, but I’d like it if you and any others from the Department would sit with me and her family.”
“I’ll tell Terry, Susan and Garrett.” Ron looked at his watch. Hermione was planning to leave her office at half-four... “Would you like to have dinner with me and Hermione?” he asked, knowing she wouldn’t protest if he brought Brodie home with him as he had done several other times with different colleagues.
“Thanks, but not thanks. I want to stay and finish this report,” Brodie said. “Concentrating on something concrete like that helps...” His voice trailed off and he sniffed as he conjured a handkerchief.
Ron stood and Vanished his chair. “I understand, but you know I’m only a Floo call away if you need to talk,” he said.
Brodie stood up also. “Thanks. Hey, I’m sorry about the other night. I wasn’t very fair to you,” he said, more to their shoes than to Ron himself.
“It’s all right, Brodie,” Ron said as he felt his ears heat up slightly. “No hard feelings. I’ll see you on Monday, then.”
“Yeah... Monday...”
Ron turned and walked slowly back to his cubicle. He was pleased to note the mountain of files had been magically transported to the file room by his outbox. Quickly, he gathered his things and locked his desk. Then, with a last glance back in Brodie’s direction, he left the office in time to meet Hermione outside the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.
*
0945, Saturday, 7 November 2020
Excitement prevailed in the Potter household as the Lily and her brothers raced down the stairs to breakfast on Saturday morning. Today they were going to The Burrow to see Grandmum and PopPop Weasley, and then PopPop would drive everyone in his new car to see Daddy. But first, everyone needed to eat... or at least Albus and James insisted on stuffing their faces in preparation for the trip. As they gathered at the table in the sunny kitchen, Lily shook her head, not understanding how her brothers could be hungry all the time.
“How long will we stay at The Burrow?” James asked, as he reached for the bacon platter and piled a small mountain of rashers on his plate.
“If we go immediately after breakfast, you’ll have about two hours with Grandmum and PopPop before visiting hours begin at ten,” Mummy answered as she added a heaping bowl of eggs to the table. Albus grabbed it and put nearly half the eggs on his plate.
He bounced in his seat as he attacked his eggs. “Oh, good! Can I take my broom and go for a fly in the paddock?” he asked, splattering bits of egg across the table.
“You brought your broom?” James asked. “Why didn’t you tell me? I’d have brought mine.”
“You can borrow one from the broom shed when you’re ready to fly, James,” Mummy told him. She flicked her wand at the bits of egg, making them vanish.
James sighed, but said nothing and returned to his breakfast.
“Do you think Grandmum will let me help her bake bread?” Lily asked primly. Although she really wanted to fly and practice her Chasing skills, she had dressed carefully to look nice for her father and didn’t want to ruin her look by riding a wind-blown broom.
“It’s not baking day, love,” Mummy said, “but I think Grandmum might let you help her in some other way.”
Satisfied, Lily returned to her breakfast, pointedly ignoring the mess her brothers were making talking with their mouths full.
Grandmum and PopPop Weasley were waiting for them a little while later when Lily came shooting gracefully out of the Floo. She sidestepped quickly into Grandmum’s embrace so that Albus could follow her; just like Daddy, he’d never mastered the art of landing on his feet when exiting the Floo.
As soon as her brothers and her mum appeared, the boys raced outside to the broom shed to find James a broom. Grandmum laughed, “Those two never change, do they?”
“Unfortunately, no,” Mummy giggled as Lily looked at the hands on Grandmum’s enchanted one-handed kitchen clock. The hand pointed to Time to Make Tea. Then, she went into the lounge and looked at the Grandfather Clock with the family’s hands on it. Daddy’s hand rested at Hospital. Lily wished it rested on Home like her grandparents’ hands did or Work, like Uncle Ron’s and Aunt Hermione’s or Travelling like hers did.
“Lily, would you help me make the tea, please?” Grandmum called. “I need a beautiful young lady to help me serve.”
Lily ran back to the adults and followed her grandmother into the kitchen. In no time, the four of them were seated at the table enjoying scones, clotted cream and homemade raspberry jam.
Finally, Mum suggested, “Lily, please whistle for your brothers.”
Lily hopped off her chair, went out onto the back steps and put two fingers in her mouth. Her whistle was loud and shrill and echoed across her grandparents’ property. Lily waited a slow count of five and then whistled again. This time she heard a return whistle.
“They’re coming,” Lily announced as she took her place at the table again. “Should I get my coat?”
“Not yet,” Grandmum told her. “Wait until your brothers get here.”
Lily sighed and gazed expectantly at the door. Shortly, she was rewarded with the thunder of her brothers’ footsteps on the back stairs. They were arguing heatedly over some Quidditch move as they descended on the table, snatching up the last of the scones and then moving to the kitchen sink for glasses of water.
Mummy gave them a couple of minutes to “water and feed,” as she liked to call it, and then handed Albus and James a comb each. “Up you go. Hands washed, hair combed, down in five minutes,” she directed.
“Do we have to?” Albus whined.
“Yes, or I won’t take you to The Groves to see Dad,” Mummy said sharply.
Lily watched, secretly smiling, as her brothers trooped up the stairs, grumbling as they went. They returned a few minutes later looking tamed enough to satisfy their mother, so everyone trooped out to the garage and climbed into PopPop’s car for the drive to The Groves.
“Is this Daddy’s hospital?” Lily asked, awed by the gleaming modern building as PopPop stopped the car. “It’s beautiful.”
“Yes, it is, love,” Mummy said. She opened the car door and helped Lily out while Albus and James scrambled out the other side. PopPop pointed his key at the car. Lily heard a click as the doors locked themselves and she supposed that PopPop was either using Muggle magic or had somehow enchanted the key to lock the car.
Lily walked beside her mother as she led the group into the building. They stopped at the reception desk and Mummy signed everyone in. “Mrs Vaughn, these are my children, Lily, Albus and James,” she said to the lady behind the desk. “And these are my parents, Arthur and Molly Weasley.”
“I’m so glad to meet you at last. I’ve heard so many good things about you three!” Mrs Vaughn gushed at Lily and her brothers. Lily could feel her ears burning as the receptionist continued, “You’re in for a treat. You’ll find your father in the Physiotherapy Room working with Miss Silvia. Your mother knows where it is and Miss Silvia left instructions for you to come down as soon as you arrive. Have a nice visit.”
“Mum, what’s physiotherapy?” Albus asked, sounding curious.
“I think ‘physical training’ is the best way to answer that,” Mummy replied as she led them past the library and down another hallway. “Dad has many things to learn about living without the use of his legs and Miss Silvia is coaching him, much like Madam Hooch taught all of you to fly.”
“But we already knew how to fly,” Albus protested. “I thought her flying lessons were a waste of time.”
Mummy smiled at Albus. “I’m sure you did, but I’m also sure there were children in your class who had never been on a broom before. Am I right?”
Albus nodded as they stopped in front of a bank of windows looking into a large room that was filled with metal machines and lots of people in wheelchairs.
“I see Dad,” James exclaimed excitedly, sounding more like a first year than the mature fifth year he always tried to be. He pointed to an area across from the door that was covered by mats. Lily looked in the direction he indicated and found her father lying on his stomach, pulling himself towards a dark-haired woman using only his elbows. “What’s he doing?”
Mummy sighed. “It’s called Commando Crawling. It’s one of those things he needs to know.”
Albus piped up, “That looks like fun. Let’s go in and see if we can join Dad.”
Before Mummy could respond, Albus opened the door and entered the room, making a bee-line for the mats. Lily heard her mother groan, “Oh, dear” as she followed Albus and Lily wondered why this would cause so much consternation.
Daddy stopped his crawling as the group reached the edge of the mat. To Lily’s surprise, his expression was one of dismay and even anger, and she didn’t understand. She also noticed big sweat stains under his arms and at the collar of his Muggle sweat shirt, which seemed to indicate that he’d been doing a fair amount of physical work, whatever that could be.
“Why did you bring them in here, Ginny?” Daddy demanded accusingly, glaring at Mummy.
The dark-haired lady sitting on the mat answered, “I’m sorry, Harry. I thought you’d like to show your family all the progress you’ve made this week. I left instructions at the reception desk for them to come in here.”
“Well, I don’t!” Daddy spat the words at her and Lily and her brothers exchanged startled looks as he added, “You had no right to invite them here. Ginny, give the kids a tour of the place and don’t come to my room for an hour.”
Mummy blinked and looked quite upset as the dark-haired lady said, “I’m sorry you are throwing your family out. It’s important that your children understand your limitations and begin learning to accept them. Seeing you working as hard as you are also gives them the opportunity to learn about what you do here.”
“I don’t care, Silvia. I don’t want them in here,” Daddy nearly exploded.
Scared by his outburst, Lily grabbed her grandmother’s hand and began dragging her towards the door. Mummy stayed behind as PopPop, James and Albus followed them.
“Why is Daddy so angry?” she asked when they were all out in the corridor again. “I don’t understand. I thought he would be happy to see us.” Two fat tears leaked from Lily’s eyes and she fumbled in her pocket for her handkerchief.
Grandmum was quicker. She gently wiped away Lily’s tears and addressed Albus and James, too, as she said, “Your father is going through a grieving period right now. It’s very similar to what our family went through after the Battle of Hogwarts and your Uncle Fred was killed.”
PopPop took up the explanation. “Your Uncle George was a mess emotionally when he lost his brother. Nothing pleased him; he refused to eat with the family, he spent hours hiding in his room at The Burrow weeping into Fred’s pillow and angrily told everyone to leave him alone. Eventually, your Uncle Bill took him to the shop and had a long talk with him. Only after that did Uncle George try to start living again.”
“What does what happened to Uncle George have to do with Dad?” James asked quietly.
“Your dad has lost the ability to use his legs, Jamie,” Grandmum explained gently. James scowled at her nickname, making Lily giggle softly. Albus poked her in the side and she stopped. Grandmum continued, “He can’t walk or run or even stand up. That makes him very angry because someone took those abilities away from him without his permission. He’s angry that he has to work so hard to learn something he never had to think about before. Uncle George was angry at the unknown person who cast the spell that took his brother from him without his permission. That’s how their situations are similar.”
James seemed to accept this explanation, but he didn’t look happy about it.
Lily sniffed, “Will Daddy ever love us again? He sounded so angry.”
“Oh, Lily, your father loves you!” Grandmum exclaimed. “But right now I think he’s embarrassed that you found him on the floor crawling like a baby when what he really wants you to see is him walking towards you.”
“How can I not love Daddy any way I find him?” Lily choked as fresh tears cascaded down her face. “Doesn’t he understand that it doesn’t matter to me whether he walks or rides?”
“How can we let him know it’s what’s inside him that’s most important to us?” Albus asked. “He’s told me that many times in the last couple of years.”
James looked between Lily and Albus. “I think we’re just going to have to tell him like he’s told us: forthright and often,” he said.
Lily caught PopPop and Grandmum exchanging smiles over their heads as she said, “It’s not going to be easy, not with how angry Daddy sounded, but maybe that’s why the Sorting Hat put us all in Gryffindor.”
James cuffed her gently on the shoulder. “I couldn’t have said it better, Lils.” He glanced up as their mum came out into the hallway. She looked upset. “Let’s ask Mum to show us around. Maybe she’ll calm down after she gives us a tour.”
Their mother smiled sadly as she came up to them. “I’m sorry, children, for how your dad is acting,” she murmured.
“It’s all right, Mummy,” Lily said bravely. “Grandmum and PopPop explained to us why Daddy is angry. We’re going to use our Gryffindor courage to let Daddy know that it doesn’t make any difference to us whether he walks or rides.”
To her surprise, Mummy hugged her tightly and Lily felt her shoulder getting wet. “Oh, Lily,” Mummy sobbed, “My brave girl! What would I ever do without you?”
“Hug my brothers instead?” Lily asked as her mother straightened up and gathered Albus and James into a family hug.
“Li-ly!” Albus groaned. Lily giggled.
“All right, you three, come with me and I’ll show you round the facility. Maybe by the time we reach Dad’s room he’ll be in a better mood,” Mummy said a little too enthusiastically.
He wasn’t. When they reached his room, they found him sitting up in bed, his hair still wet from the bath, watching a program on the telly. Lily left her grandfather’s side and clambered up on the bed without thinking, just the way she always did on weekend mornings when she and her brothers were on holiday.
“Morning, Daddy!” Lily leaned forward and gave him her customary hug. He flinched when she embraced him. “I’ve missed greeting you on Saturday mornings since we went back to Hogwarts.”
Her dad didn’t say anything. He didn’t even look at her.
Lily pulled back, stung. He always had a special “hello” for his “sweet pea” and he always returned her hugs. She didn’t understand why he would flinch when she hugged him and it angered her that he refused to acknowledge what she said. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes as she tried one more time.
“Daddy, please look at me,” she begged. “I love you and I miss you.”
Finally he turned his head towards her. “Lily, get off my bed,” he snapped. “You’re too big to be acting like a five-year-old!”
Lily obeyed immediately, going to stand next to PopPop with tears running down her cheeks uncontrollably. She looked up at her grandfather, pleading, “I didn’t hurt him, did I?”
PopPop leaned down and whispered to her, “You did nothing wrong, Lily. Your dad can’t see very well right now which is frustrating to him. Maybe next time you come he’ll have accepted his limitation better and be a bit more cheerful.”
Lily nodded and blew her nose. She’d forgotten about Daddy’s head injury.
Albus, who was standing on the other side of their father’s bed, chided, “Don’t be mean to Lily, Dad. She didn’t mean to scare you.”
Daddy growled, “Well, she did. Now leave me alone, all of you. Ginny, you shouldn’t have let them get out of school yesterday. I don’t want them here. Now go away, all of you!”
James came round the bed and held out his hand to Lily. She took it and as he led her away, James turned at the door. “We’re going, Dad, just like you want,” he stated. His voice sounded hard which told Lily that her oldest brother was just as hurt as she was.
“I’m sorry, Lily,” James said as they stood in the corridor outside Daddy’s room, listening to the adults argue. Their mother’s “Listen here, Harry James Potter!” was the harbinger of the legendary scolding to come.
Lily dried her face. “I... I... I just w-w-want him to be Daddy again,” she shuddered.
James put an arm around her shoulders as Albus ruffled her carefully combed hair. “Albus! Stop that!” she commanded. She reached up to assess the damage and decided she still looked all right. A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
Albus grinned. “Made you smile!” he snickered and Lily couldn’t help but do just that.
“James, Albus, Lily!” a voice called softly from down the corridor. The three Potters looked towards the voice and saw their father’s therapist coming towards them. “How come you aren’t in there talking to your dad?” she asked as she came up to them.
“Hi, Miss Silvia,” Lily said. “Daddy doesn’t want us in his room.” She looked at her brothers and smiled a little. “I think Grandmum and Mummy are giving him a good talking-to.”
Miss Silvia chuckled. “I’ve known many a mother-in-law who has set many of my patients straight one way or another. Anyway, I’ve come to ask if you three want to investigate the Physiotherapy Room to learn more about what your dad does every day. Do you want to come?”
Lily looked at her brothers. “It’d be better than listening to them argue in there,” Albus grumbled. She and James agreed.
“I’ll go tell your parents where you’re going,” Miss Silvia said and a few moments later the group was following the corridors past the Mail Room and the exits to several courtyards. When they reached the P-T Room–as Miss Silvia called it–they all went into the deserted room.
“Hardly anyone comes in here during lunch,” Miss Silvia explained when James asked why no one was working out. “The patients go back to their rooms to rest from their morning activities and the staff usually congregates at their table in the dining room. So...” She swept her arm in a big arc that took in everything in the room. “... what do you want to know or try out or are curious about?”
Albus raised his hand, as if he was in a lesson. “Erm... will our dad ever walk again?” he asked timidly.
Silvia looked sad as she shook her head. “I really can’t answer that,” she said. “It really depends on your father’s attitude and how much he wants to walk.”
“From the looks of it, Dad doesn’t want to do much of anything,” James commented pessimistically.
“Patients do change their minds,” Silvia said, sounding hopeful.
James scowled. “Right, and pigs fly,” he muttered, making Lily giggle as she thought of the winged boars that guarded the Hogwarts gates.
Albus asked, “What was Dad doing when we come in? It looked like fun.”
“It’s called Commando Crawling.”
James commented, “Madam Hooch needs to add that to our sport training.”
“Madam Hooch is still at Hogwarts?” Miss Silvia asked. “I haven’t seen her in years.”
“You’re... you’re a witch?” Lily sputtered, exchanging startled glances with her brothers.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Miss Silvia asked. “I work with all of Healer Stilwell’s magical patients.”
“Isn’t this supposed to be a mostly Muggle facility?” James asked. “Mum told us not to take out our wands and to try to refrain from talking about anything magical.”
“She’s correct about your wands and the mention of magic, especially in common areas like this one, but the rooms in your father’s wing all house magical patients. By the way, our patients are as normal as your father and as exotic as the Keeper of the Spanish Quidditch team.”
Albus’ eyes lit up. “I remember that,” he exclaimed excitedly. “After he fell off his broom and hit his head on the goal post everyone thought he was done for. He was back the next season and played for another two years before he retired. That’s brilliant that he could get well here.”
“Indeed it is, Albus,” Miss Silvia agreed. “And if he works hard and has your continuous, unfailing support, you dad could very well roll out of here in six months to a year.”
The four of them continued talking easily, with Lily and her brothers learning a whole lot about what their father was learning. Finally, just as they were running out of questions, their mother and grandparents came in followed by a uniformed woman and a young girl on crutches.
“Time to go, I guess,” Al sighed reluctantly.
Lily turned to her mum. “Daddy’s still misbehaving?” she asked, feeling sad again.
Mummy came over and hugged Lily. “He is, but we’ll try again tomorrow if you want,” she replied.
“I’ll think about it.” Lily laid her head on her mother’s shoulder. “I have a lot of homework I need to do for Monday and I could use the time in Daddy’s study to write my essays.”
Mummy murmured her approval and thanked Miss Silvia. Soon the four Potters were back at home and Lily and her brothers went to their rooms, each avowing homework they wouldn’t get started on for a very long time.
*
Later that night, in the sanctity of his bedroom, James sat at his desk staring at a picture of him and his dad that he held in his hand. In the picture that had been taken last August, the two were standing on the Holyhead Harpies pitch with their arms around each other. Both were wearing his mum’s old Quidditch practice jerseys and each had a hand raised in victory: the Harpies had just won their match and the two had been extremely excited and happy with the result.
As he looked at the picture, James noticed that he was exactly the same height as his father. A lump formed in his throat as he realized that they’d probably never stand like that again. Before he could stop it, a tear rolled down his nose and splashed on his dad’s picture. The photographic Harry looked up reproachfully, dropped his arm from photographic James’ shoulders and walked out of the picture. For some reason, this made James even sadder. Dejectedly, he wiped off the glass, put the photo back on its shelf and climbed into bed. The tears fell silently until he fell asleep.
Chapter 9: 9: Letters
Author's Notes: It’s been a long road, but Harry has finally reached the point so many of you have been anticipating; he’s recognized that his negative attitude isn’t doing him any good, personally or with his family, and that he needs to change. I hope you have found this chapter to be what you have hoped for.
My list of weekly thank yous hasn’t changed because my editing team of Jedi34, RSS, Mutt n Feathers, RebeccaRipple and Rosina Ferguson hasn’t changed. They continue to challenge me with their questions and comments and everything I change because of them makes the chapter better. To my beta, Aggiebell, I’m glad you survived your busy weekend and congratulate you on being the proud parent of a high school graduate.
The Potter children had mounted a letter-writing campaign to bombard their father with the sort of news they might have shared round the kitchen table at dinner. They had decided to focus on just one subject of their choosing in each letter, so that they didn’t spend all their homework time writing to him. When all three had completed their missives, they tied them to Whitehorn’s leg and sent them on their way.
Wednesday, 2 December 2020
Dear Dad,
This has to be quick since I have a mountain of essays to complete for Potions, Charms, Transfiguration, Defence, and Arithmancy... and they’re all due next Monday. However, I wanted to tell you that I have detention... AGAIN! One of the teachers caught me repeating a prank Louis, Albus and I pulled a couple of months ago and now I have to clean all of the cubicles in the Quidditch changing rooms... boys AND girls WITHOUT magic!
The prank was pretty funny the first time we did it. Uncle George has invented these nearly invisible capsules containing itching or sneezing powder that can be stuck somewhere and won’t open until triggered remotely by a spell. Albus and I were testing the capsules by putting two itching powder capsules in each Quidditch cubicle so that, eventually, everyone involved with Quidditch was itching like crazy... and no one knew who’d pulled the prank.
Well, that first prank was so successful I decided to try the sneezing powder capsules and again stuck them in all four changing rooms. The thing is, one of the capsules broke as I was handling it and I began sneezing so loudly that it attracted Madam Hooch’s attention... not good to be caught in the Ravenclaw girls’ changing room when you’re a Gryffindor boy! Lucky me! Do you know what the horrible part of the whole thing is? It’s not being able to wear a mask or a Bubblehead Charm while I’m cleaning!
Did you ever have to clean stuff for detention, Dad?
Please write back, even if it’s just a short note.
Always your son,
James
P.S. Albus was kind enough to detonate the sneezing capsules in all four dressing rooms a few hours after I was given the detention. I suppose he’s getting me back for not telling him the antidote for the itching powder until he’d suffered for several days.
Albus’ letter was just as short.
Wednesday, 2 December 2020
Dear Dad,
I’m going to tell you about something rather funny that happened in Care of Magical Creatures.
As you know, we’re learning about small forest creatures and today’s creature was the Bowtruckle. They’re funny-looking things, really, but quite mean when they want to be. Well, we all wandered into Magical Creatures expecting to see a line of the beasts resting on a table, but instead, we found the creatures inhabiting a potted tree the in the middle of the class area. The challenge, we were told, was to offer an appropriate snack to the creatures living in the tree so that they would allow us to take them to our examination areas.
Most of us had done our reading, so we knew to take the woodlice as our offering. However, this one bloke, Humphrey, who never does his reading until after the lesson, walked over to the table, selected a carrot and approached the tree without permission. He chose a bowtruckle and stabbed the carrot at it; I suppose he thought the idea of coaxing an animal from its lair was a stupid idea... Well, the offended bowtruckle sprang from the tree and landed on Humphrey’s head! We were all wearing protective goggles, but still, the sight of the angry bowtruckle pummelling the bloke’s goggles made us all laugh, especially when he decided to stick the carrot between his head and the marauding beast to try to lift it off his head. By this time, Professor Proctor was ready to hex Humphrey, only it was my friend Marcia who actually did the hexing. She then levitated the bowtruckle back to the tree and fed it a large quantity of woodlice... and was allowed to gently remove it from the tree and take it to her bench. Oh, what happened to Humphrey? He’s in the hospital wing covered in boils. Serves him right...
I know you took Care of Magical Creatures, Dad. What’s your bowtruckle story? I’d like to hear it.
Please write back, even if it’s just a short note.
Quidditch Rules!
Albus
Lily’s letter read:
Wednesday, 2 December 2020
Dear Daddy,
I learned how to turn a teacup into a turtle today. It was rather hard to do at first because my teacup kept sprouting legs and a head, but its shell was still shaped like an upside-down teacup. Madam Fiore kept encouraging me and I finally did it... only to have to make three more turtles because my first turtle still had a floral pattern on its shell. What I didn’t know was that I was one of six students out of thirty who were successful. Roger Creevey–I think you know his dad–took pictures of my turtles at the end of class. I don’t know when I’ll get the photos back, but I’ll send you one when Roger gives me a copy.
Did you have trouble learning this when you were a second year, Daddy? If you did, I’d like to read the story.
Please write back, even if it’s just a short note.
Love and kisses,
Your Sweet Pea, Lily
P.S. James, Albus and I will be on the train home for the Christmas Holidays on Saturday, 19 December. We almost stayed at Hogwarts, but since all our cousins are going home we decided to come home, too, even though you won’t be there. I miss you, Daddy.
As James tossed Whitehorn out of the Owlery window, he turned to his brother and sister and said, “I wonder if these letters will be the ones to make Dad write us back.”
Lily shook her head sadly. “I don’t think he cares much about what’s going on with us. I understand what Mummy and Grandmum and PopPop have told us about how much Daddy still loves us but is focusing on himself right now, but his silence is hard to bear.”
Albus spoke softly, “I sometimes think we’re wasting parchment and ink on letters that aren’t answered.”
“Why?” Lily asked.
“I put a spell on my last letter to tell me if he just threw the letter away without reading it and the next day, the quill I’d used to write the letter was glowing when I went to put my books away before practice. Dad had received the letter, but just tossed it somewhere. It’s probably on its way to wherever the Muggles take their rubbish,” Albus answered pessimistically.
“If he did throw our letters away, I hope Mum found them and kept them for him,” James said with a long-suffering sigh. He looked at his watch. “Must go... Madam Hooch and my bucket and sponge are waiting for me.”
“How many more cubicles do you have left to clean?” Lily asked.
“All of Gryffindor and half of Hufflepuff,” James answered. “I finished the Slytherin changing room last night.”
“Good luck,” Albus said as the three of them left the Owlery and went their separate ways.
*
Thursday, 3 December 2020
The mail arrived with his noon meal. He had quite the stack today, three letters from his children, two envelopes from Hogwarts, and a large packet from his office. Sighing, he tossed his letters into a drawer of the writing desk–the larger ones that didn’t fit ended up in the bin–and rolled his new custom wheelchair over to his table to begin eating his lunch.
When he was done, he rolled to his bed and lowered it mechanically, using the buttons on its control panel, until it was the same height as the seat on his chair. Then, he transferred himself to the bed using a slide board and settled in for his usual post-meal nap.
However, today he was too wide-awake to sleep. He had begun to notice that with the daily torture Silvia was determined to put him through, he was unwittingly gaining strength and gradually needing less and less time in bed between therapy sessions.
Today, he felt restless.
Giving up his nap for a bad job, Harry hauled his body back into his wheelchair and rolled the chair to his window. It was snowing again, but he could see some rather enterprising patients and their therapists negotiating the slippery pathways of the rose garden.
Maybe that will be me in a couple of months, he thought, shocking himself. He dared not hope that the feeling and strength that seemed to be returning to his legs would allow him to ever get up and walk through a snowy garden again.
Harry turned from the window and cast about for something to do. He never watched any of the noon-time programs on the telly; they were mostly insipid talk shows or repeats of shows two decades old and the BBC News Channel didn’t interest him one bit.
Then he remembered his mail and rolled over to his desk to look at it. When he opened the drawer, he was shocked to find that it was nearly full of letters, most of them from his children. How long had they been sending him letters? He honestly couldn’t remember when they’d begun writing to him. Had he been in such a fog of misery that he’d completely ignored the people he held most dear? Apparently so. Well, now seemed like a good time to at least find out how long he’d been non-communicative.
Digging down into the drawer, he lifted the entire contents onto his desk and turned it upside down, letting the letters cascade over the small wooden surface. Then, picking up the facility-provided letter opener, he slit open an envelope with his name inscribed on it in James’ familiar handwriting. The letter inside the envelope was dated the fourth of November, a Wednesday exactly five weeks ago yesterday. His son had written that he and his siblings had received permission to visit him the coming weekend and that they were looking forward to seeing where he was recovering.
Harry sighed and opened another letter. This one was from Lily. Her letter looked like water had been spilled on it while she was writing it because there were big circular patches where the parchment had dried and some of the writing was nearly illegible because the ink had run. He sniffed the letter trying to discover what she’d spilled on it. He sighed when he didn’t detect any noticeable odour. Running ink... He read the letter, feeling guiltier with each new sentence: his daughter had written to him the day after her visit and she felt guilty for making him angry because she feared she had hurt him physically in some way.
She ended the letter, “Daddy, I didn’t act like a five-year-old when I tried to hug you, you did. Miss Silvia explained that you’re mixed up and don’t know what you want, but when you yelled at us to get out of your room, you hurt my feelings. I want you back, Daddy. I want you to love me just the way you did before you were hurt. Please go back to being the daddy who calls me his Sweet Pea.”
She’d signed it, Love from Your Sweet Pea, Lily.
“Oh, Lily,” Harry groaned aloud, “what have I done to you?”
He set Lily’s letter aside and pawed through the pile of mail looking for one from Albus. He found one dated the eighteenth of November, but hesitated to actually take the parchment from the envelope. Finally deciding that procrastinating wasn’t going to show him what his second son was thinking, he yanked open the letter and began to read. Albus had been brief. He wrote that he had two tests coming up the next day and needed to revise for them before he went to bed early; Madam Pomfrey was insisting that he get more sleep because he’d been to see her two times that week, once for fever and body aches due to a cold and a second time for a sore throat; both times she’d given him Pepper-Up potion and told him to stop running himself ragged. Harry gulped down a sob; if Ginny had known about Albus’ illness, she hadn’t told him about it, most likely thinking the subject of his children would just make him angry.
I used to know what was happening with my children! Harry thought morosely. I used to care what happened to them. Do I now? Deep in his heart he knew he still did.
Carefully, he set Albus’ letter aside and began methodically opening all his letters. He organized them first by child and then by date. By the time he’d opened every last envelope he could see the pattern the children had chosen and the formula they’d agreed on; always write a quick note on Wednesday to be taken to their father by James’ Snowy owl, Whitehorn–the owl had been named after the founder of Nimbus Broom Company. They had all been faithful to the task. The feature that touched Harry’s heart the most and showed him his children had united in their campaign was the common last paragraph entreating him to write back.
Harry knew and respected many people at the Ministry for their dedication to bettering the Wizarding world and the forthright manner with which they dealt with its problems. These were two traits he and Ginny had endeavoured to instil in their children and to see evidence that their hard work was paying off at so young an age filled his heart with pride and great deal of guilt. What am I teaching them right now? he wondered. He knew the answer; selfish, closed-minded self-absorption with disregard to the feelings of those who loved him. The realization that he needed to change and change immediately, not only with the way he dealt with his family but with his attitude towards his rehab, hit him between the eyes full force.
Harry wept. He couldn’t hold the tears in any longer. He’d done inconceivable damage to his relationship with his children and now he was going to have to beg their forgiveness. He had no idea how to go about apologizing, but knew in his heart that he needed to start repairing the harm he’d done by writing to each one, preferably today.
He glanced up at the desk and discovered there was one last envelope from James. Harry read the letter through tear-filled eyes, sometimes having to read sentences three times before he truly comprehended their meaning. As he finished the postscript something his son had written triggered his Auror’s instincts and he began sobbing outright.
That’s how Ginny found him several minutes later. Harry heard the familiar click of her heels on the tile floor, but was too stricken with grief and guilt to pay much attention to her greeting. He didn’t respond until she stopped beside his wheelchair and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.
“What’s wrong, Harry?” she asked. “Was there something in one of your letters?”
Harry drew a shuddering breath and indicating the pile of scattered letters with a wave of his hand, admitted, “I... I’ve ignored our children.”
“I know you have, love,” Ginny whispered, “but I know they still love you.”
“Are you sure they don’t despise me?” he wailed. “I’ve been so awful to ignore their letters.”
“Yes, you have,” she agreed evenly, “but it seems that you’ve taken the time to read what they’ve written and maybe even started writing back?”
Harry nodded; the lump in his throat was too big. Eventually, he asked, “So... do you think they’ll give me a second chance?”
Ginny’s tone was shocked as she responded, “Harry, how can you ask that when you’ve given them second chances to do better all their lives?”
“I... I... I... just–” he broke off thinking about the truth of her statement. “Yeah, you’re right...”
Then he remembered the packet from his office he’d opened while reading the letters. There had been a letter from Ron in it and Harry had just begun to realize how small-minded he’d been to think that Ron wasn’t bothering to come see him because he thought Harry was useless: the opposite had been the truth and Ron had kept faith by heading Harry’s investigation in his absence. Only a true friend would do something like that...
Ginny pulled back and looked at him at arm’s length. Then, she said, “There’s something more... I know it.”
Harry nodded. “Can you help me with a fire call to Ron, please? James wrote something in yesterday’s letter that he needs to see,” he said, trying to keep the excitement and terror from his voice.
“What do I need to see?” a familiar voice rumbled.
Harry looked up to find his best mate perched on his bed, his face sadly curious and rather concerned all at the same time. Harry felt a surge of wonder that after all these weeks, Ron was finally visiting. However, instead of feeling angry that it had taken nearly six weeks for Ron to visit, Harry eagerly embraced the urge to share his discovery with him.
Abruptly disentangling himself from Ginny’s hold, Harry stuck the letter between his teeth and rolled over to the bed. “Here. Read this,” he directed, handing the slightly soggy parchment to his friend. “I think this might help the investigation.”
Harry sat in impatient silence while Ron read the letter. When he looked up, Ron had a smile on his face. “May I keep this?” he asked. “I need to speak to someone about this.”
Harry shook his head. “I’d like to keep the original. Would a copy be sufficient?”
“It would,” Ron replied.
“Then go ahead and make one now. I’m still not allowed a wand, even if I had one,” Harry sighed as Ginny threw him a sympathetic smile. “I’m supposed to be using all my energy in Physiotherapy and not on superfluous frivolity, as my therapist calls it.”
Ron chuckled and withdrew his wand. “Poor you,” he sympathized. “How’s it going, by the way?”
“It’s going,” Harry hedged. He really didn’t want to talk about his rehabilitation; the subject reminded him all too clearly how different his life was now from the one he’d led pre-accident.
Ron nodded. “I was going to speak with you about what’s in the packet from the office, but it looks like I have more pressing things to investigate.” He jumped off the bed, landing lightly on his big feet. Harry looked away; just watching his best mate move so easily sent a pang of intense sadness through him.
Harry stuck out his hand for Ron to shake. “Thanks for coming by,” he said around the lump in his throat.
“I should have come a lot sooner,” Ron apologized, “but things round the office have been a bit crazy. We need to talk about what’s in the packet I sent you. I’d like to come back tomorrow.”
Harry flashed him a small smile. “I’d like that,” he admitted.
Ron straightened up and with a small wave at Harry, he was out the door. Harry listened to his receding footsteps, feeling a little sad that he was going to have to wait twenty-four hours for Ron to come back.
Ginny seemed to sense his melancholy. “I’m glad you said he could come back. Ron was worried you wouldn’t want him to.”
“I can’t stay angry at the world much longer, Ginny. It takes too much energy. I’m glad he came with you today.”
Ginny didn’t say anything; she was crying too hard.
*
1448 hours
The door to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes’ Diagon Alley Headquarters Branch opened with an ear-splitting cackle that had Ron covering his ears as he entered his brother’s establishment. The shop was relatively deserted–only Felicity, George’s long-time employee, and three customers were in sight... and they all had their hands over their ears.
“George!” Ron bellowed to the room at large, “when are you going to get rid of that racket?”
George poked his head out of the back room. His grin was wide, his expression playful as rejoined, “When Snorkacks fly.”
“That’ll be the day,” Ron grumbled as he crossed the shop to shoulder his way past his brother.
The back room of George’s shop was just as cluttered and packed to the ceiling with all sorts of exotic ingredients as it had been when Ron had worked there in the first few years after the war. As usual, George had four cauldrons going, each one full of a noxious mixture, all at different stages of the brewing process. Ron moved to the farthest corner of the room to find some fume-free air to breathe. That the fresh air was coming from an open window high on the wall seemed to make no difference to George, but Ron had to pull his cloak tighter about his shoulders in order to stay where he was.
George tossed what looked like a pile of diced rosehips into one of the cauldrons and stirred vigorously for thirty seconds before looking up and asking, “What brings you here? Wanna help?”
Ron sighed. As much as he liked being an Auror, he sometimes missed the ordered craziness of George’s backrooms and he realized that right now he’d like to trade his current worries for the familiar smells, messes and cranky customers that inhabited the shop. “Can’t. I’m on Auror business, if you must know,” he answered.
George raised an eyebrow. “What’s it got to do with me?” he asked. “You sound serious.” He reduced the flames under all four cauldrons and gestured to Ron to follow him upstairs to his office.
Ron waited until the two were seated in what had been Fred and George’s lounge and was now the shop’s office to recount the story of James’ pranks. He ended his tale asking, “Can you explain how the capsules work and what spells are involved in triggering the powder’s release?”
George had been lounging in his desk chair while Ron talked and now sat up and leaned his elbows on his desk. “Oh, stop being all officious and Percy-like,” he chided. “It doesn’t become you!”
Ron snorted, realizing he did sound very like his third-oldest brother. “Sorry,” he mumbled, “I forgot where I was.”
George roared with laughter and then said, “Of course, I’ll explain how they work, although I’m disinclined to disclose the exact charms used to trigger them. I don’t have a patent on them yet.” He stood up and disappeared into the back room–his and Fred’s former bedroom–and came back out a couple of minutes later holding two clearly-empty spheres. He tapped one with his wand and handed it to Ron. “I didn’t think you’d wanted to end up sneezing or itching for the rest of the day,” he explained as Ron inspected the sphere intently. “I think the best way to explain how they work is to show you. The one you’re holding has been activated. I could say the triggering spell all day and the one I’m holding wouldn’t open. Now wait here while I go up on the roof.” And before Ron could say anything he’d Disapparated.
Suddenly, there was a tiny pop! and Ron found himself coughing and sputtering and covered in a fine powdery substance. The only thing left in his hand was a few bits of the pearly capsule. “GEORGE!” he bellowed as his brother came back into the office via the stairs and stood in the doorway doubled over with laughter.
“Gotcha!” he sputtered happily as he whipped out his wand and Vanished the powder which Ron suspected was either talc or chalk.
“Where’d you go?” Ron asked.
“Leaky Cauldron,” George answered, brandishing two ice-cold Butterbeers with LC on their corks. He handed one to Ron who took it gratefully. “These things have a sensitivity range of about a city block so that the one pulling the prank can be nowhere in sight when they go off. I imagine Albus was sitting on the far side of the Quidditch pitch when he triggered the capsules at the match that Saturday.”
“Wicked,” Ron breathed appreciatively. “Tell me about the spells.”
George scowled. “I really don’t want to,” he said. Then, he added quickly, “All the spells I used are on the up and up; don’t doubt me for a moment. You know I wouldn’t subject my customers to Dark magic.”
“I know you wouldn’t, George, but the concept is important to a case I’m working and you’re the only one we know of who has any knowledge of how something like this works,” Ron explained.
George sat back down at his desk. “All right, if it’s that important, I’ll give you a list,” he said. He took out a piece of parchment and a quill and quickly made the list. As he handed it to Ron he asked, “Does this have anything to do with Harry’s case?”
Ron took a long pull from his Butterbeer bottle. “Everything. The day my team and I went back to the scene of Harry’s accident we came across what can only be described as a torture chamber. Not only was the pit Harry tumbled into there, but a whole host of apparatuses that reminded me of a medieval dungeon. We think the group we're after experimented for several months on new methods of torture, including one that was remotely triggered.”
George let out a long, low whistle. Then, he groaned.
“What’s up?” Ron asked, scooting towards the edge of his chair.
“How long have you been on this case?”
“Almost a year. St Mungo’s called us in when they started getting cases of patients coming in with suspicious shrapnel-like objects embedded in their bodies. The victims couldn’t remember how they’d ended up that way, although they were clearly traumatized. Then, about five months ago, the department nearly lost three Aurors to mysterious infections that seemed to crop up immediately after they’d duelled with a suspect. The Aurors reported feeling something pierce their skin, but when they couldn’t find the entry wound they thought nothing of it until they began feeling sick, or in one case, suffered unimaginable pain after he became ill. Why do you ask?”
George stood up and began pacing. “Bloody hell, Ron, I should have reported this, but I didn’t,” he groaned. “About six months ago I fired an assistant I caught copying my experimentation notebooks. He’d only been with me for a short time and I didn’t know him all that well, but Felicity was on maternity leave and I desperately needed someone to mind the front counter while I started the testing of the capsules.”
“How’d you catch him?”
“I forgot something Angelina wanted me to bring home and she made me come back to get it after we had dinner. I caught the bloke going through the latest documentation on the capsules and copying everything I’d written about them onto a scroll of parchment. I tried to grab it, but he Banished it somewhere, so all I could do was dismiss him,” George explained. He stopped pacing and faced Ron, his expression angry. “I guess I know now what he did with my research.”
“Don’t be too hard on yourself, George,” Ron soothed. “You had no idea why the bloke was stealing your notes. For all you knew, he could have been a double-agent for your competition.”
George laughed hollowly. “You mean Zonko’s or Gambol and Japes? Pur-lease. Those two haven’t come out with anything new in twenty years! I mean, anything significant or worth buying."
“So how do you suppose these suspects of yours put my hard work to use?”
“Easy,” Ron said. He pulled a small glass tube from his pocket and handed it to George. Inside was a gel-like substance with metal objects stuck in it. “Healer Stilwell pulled the small one from Harry’s spinal cord six weeks ago.”
George’s eyes widened. “No kidding?”
“Watch,” Ron ordered. He flicked his wand towards the tube, casting a non-verbal spell.
“OW!” George dropped the tube on his desk, holding his numbed hand with his other. “Merlin’s beard that hurt!”
“Can you imagine what that feels like in the middle of your back, multiplied by a factor of ten?” Ron asked.
“That’s... that’s what they did to Harry?” George sputtered, turning a pale shade of green.
“Yeah, and it wasn’t until the needles were removed that his pain went away.”
“What’s with the other thing?”
“That was lodged in Harry’s lung. Did you notice it drilled its way into the gel when I cast the spell?” George shook his head and held up the tube, peering at it. The sword-like object had buried itself all the way to the bottom of the tube. “Whoever cast the spell held it on Harry long enough for that to worm its way almost to Harry’s heart,” Ron explained. “The thing exploded during the operation to extract it. If it hadn’t been removed, the next time the spell was cast, it would have killed Harry.”
George cursed loudly and handed the tube back to Ron. “What can I do to help, Ron?” he asked weakly.
“Do you still have the employment paperwork on the bloke you fired? If you do, we may be able to use it to track down the second perpetrator and maybe even capture him,” Ron said.
“Yeah, I have it,” George said, getting up. “Be right back.”
It took a few minutes, but George returned with a grim smile on his face. “Here it is. I made a copy for my records. These are the originals. You can keep them.”
Ron stood and took the papers. “Thanks, George. You’ve been a big help.”
“Any time, little brother, any time.”
Ron glanced down at the papers in his hand. The name on the top line was Timothy Dawson. He listed a recent dismissal from St Mungo’s at the top of his list of employers.
*
1732 hours
Kreacher had put the international letter on top of the day’s pile of mail. Ginny took it into her office and carefully opened it using a Muggle letter opener.
Dear Ginny,
Good news! I was able to get time off and will be coming home to England beginning on Saturday, 19 December. The journey will take two days because attempting to do it in one is not very practical; it can be done, but one feels like hippogriff manure for days afterwards. Anyway, Grandmother and I will be at The Burrow for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. I can hardly wait to see my “cousins” and you and Harry.
Affectionately,
Teddy Lupin
Ginny smiled. Teddy coming home was indeed something to be happy about.
*
At Hogwarts, James slipped beneath the stands of the Quidditch stadium to watch the Ravenclaw Quidditch team practice. He smiled when he realized their star Chaser, fifth year Brian Nelson, still hadn’t come back from St Mungo’s and the team was training with one of their reserve members. That boded well for the upcoming Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw match in two weeks’ time: the teams would be much more evenly matched without Brian.
*
0819 hours, Friday, 4 December 2020
Albus was late for breakfast. He’d overslept and was fearful the bell would ring before he reached the Great Hall. He dashed down the multitude of staircases in his mad rush to grab something, anything, before the platters disappeared from the tables and made it to the Gryffindor table just as the owls appeared with the mail.
“Oversleep?” his friend Kenneth asked wryly.
“You know it,” Albus agreed breathlessly, grabbing for a platter of sausages with one hand and a bowl of eggs with the other. “I was up until nearly two last night completing that essay for Binns. Cor, that was boring!”
Kenneth had opened his mouth to comment when the two heard an excited yell from farther down the table. Albus recognized the squeal came from his sister. A moment later, she came pelting up the aisle clutching an opened letter and two sealed ones.
“Albus! James! You have letters... from DADDY!!!” Lily squealed as she thrust Albus’ envelope at him.
Albus took his letter with shaking hands. “Thanks, Lily,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant, even though he was afraid of what the contents might be. “I’ll read it later after History.”
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Lily said, putting her hands on her hips and looking very much like their mother. “Not when Daddy’s finally written back apologizing for being a git the last time we saw him.”
Albus eyed his sister as he tapped his envelope with his wand; she hadn’t moved and he knew she wouldn’t until he’d done what she said. The flap sprang open, allowing him to take out the parchment inside.
“What are you afraid of? It won’t bite,” Lily hissed impatiently. Albus took the unspoken dare and unfolded the letter.
3 December 2020
Dear Albus,
I have finally found to courage to read your letters. I know I have failed you as a father, showing you by word and deed how very dark my thoughts have become. I was selfish to think the world revolved around me alone and the losses I’ve suffered in the past six weeks. Truth be told, I was shoving you and everyone else who cares for me away because I couldn’t see that it doesn't matter what I look like, it's what’s inside me that counts. I know you’ve heard it from me many times in the past, and today I realized that I’d better practice what I preach... since you and your brother and sister seem to be better people than I at the moment...
Albus couldn’t read any more, at least not here in the Great Hall. He looked up at Lily. She’d let her arms drop to her sides and was actually smiling at someone over his shoulder instead of paying much attention to him. He turned to see who she was smiling at.
James had walked towards the two at a more sedate pace and now accepted the letter Lily held out to him. Like Albus, his older brother seemed reluctant to open his letter in front of the entire school and repeated the same argument with their sister as Albus had. Again, Lily won the contest of wills.
However, instead of reading just first paragraph the way Albus had and then stuffing it away in a pocket to read the rest later, James stood blocking the aisle while he read his entire letter. As he read, his brother’s body lost its tension and by the time he refolded the letter and stuck it in his shirt pocket he was grinning like crazy. “I... I... Dad said I’ve helped the investigation!” James whispered, sounding completely awed. With that, he turned on his heel and went back up the table to his seat.
Albus glanced down at the letter in his hand. He couldn’t do it; he couldn’t read it in front of everyone like James had. Looking up at Lily, he asked, “We’ll exchange later?”
She shook her head. “Nope, not this time,” she said. “Now go finish yours. There are two empty classrooms on the ground floor if you want to hide.”
Briefly closing his eyes, Albus accepted that his very perceptive sister had once again seen through his attempt at bravado. “Thanks, Lily. See you at lunch,” he muttered as he turned to retrieve his bag. She flashed him a smile as he passed her on his way out into the Entrance Hall.
In the privacy of a deserted classroom, Albus again unfolded his letter and began to read where he left off...
... You asked about whether I had studied the bowtruckle. The answer is yes, but not until my fifth year. The story takes place during my darkest year at Hogwarts, and consequently, you and your siblings haven’t heard many stories from that year. I suppose, now that you are older, you can handle knowing that my fifth year at school turned me into a rebellious teenager, someone mostly self-centred and out to prove that several teachers as well as the Ministry were in the “wrong,” especially because of stories that had been published in the Daily Prophet the summer between my fourth and fifth years. But I digress...
Albus stopped reading and sagged into the teacher’s chair, which was near a window that gave him enough light to read by, even if he didn't ignite the room’s torches. He’d never known his father had been a rebellious teen. Sure, he’d heard his parents and aunts and uncles talk about how difficult that year had been and about people like Minister Fudge and someone called Professor Umbrella... no, that wasn’t right... He thought a moment and came up with the name Umbridge; yeah, that one sounded right. Eagerly, he began reading again.
My bowtruckle story isn’t as entertaining as yours. Truth be told, I was resentful to discover we had another, better teacher as a substitute for Hagrid at the beginning of that year. Coupled with several other changes, enough homework to snow even a giant under, and detentions every night because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut in the presence of Professor Umbridge, I was in a foul mood the day we were introduced to the tree-guardians. As it was, we were tasked with drawing diagrams of the animals, naming their parts. Your Aunt Hermione was as meticulous then as she is now and insisted I hold our bowtruckle up for her to study while she drew. I’m ashamed to say that I let certain students in the class distract me, anger me and keep my attention on what they were saying instead of paying attention to what I should have been doing. The result was a nearly-squished bowtruckle, which took a retaliatory swipe at me with its sharp fingers. I dropped it and it scurried towards the forest leaving me with a bloody hand and a whole lot of wounded pride.
Albus, I hope you can forgive me for not answering the many letters you’ve written to me while I have been here at The Groves. I eagerly look forward to your next letter and promise to answer it the day I receive it. I hope you’ll continue to share your school experiences and anything else you want me to know. I miss you more than you know and look forward to your visits during the Christmas hols.
With all my love,
Dad
The letter dropped from Albus’ hand and in the quiet solitude of the empty classroom, he sobbed with relief: the father he knew and loved was definitely back.
Chapter 10: 10: Recapitulation
Author's Notes: Thank you so much for all the great reviews thus far with this story. I appreciate all the comments and am looking forward to hearing what you have to say about this chapter.
Many thanks, as always, to RSS, Jedi34, RebeccaRipple, Mutt n Feathers and Rosina Ferguson for all you've done to improve my narrative. And Aggiebell, thanks for finding the time in your busy schedule to beta and then post my story.
1107 hours, Friday, 4 December 2020
Six weeks seemed long enough to wait for the Aurors to stop postulating and annoying people with their questions. She was becoming impatient. She had to act now. She had to know definitively whether her theories worked and her potions were aggressive enough to get the job done, and the sooner the better.
She had the perfect “volunteer” in her ward, too. Two days ago, Madam Pomfrey, that old crone up at Hogwarts, had sent a critically wounded fifteen-year-old boy to St Mungo’s after a freak Quidditch accident. The lad had ended up in her ward paralyzed from the waist down. Healer Stilwell had been using her potions on the boy, and he had made tremendous progress in the short time he’d been in hospital. It was time to stop that progress...
The boy was napping on his side when she entered his cubicle. The back of his hospital gown gaped open above the bedclothes at his waist in just the right places: she wouldn’t have to move them. She smiled and silently approached the bed. With practiced ease, she opened the first vial and shook out a long, thick needle with two tiny barbs on its tip. With her wand, she guided it and three additional similar needles towards the boy’s lower spine. The moment the points touched his skin, the needles began worming their way into his spinal cord, disappearing completely as the pierced flesh closed over the needles. She smiled as she gave her wand a small tug, feeling the barbed needles catch in the tissue, tearing it and doing irreparable damage. Her victim stirred in his sleep, then settled down again.
She paused to listen to the ward before she began her second task.
With feather-light fingers she located the spaces between the three vertebrae which were her next targets. She opened two more vials, one half-filled with blue potion, the other with green. Working quickly, she extracted three tiny needles from the blue potion with her wand and directed them at the spaces between the boy’s vertebrae. Just like their larger counterparts, these needles slid in easily and healed the entry wounds almost before they completely disappeared. She repeated the process with three needles from the green vial one bone down. Her work done, she capped the vials, left the cubicle and strolled out of the ward, giving one of her helpers a quick nod as she went.
Several minutes later the paralyzed boy woke up screaming.
*
1322 hours
Healer Stilwell bent over his newest patient, the fifth year from Hogwarts whose name was Brian. Poor Brian was in inexplicably agonizing pain, pain that shouldn’t have occurred this late in his treatment. Between screams, Healer Stilwell tried to get the traumatized lad to tell him what had happened. All he could make out were the words sleep, tickle, and hurt.
The healer bowed his head. He had no explanation for why his patient should suddenly act like he was being tortured. Unless...
He threw back the sheets covering Brian and frantically searched the bed, looking for anything that would prove his theory correct.
Almost immediately, his eyes found what he’d been looking for; two minute drops of blue and one of green, drops so tiny and faint that if he hadn’t known what to look for, he’d have missed them. They were located on the sheet close to Brian’s back. Quickly rounding the bed, he cast a spell, groaning inwardly when two areas on Brian’s back showed signs of recent healing. Healer Stilwell closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, a flood of sympathy for the boy’s predicament filling him. The poor lad was going to need the same surgery Mr Potter had undergone all those weeks ago.
Acting quickly, Healer Stilwell gave orders for specific pain potions to be administered and Brian’s parents to be summoned to his office. Then he requested a trolley be brought to Brian’s cubicle. With the ward staff scurrying about to do his bidding, he charged up the back stairs, sealed his office door and cast a series of privacy spells on it and his fireplace. When the flames turned green with the addition of Floo Powder, he stuck his head in and asked the Network for the Auror Department and specifically, Auror Ronald Weasley.
“What’s up, sir?” Auror Weasley asked a few minutes later.
“I need you at St Mungo’s immediately. There’s been an incident of medical tampering that I need you here to witness. This is of utmost importance to one of your investigations,” he explained.
Weasley visibly blanched. “I... I’ll be there in less than five minutes,” he stammered.
“Bring your investigative team, if you can. Come through my office fireplace,” Healer Stilwell directed. “I’ll be waiting.”
Brian’s parents arrived first.
“What’s wrong with our son?” the father demanded. “I thought you said he was making remarkable progress.”
“He was until an hour ago, Mr Nelson,” Healer Stilwell admitted. “However, I believe that someone has tampered with Brian’s spinal cord and I’ve asked an Auror to be present when I cast the detection charm. If my suspicions are correct, I’ll need your permission to immediately operate on your son.”
Mrs Nelson dove into her purse for her handkerchief as Mr Nelson demanded angrily, “Who did this? Do you know who is responsible? How will your operation help our son?”
Healer Stilwell had just finished answering Mr Nelson’s questions when Auror Weasley and two other Aurors arrived via the Floo Network. After introductions were made, the six returned to Brian’s bedside.
*
1400 hours
Ron recognized the boy in the bed. He’d seen him on several occasions when he’d visited Hogwarts for Quidditch matches. He didn’t recall which house the boy was in, but he remembered that he was in James Potter’s year. At the moment, the boy–Brian, his parents had said–lay curled on his side, pale and frightened-looking.
Auror Garrett Carmichael, who Ron had asked to accompany him inside the ward, squatted down at Brian’s eye level and gently touched his hand. “Brian, I’m Auror Carmichael,” he murmured. “My partner, Auror Weasley, and I are here as witnesses for Healer Stilwell who is going to perform a spell on you. Do you understand me?”
“Yes,” Brian whispered.
“Good. Your parents are here as well, but they have been asked to stay outside the ward with Auror Chambers until Healer Stilwell is done. Do you want me to hold your hand during the spell?”
Again Brian answered, “Yes,” so Garrett smiled at him, his signal to Ron and Healer Stilwell that they could precede with the spell.
Ron nodded to Healer Stilwell who cast the Foreign Body Detection Charm. To Ron’s horror the same areas that were documented in Harry’s file glowed bright blue on Brian’s back.
The spell was still glowing when Brian suddenly arched his back and screamed as if he was under the Cruciatus Curse. At the same time, Healer Stilwell’s spell indicated something leaking from the upper set of foreign bodies: they weren’t leaking on their own, someone was causing the suspected needles to leak! On instinct, Ron cast a Magic Detection Spell that homed in on the direction of the cast spell he suspected of causing Brian’s pain. An orange arrow left Brian’s body and zoomed through the curtains towards the back of the ward.
Almost immediately, there was a crash of overturning equipment and the sound of pounding footfalls as someone tried to make a break for it. Ron hurtled out of Brian’s cubicle and made a flying leap towards the fleeing Matron’s Assistant, tackling the man as he sprinted past. With a mighty crash the two fell against another patient’s bed, Ron pinning the other wizard to the floor. He wrenched the wizard’s wand from his hand.
“Why were you deliberately hurting one of the patients?” he demanded as he pocketed the confiscated wand.
“Geroffme!” the wizard cried.
“Not until you tell me why you were hurting one of the patients,” Ron insisted. Angrily, he sent a Patronus message to Auror Chambers, who was out in the corridor with Brian’s parents. Then he repeated his request a third time, still not getting an answer.
The door to the ward banged open, admitting Brodie, who entered with his wand drawn. “Take this piece of dragon dung to Headquarters,” Ron ordered as he magically bound his prisoner. “Process him and come back here as soon as you can. I need you to stay with the parents.”
“Yes, sir!” Brodie returned. He yanked the prisoner to his feet. A moment later, they disappeared with a loud pop.
Ron brushed off his robes and dropped the confiscated wand in an evidence bag, then Banished it to Evidence. I’m getting too old to be tackling suspects, he thought as he went back to Brian’s bedside where Healer Stilwell seemed to monitoring his patient with several spells at once. Auror Carmichael was still holding Brian’s hand and seemed to have the boy’s attention.
“Caught the perpetrator,” Ron reported to the healer.
Healer Stilwell kept his eyes on the spells as he asked, “Who did you catch?”
“One of the Matron’s Assistants,” Ron replied. He jerked his head towards Brian. “Will he be all right?”
“The sooner we get him downstairs the better. All the progress he’s made over the last two days has just been undone,” Stilwell growled. Then his tone changed to one of admiration. “Would your partner consider a job change? He’s been remarkable at keeping Brian calm while we treated his pain.”
Ron couldn’t help but smile at the praise. “Sorry, sir, but that’s not possible. Auror Carmichael is a vital member of the Department.”
“I thought as much,” Healer Stilwell grumbled. He leaned over the bed towards Garrett. “Auror Carmichael, I’d like you to stay with Brian until we get him sedated.”
“Yes, sir,” Garrett smiled. “Ready to go?”
Healer Stilwell replied, “Almost.”
Ron backed out of the cubicle. “Save the sheet, Garrett. We’ll need it as evidence. I’ll stay with the parents until you need me, Healer Stilwell,” he volunteered.
A short while later, Ron found himself standing next to Garrett in the Observation Deck of the underground operating theatre. Below them, Healer Stilwell was wielding two wands, extracting bits of magical metal from Brian Nelson’s back. It was hard to watch because Ron’s thoughts kept wandering towards Harry and the fact that he was missing his meeting with his friend. He thought Harry would understand, but he vowed that as soon as he’d written his report and reviewed the evidence, he’d go to The Groves, even if it was just to say “hello” again because visiting hours were over.
Healer Stilwell’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “I extracted six epidural-like needles, Auror Weasley. Do you want them now or when I’ve extracted the others?”
“I’ll take them later,” Ron said as he peered through the glass at the brightly illuminated operating table.
“Very well,” Healer Stilwell said and he went back to his work.
“Brodie still standing guard outside?” Ron asked Garrett.
“Last time I checked. He brought Susan. She’s with the boy’s parents,” Garrett reported.
“Brilliant,” Ron praised his young partner. “By the way, thank you for keeping Brian calm upstairs. You were a big help to Healer Stilwell. He wanted you to change jobs and join his team here at St Mungo’s. I told him you were too important to us.”
Beside him, Garrett shuffled his feet. “Just doing my job, sir. Glad I could be of help.” He sounded embarrassed.
Ron changed the subject. “Was Brian able to tell you anything?” he asked.
“Not much, and that’s quite understandable with the way he was feeling. He did say that he was awakened from his nap by someone touching his back. He said he felt several pin pricks but was too scared to let the person know he was awake.”
“Poor kid,” Ron choked. He cleared his throat. “Make sure to put that in your report and copy the memory for the Pensieve. We’ll review everything tomorrow morning,” Ron directed, already wondering if Terry Boot was getting anything out of the Matron’s Assistant or if the wanker had clammed up just like the two that Harry’s team had arrested six weeks ago had done.
The two Aurors lapsed into silence. It was a long time before Healer Stilwell finally looked up at them and reported, “I extracted a total of four barbed needles from the second site. I’ve bagged the evidence and it’s ready for you.”
“Thank you. I’ll send Auror Carmichael down to get it,” Ron said. He nodded to Garrett who immediately left the Observation Deck. “How’s Brian doing?”
“Would you meet me in the ante-chamber, please,” Healer Stilwell requested. “I want us to talk privately.” He sounded exhausted.
A moment later, Ron met Healer Stilwell at the theatre door. “What couldn’t you tell me aloud?” he enquired as he cast Muffliato on Healer Stilwell’s two assistants.
The healer cast a silencing spell of his own. “I’ll put this in my report, but the barbed needles were dipped in some sort of tissue-destroying potion, one slightly different from the blue and green potions released in the second set of needles,” he reported. “They dissolved as many cord fibres as they ripped. I’m not sure I can repair the damage.”
Ron exhaled forcefully. “So he’s going to be paralyzed like Harry?” he finally asked around the lump in his throat which was caused by regret and concern for Brian.
“I’m afraid so,” Healer Stilwell said. “As soon as Brian is able to travel, I’m going to transfer him to The Groves. Do you think Harry would be willing to talk to him and his parents?”
“I’ll talk to him this evening. I think he’ll agree. I’ll leave you a note with the Welcome Witch after we’ve talked,” Ron said.
“Thanks. I’d better get upstairs. Mr and Mrs Nelson need to know about the transfer,” Healer Stilwell said as he cancelled his spell and left the room.
Ron cancelled his own spells and stepped aside as the healer’s assistants brought Brian into the ante-chamber to recover. As soon as the trolley’s wheels were locked in place, Ron conjured a chair and sat down next to it, taking one of Brian’s limp hands in his own. He was encouraged to see that the boy’s colour had changed from the pasty white it’d been upstairs to a much healthier one. Ron couldn’t help it: he reached up and gently brushed the crown of Brian’s sandy head with his fingers as he vowed, “I promise we’ll catch all the criminals who did this to you.”
An hour later, Brian and his parents were on their way to The Groves.
*
2025 hours
Someone tapped gently on the frame of his door. Grateful for the distraction, Harry looked up from the book he was trying to read and having little success with–his brain injury was still preventing him from reading anything for very long. He smiled when he recognized Ron lounging against the door.
“You don’t have to knock,” he said. “Come in, come in.”
Ron looked tired and frustrated to Harry as he said, “I apologize for coming so late. There’s been some trouble and I need your help.”
Harry raised an eyebrow. “What’s up?”
“We caught one of the suspects,” he answered as he pulled one of the chairs from the table over to Harry’s bedside and straddled it.
Harry put his book aside and turned his body to see all of Ron. “Brilliant... but you’re not happy about it?”
“Nope. Another victim’s been added to the list. A fifteen-year-old Ravenclaw boy by the name of Brian Nelson. He fell off his broom during Quidditch practice earlier in the week and was recovering nicely in Stilwell’s ward until someone decided to poke ten needles into his back, just like they did you.”
Harry swore loudly. “That poor kid! What’s been done for him?”
“The same operation Healer Stilwell did on you to extract the needles. He’ll do his rehab here at The Groves. They’ve put him in Room Three,” Ron reported with a long-suffering sigh.
Harry closed his eyes. He knew exactly what the teenager was and would be going through in the next few days. “What can I do, Ron?” he asked finally.
“Would you talk to Brian and his parents? They’re all scared and angry and feeling very helpless at the moment. They have one person to blame, the Matron’s Assistant we arrested in the ward, but the fact that there are others still at large just terrifies them,” Ron said, looking hopeful.
“Of course I’ll talk to them,” Harry said. Between the letters from his children and now the prospect of helping Brian Nelson back to health, he was suddenly filled with the urge to help himself more than he had been doing lately. One way he could accomplish this was to answer any questions the Nelson family might have. “Are they in Brian’s room now?”
“Isn’t it almost bedtime?” Ron asked.
Harry chuckled. “We don’t have lights-out here like we did at Hogwarts, Ron. Visiting hours end about now, because the staff needs to make their potions rounds undisturbed,” he said as he positioned his slide board between his wheelchair and the bed and slid into the chair. “C’mon, the least you can do is introduce me to the parents, even if Brian hasn’t awakened from the anaesthesia potions.”
Ron stood up. “Harry, you’re amazing,” he said. “I wouldn’t have guessed six weeks ago that you’d be this independent so soon.”
Harry bowed his head. “Ron, I’m far from independent,” he murmured to his useless legs. “I still have so much to learn, so much to do to actually be ready to function away from this facility. I’m still not strong enough physically to take care of my most basic needs without help. I’m going to be here for months. I wouldn’t say that’s independent at all.”
Ron walked round the bed and knelt beside Harry. “You will be soon, Harry. I know it. I remember that helpless feeling from the Horcrux hunt, you know, when I let you and Hermione down when I left. But I found the courage to come back; I know you have that same courage somewhere inside. You’ll find it and use it just because of who you are,” he said sincerely.
Harry looked up at him. “Thanks for reminding me.” He waited to see if Ron would say anything else and when his friend didn’t, he added, “I’m ready. Are you?”
Ron stood and led the way up the corridor to Room Three. Harry waited out in the corridor until Ron beckoned him inside. The room was identical to Harry’s except that its window overlooked an enclosed courtyard. Brian, Harry saw, was still sedated, his parents keeping vigil on either side of his bed.
Mr Nelson rose from his chair as Harry rolled into the room. “Mr Potter, it’s so good of you to come,” he said.
Harry shook the proffered hand. “It’s the least I can do,” he replied. “I’m very sorry about what’s happened to Brian. Did Healer Stilwell give you any hope of his ever walking again?”
Mrs Nelson shook her head. “I’m afraid not,” she wailed softly.
“I can understand his reluctance, but don’t give up yet,” Harry found himself saying. “The physiotherapists are tops here as is the healing staff.”
“That’s good to know,” Mr Nelson commented. He hesitated and then asked, “Is... is Brian safe here? Can Erma and I leave at night and feel secure that no one is going to harm our son again?”
The plea went straight to Harry’s heart and from the looks of it, straight to Ron’s as well. Ron cleared his throat and the others looked over at where he was leaning against the door frame. “If you’d like me to set a guard detail on your son’s room, it can be arranged,” he said.
Harry smiled as the tension left Mr Nelson’s face. “You would do that for our Brian?” the distraught father asked.
“There’s someone outside Harry’s door round the clock, Mr Nelson,” Ron answered. “It won’t be any problem to assign a guard to Brian’s room as well.”
“I... we can’t afford the guard for very long,” Mr Nelson stammered. “Just for a few days...”
Ron cut him off. “There will be no charge to you at all,” he said as Harry nodded in agreement. “Because your son’s health was compromised by someone who deliberately wanted to victimize him, someone the Aurors are actively seeking, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is obligated to protect Brian from further harm.”
Mrs Nelson began weeping and her husband went to her. “Thank you, Auror Weasley. When can we expect the guard?”
“Most likely late tomorrow afternoon,” Ron said. “In the meantime, I’ll have Harry’s guard check in on Brian when he’s alone in the room and I’ll cast the same security enchantments on this room that have been cast on Harry’s before I leave tonight.”
Mrs Nelson sniffed loudly. “Thank you. I’ll feel better about leaving Brian here,” she murmured as she reached up to caress her son’s cheek.
“I’m out of my room for several hours each morning and afternoon working in the Physiotherapy room,” Harry volunteered. “It won’t be any trouble for my guard to walk across the corridor to protect Brian.” He beckoned Ron over and murmured, “Tell Robards I approved the guard and to assign someone immediately.”
Ron nodded. “Consider it done.”
Mr Nelson asked, “What can we expect to happen to Brian in the next few days?”
Harry said, “Healer Stilwell will establish several routines for Brian. Once he’s awake, and able to drink his potions, he’ll most likely be started on the same nerve regeneration potions I’m on...” He continued talking about what the Nelsons could expect and the progress Brian might make within the first week after waking. He ended by saying, “I would like your permission to talk to Brian whenever he needs to speak to someone a little more informed than he is. The therapists and Muggle psychologists are very understanding of our emotional needs, but there have been times when I’ve wished for someone who has actually gone through what I’m experiencing. Mrs Vaughn, the receptionist, is willing to talk when she has time, but that’s just it, sometimes it’s impossible for her to get away from her desk when you need her. I’d like to be the one who comes when Brian needs someone.”
Mrs Nelson came over and hugged Harry. He could tell how grateful she was as she sobbed, “Oh, Mr Potter, you’re as wonderful as everyone I’ve talked to says you are! Thank you so much!”
“It’s the least I can do, ma’am,” Harry murmured as he extricated himself from her embrace.
A musical chime sounded in the corridor. It was followed by the announcement, “Visiting hours are now concluded. All visitors are requested to leave within the next five minutes. Visiting hours will resume at half past ten tomorrow morning. Have a good evening and a safe journey home.”
Ron looked at Harry. “That means me. I’ll come by tomorrow if I can,” he said. He pulled out his wand and cast several security charms Harry recognized as the ones the Aurors usually cast to maintain a safe perimeter around the Minister for Magic’s hotel rooms when he went on official business.
“I’ll understand if you can’t. Your presence at the office is needed more than it is here,” Harry replied as the enchantments settled into place. The two soon bade Mr and Mrs Nelson good night with Harry promising to check up on Brian as his schedule permitted.
At Harry’s door, Ron commented, “I really appreciate your help, Harry.”
Harry glanced over his shoulder at Room Three one last time. “Good night. Tell Hermione I said ‘hello.’”
The two parted and Harry spoke to his guard, asking him keep an eye on Brian Nelson’s room as well. Then he went to his desk to compose a letter.
*
Saturday, 5 December 2020
Two owls descended from the multitude and came to rest in front of James’s breakfast plate. He recognized both owls; the first, Quaffle, belonged to his mother and the second was his father’s grey owl, Snitch, who was temporarily living in the Owlery at The Groves. He saw that Quaffle had letters from his mother to Albus and Lily as well as for him, so he quickly untied his and sent the barn owl down the table to his siblings. Snitch waited patiently and then stuck out its leg, her head cocked at a rather funny angle that made James laugh as he accepted its letter. He gave Snitch a piece of bacon and told her to find the Owlery.
His mother’s letter was full of news that only she could provide; insider’s information on what had really happened when the Kenmare Kestrals’ Beater had punched the Wimbourne Wasps Keeper and the like. James scanned the letter quickly, chuckling at her paragraph about the insider’s gossip about the Canons’ latest player dismissals, and then put it aside to open the other envelope.
Dearest James,
It is with a very heavy heart that I write this letter to you tonight. The reason for my sadness is the discovery of another victim of the group of criminals who caused my paralysis. The patient’s name is Brian Nelson. He’s a Ravenclaw in your year and you may have heard about his accident during Quidditch practice several days ago. According to your Uncle Ron, Brian was healing quickly in the same ward I was in at St Mungo’s until late this morning when someone decided to experiment on him.
Brian is now a resident at The Groves. I just spent nearly an hour with his parents answering their questions and trying to give them hope. They are shattered emotionally, not only because of Brian’s first accident, but because someone deliberately singled their son out as a guinea pig... just like they did the first Auror who would fall into their pit.
Tomorrow, I am going to spend as much time as I can with Brian and his parents. Your mum told me you’re planning to visit me after Quidditch practice tomorrow, so I wanted you to know where to find me. Brian is in Room Three, just across the corridor from my room. He should be awake by then and I think he could really use a friend his own age who isn’t going to be terrified of him and his injuries.
I look forward to your visit.
Sincerely,
Dad
James read the letter a second time, his heart in his throat. He felt so guilty for being happy that Brian was in hospital earlier in the week. He had been looking forward to the Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw match next Saturday, but now he knew he couldn’t watch the match without regretting his selfish thoughts.
With a huge sigh, he pushed his breakfast away and swung his legs over the bench to go back upstairs to change for practice. He didn’t get very far because Kendra was suddenly sitting on the bench beside him.
“James, bad news?” she asked.
He nodded and handed her his dad’s letter.
“Poor Brian!” she exclaimed softly as she handed it back. “You’re going this afternoon, right?”
“Yeah, and I feel guilty as hell for thinking that it was a good thing Madam Pomfrey shipped Brian off to St Mungo’s. I thought his being gone would even out the teams more,” he said.
Kendra grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet. “You had no way of knowing Brian would be the next victim, so stop feeling guilty,” she chided as she led him out into the Entrance Hall and up the marble staircase.
“But...” sputtered James.
“No buts, love,” Kendra said with a mysterious smile on her face. “You’re going to get ready for practice and get rid of all that guilt by zinging that Quaffle so hard at the goal hoops Brett won’t be able to stop them. Then after practice, we’re going to The Groves together.”
James stopped in his tracks. “You’re coming with me?” he asked.
Kendra squeezed his hand. “Yes. Your dad wrote to Professor Longbottom and asked that I be given permission to come with you,” she reported happily. “We’re staying at your grandparents’ house tonight so we won’t have to rush back here and can even spend an hour or two with your dad again tomorrow. My bag’s already packed.”
James couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. “Then I’d better get crackin’,” he quipped as he picked up the pace.
“Yep, you better,” Kendra laughed as they emerged from the stairs onto the seventh floor corridor.
The Fat Lady admitted them to the tower and James took the steps to his dorm two at a time. As angry as he felt over Brian’s injury, he knew today’s practice was going to be a good one: Kendra’s idea made sense and he was suddenly looking forward to giving Brett a workout.
Chapter 11: 11: Courage
Author's Notes: More at the bottom. Otherwise, I'll give the chapter away. Happy reading!
1315 hours, Saturday, 5 December 2020
James held Kendra’s hand as they exited the Transportation Room. She smiled at him, and he felt some of his nervousness fall away.
“When we’re done talking to Brian, would you give me a tour, please?” Kendra asked as they walked along. “I’ve never been to a rehab hospital before and I’d like to see as much as I can.”
“Maybe Dad would go with us. I’m not sure whether we can wander the corridors without an adult,” James answered.
Kendra nodded and the two turned left into a corridor lined with doorways. James pointed out his dad’s room as they passed it and continued on to Room Three, where they were stopped by a Ministry guard dressed in a Muggle uniform. After telling the guard who they were, they were allowed to approach the room. The door was open, but James knocked on the frame just the same.
An unfamiliar voice called, “Come in,” and the two teens stepped into the room. James was relieved when the first person he saw was his dad who was fully dressed in trousers, a collared shirt and one of Grandmum’s hand-knit jumpers.
“Hi Dad,” he said, looking around. He recognized Brian immediately and decided the two adults sitting on either side of Brian’s bed were Mr and Mrs Nelson.
His dad rolled forward and the two shook hands. “It’s good to see you, son. Let me introduce you and Kendra to the Nelsons.”
With the formal introductions out of the way, Mr Nelson conjured two more chairs and the adults moved away from the bed to give the three teens a modicum of privacy.
Brian broke the awkward silence that had settled between them first. “Thanks for coming,” he said. His voice was weak and didn’t sound to James like it belonged to the bloke he knew from Arithmancy and Ancient Runes.
“I’m glad you wanted us to come,” Kendra said.
“We thought about bringing you the assignments we’ve been given since you left Hogwarts,” James said shyly, “but we didn’t know whether you’d feel up to writing all the essays.”
Brian frowned. “No, I’m not ready for essays yet. It’s been less than a week since... I’d hoped–” he broke off, closing his eyes and swallowing convulsively.
Kendra leaned forward and took Brian’s hand. “Brian, I’m just glad you’re alive,” she said. “So are your housemates. They asked me to bring them back a report on how you’re doing.”
Brian bit his lip. “I... I won’t be doing any flying for a while,” he said sadly.
James tried to change the subject. “Do you want to come back to school?”
“Eventually, I reckon, but I’m told I won’t be released from here until I learn to live without...” Brian took a shuddering breath, as if he was barely holding onto his emotions. “...withoutmylegs.” The last three words came out in a rush as he turned his head away.
James exchanged glances with Kendra. Then, he said to Brian, “It’s all right to be sad about your injuries, mate. My dad says you have to grieve the loss of your legs just like you would if one of your parents died.”
“That’s... that’s what it feels like,” Brian choked in response. Two fat tears slid down his cheeks and he swiped at them with his hand.
Mrs Nelson tapped James on the shoulder and held out a handkerchief when James looked round at her. He took it and gave it to Brian. The other boy tried to joke as he said, “With as many of these as my mum has handed me in the last week, my dad would be rich if he manufactured these instead of Quidditch equipment.”
The remark sparked James’ interest and soon he and Kendra and Brian were deeply engaged in a discussion of their favourite sport.
*
Harry glanced over at the three teens and had to smile. They had been talking animatedly for over a half hour, for which he was very grateful. After the first awkward moments when it seemed the three wouldn’t have anything in common and Brian too emotionally fragile to sustain a conversation, they had settled into an easy rapport which in turn had put Mr and Mrs Nelson more at ease.
Unfortunately, it looked to Harry as if Brian was tiring. He vaguely remembered the first few days after his own operation, but most of that time was lost in a haze of grogginess. He decided to interrupt.
Excusing himself from his conversation with Mr and Mrs Nelson, he rolled over to the bed just as Brian yawned spectacularly. Addressing James and Kendra, he said, “I think it’s time I gave you two a tour of the facility. We can come back in a couple of hours if Brian says it’s all right,” he said, making eye contact with the boy in the bed.
“Would you come back?” he asked James and Kendra.
“Sure thing, mate,” James answered at the same time Kendra said, “Of course.”
“Then it’s settled,” Harry said. He looked at his watch. “We’ll be back around half past four.” They bid the Nelson family good-bye and Harry led the way out into the corridor.
“What do you want to look at first?” Harry asked as they turned towards the Matron’s station.
“Whatever you’d like to show us,” Kendra piped up. “I’ve never been in a rehab hospital before.”
Harry glanced out a window and was startled to see the sun was shining. “How about if we do the inside tour first and then find me a coat so I can show you round the grounds,” he suggested.
Both James and Kendra were agreeable, so Harry led the way round the facility, showing them his favourite places, including the library and the PT Room. He tried not to laugh at some of the questions he was asked, treating each one seriously because Kendra was not as well-versed in Muggle living situations as his son was.
Eventually, they found themselves back where they started and Harry zipped into his room to find the anorak Ginny had left in the wardrobe for him. When he turned the corner towards the door to the garden, he caught James kissing Kendra behind one of the potted palms that flanked the exit. Smiling to himself, he said nothing and led the way out onto the grounds.
The Groves was surrounded by cement pathways that led to the rose garden and continued on round the building to the therapy grounds. Several more paths led past the next corner of the building to the lawn and football pitch. This was where Harry was headed. Silvia had had him practicing on the cement ramps, curbs and steps this past week and he wanted to show James his new skills.
“You’re getting good,” James said as Harry successfully negotiated a series of three steps and then safely rolled down a ramp backwards.
“Thanks. Silvia guarantees that by the time I leave here I will be able to go anywhere a walking person does,” Harry told them.
The look on James’ face prompted Harry to ask, “What’s wrong, son?”
James didn’t look at him, instead, choosing to let his eyes wander over the snow-covered walking track. “I... you...” he struggled to express the thought. Harry waited patiently as Kendra slipped her hand into James’. “You’re never going to walk again, are you?” he finally blurted.
The sorrow in his son’s voice cut Harry to the quick. “No, son, I never will,” he said quietly.
“Why does it have to be you?” James suddenly yelled. “Why does it have to be Brian?” He turned to face his father, and Harry could see the pain his son was experiencing written on his face. “You’re good people. You’ve tried to keep the world safe and Brian’s only fifteen! It’s not fair!”
Harry closed his eyes and inhaled shakily. He hated being a parent at times like this when he felt so overwhelmed himself. “Oh, James, I wish I could tell you life was fair, but the truth is, it isn’t. You’ve seen first hand that bad things happen to good people and good things happen to bad people. That’s just how life works. The things that happen to us aren’t what define us; it’s how we react to what life gives us that we are remembered for.”
James bit his lip and walked away a few paces, his head bowed, and Harry knew he was crying. He glanced over at Kendra, who was fumbling in her pocket for something, tears streaming down her own cheeks. Finally, his voice so soft and defeated that Harry nearly didn’t hear the question, James asked, “What am I supposed to do, Dad?”
“Exactly what you’ve been doing, son,” Harry said, rolling up beside James. “All those letters you sent me helped me a great deal and I looked forward to your visit today more than you know.” He paused, gathering his thoughts. “I know your going to see Brian made a difference to him, too. He needs to know someone accepts him as a normal person instead of a freak. Your friendship will help him accept what’s happened to him so he can move on with his life instead of becoming embittered over it.”
Kendra asked, “Will writing to him help? I know his housemates want to do something for him.” She’d come to stand on James’ other side and the two now had their arms around each other.
Harry smiled at her. “Letters will help, Kendra. In a place like this, it’s easy to feel as if the world has forgotten you. Being reminded that you have friends who care about you helps make that feeling go away.”
James turned towards Harry, his face blotchy and eyes red. He sniffed and then said, “I get that what we’re doing helps the two of you, but... it doesn’t help me much. I’m still so angry right now I want to hit something!”
Harry smiled. “I know that feeling quite well, son. Come with me. I have an idea that just might help.”
He led the way up a ramp to a door in the side of the building. It was open, as were all the doors at The Groves during the day, although since it was an outside door, it was monitored by a new surveillance camera. (Humphrey Webber, the director of the facility, had personally visited all the patients to tell them about the new system a few weeks ago, making a point to emphasize the safety aspects of it. Harry suspected that the boot prints outside his window were the impetus for the new levels of security.) Harry heard the camera swivel and focus on them as they entered the Physiotherapy Room, but ignored it all the same: his focus was on his son’s pain and his own desire to help him cope with it.
“I think you’ll enjoy punching this,” he said, leading the way over to boxing area. He found a pair of gloves that looked like they’d fit James and helped him into them. Then, he found a pair for himself. As he put them on, he said to James, “I come in here a lot when I’m frustrated. I prefer the speed bag, but I have a feeling you’ll get more satisfaction out of the punching bag. Go on, stand in front of it and give it a slug.”
James gave him a look and half-heartedly swung his fist at the bag.
“I thought you were angry,” Harry commented. “If you’re angry, hit it like this.” He rolled close to the big bag and cocked his right arm back, then plunged it forward until it connected with a satisfying thump. The bag swung backwards with the impact.
His eyes wide, James exclaimed, “Whoa! I didn’t know you could do that, Dad!”
Harry grinned. “I told you I come in here often. Now it’s your turn. Pretend the bag is whatever you’re angry at.”
James tried again, this time connecting with both fists. The bag swung a little as Harry encouraged his son to keep going. He did and soon had the bag swinging slowly with the rhythm of his punches. Harry smiled his approval and rolled away from the bag to watch his son work out his frustrations. A glance at Kendra made him smile because James’ girlfriend no longer looked sad and angry. She caught Harry’s eye with a look that told him she’d watch over her boyfriend.
Satisfied that James was going to be all right, Harry rolled over to a speed bag mounted on the wall at wheelchair height and began hitting it. His reasons for taking his aggressions out on the bag were similar to James’: mainly, he was angry at the nameless people who had deliberately wounded their innocent victims before dumping them in the alley near St Mungo’s and then purposely targeted the Aurors and an innocent teenaged boy. He swung his fists, slowly gathering speed as he reflected on how ill some of his Aurors and the other victims had been; a few had been near death from their infected wounds until an antidote for the poison in their bodies had been discovered. He was frustrated, too, at how slowly the investigation was going. His punches picked up speed as he thought about how annoying it was to know so little about who was involved in the crimes. He knew Ron was doing the best he could with the small amount of evidence he had collected, but the fact remained that the three suspects who held all the keys to this mystery weren’t talking.
By now, his fists were flying at the bag with such speed and precision that Harry was working up a sweat. He closed his eyes as visions of his extended family came to mind; he knew they had been emotionally upset by his accident, especially his children who had felt so helpless while he brooded for so long. Feeling like he wanted to scream at the injustice of it all, he kept punching the speed bag until his arm muscles screamed for him to stop. He kept going…
A whispered conversation brought him back to his senses and he brought his arms down, stopping the bag between his gloved fists. The look of admiration on James’ face made him smile.
“Whoa, Dad, that thing was nearly smoking!” he exclaimed.
“Yep, and I feel better than I did a few minutes ago. What about you?” Harry asked.
James looked at the floor and sighed. “I do, too.”
Harry took off his gloves and put them back. “I’m glad you do, son,” he said. He picked up another pair of smaller gloves. “Kendra, do you want to try?”
She shook her head. “No, sir. I’ve already told James’ Gran I’d help her make dinner tonight. I’m making steak pinwheels that I have to flatten with a meat mallet. I have a feeling the meat is going to be very tender tonight,” she said, making them all laugh.
Harry looked at his watch. “Want to go see if Brian’s awake?” he asked.
James and Kendra said they did, so they tidied the area and headed towards the magical section of The Groves. However, when they reached Brian’s room, he was still sleeping, so the teens told Mr and Mrs Nelson they’d come back in the morning. A few minutes after that, they bid Harry good-bye at the Transportation Room fireplace.
“We’ll see you tomorrow morning, Dad,” James said as he held out a small bag of Floo Powder to Kendra.
“I look forward to it.”
With one last wave each, James and Kendra disappeared into the Floo, heading for The Burrow. Harry leaned back in his chair watching the flames die down. He had a lot of thinking to do before James and Kendra returned tomorrow.
*
Monday, 7 December 2020, 1030 hours
Harry was afraid. It seemed he was afraid of a lot of things lately, but what Silvia wanted him to do today absolutely terrified him. What he was afraid of was swimming. He’d always known his swimming skills were rudimentary at best, non-existent at worst. Now, perched on the side of the chest-deep therapy pool Harry had no idea how he was going to stay afloat with his useless legs dragging him down to the bottom of the pool.
Silvia swam up towing a stack of polyurethane foam shapes tied together by their nylon straps. After placing the stack on the pool deck near Harry, she tilted her head and eyed him critically. “What’s going on in your head, Harry?” she asked. “You’re scowling.”
“I’m fine,” he mumbled.
“Nope. I think not. I think you’re not fine and fighting desperately to avoid doing whatever it is you’re afraid of.”
Harry looked away. He hated it when people like Silvia, Hermione and Ginny could see through his lies. “I’m fine,” he insisted.
Silvia hoisted herself up on the deck next to him and sat dangling her feet in the water. “And I’m a dinosaur,” she said.
“News to me,” he mumbled.
They sat in silence for a while. Silvia kicked her legs, splashing water into the middle of the pool. Harry tried to imitate her and with a huge effort, was able to straighten his left leg a tiny bit. Encouraged, he tried with the right, but met with less success. He had to be satisfied that he could at least tell the difference in the air and water temperatures with that leg.
“Come on, Harry,” Silvia said, jumping back into the water. “Let’s swim.”
“NO!”
“Why?”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. You know the freestyle stroke, don’t you?” Silvia asked with a raised eyebrow.
Harry’s face felt molten. He couldn’t look at Silvia as he muttered, “Never took lessons.”
Silvia surprised him when she smiled. “How fortunate for me, then,” she said. “Now I won’t have to contend with your bad habits because you have none.” She turned to face him and held out her arms. “Lean forward until I catch you. The first lesson is to relax in the water. I promise not to drop you.”
Harry hesitated. You’ll drown. Silvia won’t catch you and you’ll sink to the bottom and not be able to get to the surface, an irrational voice in his head said.
A second, more rational voice countered, Trust her. Trust her like you have the last few weeks. She won’t let you drown.
Harry closed his eyes, reached for her and leaned forward far enough to fall into the pool. Silvia’s protective arms were instantly around him. He felt his legs sink to the bottom as his body straightened and he panicked. “I can’t do this,” he protested as he tightened his arms around her neck and hung on for dear life.
Silvia murmured in his ear, “I’ve got you, Harry. Loosen your grip. You’re choking me.”
Harry tried to loosen his grip, but his fear wouldn’t allow him to relax. Then he felt Silvia move and suddenly, his back was pressed up against the side of the pool.
“You can let go now, Harry,” Silvia’s calming tones sounded in his ear.
Reluctantly, he let go with one hand and groped behind him for the rim of the pool. He breathed a sigh of relief as his hand closed on the cement overhang. He still had one arm firmly crooked around Silvia’s neck, though.
“I want to get out,” Harry demanded stubbornly.
“What are you afraid of?” Silvia asked.
“Sinking. Drowning. Not breathing.”
“I won’t let you drown. It’s not worth all the paperwork,” Silvia said, making him chuckle in spite of himself. “Hang on a moment...” She took a breath and sank under the water, leaving Harry holding nothing with the arm that had been around her. However, she still maintained her hold on his torso, helping him to keep his head above the water.
“Do you trust me not to let you drown?” she asked when she surfaced again.
Harry closed his eyes. He knew what his rational mind had told him. He knew he would drown if he didn’t relax; he couldn’t hang on to the edge of the pool forever... “I trust you. Give me a minute,” he finally said and took that long or longer to breathe through his fear. “All right,” he finally acquiesced. “What do you have in mind?”
Silvia smiled and told him what she wanted him to do. It required him to let go of the edge of the pool, a small feat of mind over muscle. When he finally did let go, he found himself on his back, with his head on Silvia’s shoulder and her hands supporting his back so that he floated near the surface. It took all of his will and a great deal of reassurance from Silvia for him to finally relax and enjoy the sensation of the water flowing against his skin.
“What are you thinking?” Silvia asked after two circuits of the pool.
“It’s not as scary as I thought.”
“Good. What do you know about swimming?”
“It’s supposedly good exercise. Erm, it’s an Olympic sport. And…you have to propel yourself through the water using your arms and legs.”
“Specifically, what do you know about swimming from watching the telly and watching other people swim?”
“That I can’t do it.”
“Do you want to learn?”
He hesitated. “I guess I do.”
Silvia took him to the steps in one corner of the pool and sat him on the fourth step down, so that just his head and shoulders were above the water.
“Are you afraid to put your face in the water?” she asked. “I know some people are.”
“I’m not,” Harry said, thinking of the Second Task of the Triwizard Tournament.
“Then, let’s start with that.” Silvia demonstrated what she wanted him to do and soon Harry had his face completely in the water and was blowing bubbles like his children had done as toddlers in the bath.
Finally, he looked up at her and said, “I feel silly.”
“Good. You’re ready for more in-the-middle time, I think. Let me get a couple of things,” she said and she swam down to her pile of foam objects and brought back two. She strapped one between his legs, which immediately rose toward the surface. The second she strapped around his middle; when he leaned forward it supported his upper body so that his head stayed above the water.
Something clicked in Harry’s head as Silvia towed him towards the opposite end of the pool. He put his head down and then turned it to the side to take a breath as he’d seen swimmers do on the telly.
“Can I try using my arms?” he asked as they reached the opposite end.
Silvia turned him around. “Of course, let me get out of the way.” He felt her push him ahead a little. “Go for it, Harry.”
He took several strokes before he ran out of breath, opened his mouth and sucked in a whole lot of water. Coughing and spitting out water, he somehow flipped himself onto his back and found his head back on Silvia’s shoulder.
“Not too shabby for your first time, Harry, but do remember to turn your head to take that breath,” Silvia’s voice sounded in his ear. “I think you know more about swimming than you think you do. Let me know when you’re ready to try again.”
“I will,” Harry spluttered. He closed his eyes and willed his breathing back to normal, even though the mouth full of water had scared him enough to consider quitting.
He did try again with more success. It was hard work, but the longer he swam, the easier it became. At the end of his allotted time in the water, Harry found it amusing that Silvia had to coax him out of the pool just as she had to get him into it in the first place. Harry felt he’d accomplished something: with Silvia’s help, he’d conquered his fear and was determined to do better.
That evening, he wrote letters to James, Lily and Albus telling them he was learning to swim.
*
A/N: During the writing of this chapter, I encountered several people who commented on how sad it was that Harry’s swimming skills were so poor. They seemed very happy that his therapist would take the time to teach him the skill not only to keep him safe if he should fall into water deeper than his waist or another method of strengthening his muscles, but to give him an activity to share with his children. The methods Silvia employed to help Harry relax were used by my son’s swimming teacher long ago to help him become comfortable in the water. He’s long past these basic skills and has been swimming for the last year on a swim team in our area. (You can’t tell I’m a proud mother, right?)
I have several thank yous to say, starting with my beta, Aggiebell. I appreciate her comments which caused me to rewrite a major section of the chapter. I think it’s better for her criticism and questions, even though it took extra time to do the rewrites. Also, thank you to my pre-beta team or Jedi34, RSS, Mutt n Feathers, Rosina Ferguson and RebeccaRipple for reading, commenting and questioning my motives in several places. Your encouragement keeps me going and wanting to make each chapter the best it can be.
Chapter 12: 12: Breakthrough
Author's Notes: I've written an extensive author's note at the end of this chapter. As with last week's chapter, if I put it here, I'd give the content of the chapter away. However, I must warn you that the second section may be a little disturbing to those with weak stomachs. It's an important part of the story, so I hope you can stick with it. That said, I will now take the opportunity to thank my pre-beta team of Jedi34, RebeccaRipple, RSS and Mutt n Feathers for all their hard work. Thank you, too, to Aggiebell for encouraging me to rewrite certain sections for clarity and readability. I appreciate the little prods in her comments that get me thinking about how to convey my ideas better. I hope you enjoy the chapter an let me know how you feel about it.
Tuesday, 8 December 2020, 1445 hours
It felt very strange to be walking into a Muggle medical facility. Even though he’d done so on several occasions in the past to visit sick employees, he'd never done it to visit a friend. That the friend he was visiting today had once been a bitter rival still amazed Draco Malfoy more than he was willing to admit. Time and circumstance did strange things to a person...
He started when the glass and metal front doors of The Groves automatically parted at his approach. He’d have to ask Harry about this bit of Muggle magic, although he probably wouldn’t because he didn’t want to admit his ignorance of the Muggle world.
Nervously, he approached the reception desk.
“May I help you, sir?” the receptionist asked, and Draco noticed she sat in a wheelchair. She also had a wand lying close at hand on her desk and Draco wondered whether it was charmed to look like a letter opener to Muggle visitors.
“Erm, yes. I’m here to see Harry Potter. Can you direct me to his room?” Draco asked stiffly, hoping his nervousness wasn’t showing.
“One moment.” The receptionist rolled over to her computer and looked over her shoulder at Draco. “Name, please? I must check it against Mr Potter’s Approved Visitors List.”
Draco told her and was surprised when the receptionist’s next question was, “Muggle or Wizard?”
Relieved that he seemed to be on the list, Draco leaned closer to the woman and nearly whispered, “Wizard, ma’am. Why do you need to know?”
The receptionist tapped rapidly on her computer keyboard as she answered, “We have a no-wands rule for our magical visitors here at The Groves. I must register your wand, and after I give it back, you will not be able to use it inside the facility without us knowing. It’s standard procedure since security was tightened a few months back.” She held out her hand. “Your wand, please, Mr Malfoy.”
Reluctantly, Draco handed it over and watched as his wand was weighed in much the same manner as it had been the first time he visited the Ministry with his father. When he received it back, he stowed it carefully in its pocket in his jacket and not for the first time today was he glad he’d taken the time to put on a Muggle three-piece suit.
The receptionist now smiled at him. “Thank you for your patience,” she said. “Mr Potter is in Room Ten of the Magical Ward. Follow the blue line past the Matron’s station and turn right. Mr Potter’s room is the last one on the left before the exit. You’ll need to give your name to the guard. I’ve already alerted him that you are coming.”
Wondering when she’d had time to alert the guard and how she’d done so, Draco murmured “Thank you” as he turned to follow the blue line in the floor. When he had last received an owl from Ginny Potter, she had not mentioned the heightened security and he wondered what it meant. As he walked, Draco felt as if he’d been transported back in time twenty years and was going to visit his father in Azkaban Prison.
His apprehension had not abated by the time he entered Harry’s room–the guard outside had given him no trouble, but he still felt self-conscious. For a moment, he stood in the doorway, not bothering to knock, taking in the small room. Its functional furnishings seemed ordinary enough, but the sight of his friend sitting in a Muggle wheelchair brought all the rumours and several very bad memories into sharp clarity. Draco briefly closed his eyes, silently cursing whoever had hurt his friend: he knew that most people never, ever stood up by themselves once they were relegated to a wheelchair. His raggedly inhaled breath alerted Harry to his presence.
Harry looked up from the parchments he was reviewing at the table. “Draco! Ginny told me you were on my visitors list. This is a pleasant surprise!” he exclaimed as his face lit up and he gestured to the two overstuffed chairs underneath the window. “Come in, come in. You’ve caught me at a good time.”
Draco entered and sat in one of the indicated chairs. “Nice room,” he commented just to say something. His brain seemed to have vacated his head all of a sudden.
Harry hurriedly closed the file and then transferred himself from his wheelchair to the other overstuffed chair with a small “oof!” as he slid off a board onto the cushion. Draco had to remind himself not to stare at his friend; he knew it was rude and that Harry probably didn’t want to be gawked at, but his own curiosity was too strong not to stare.
“You seem to be adapting well,” Draco commented when Harry was settled.
Harry cast a glance at his wheelchair, his face registering several unreadable emotions at once. “I’m... coping,” he said. Then, with a forced-sounding laugh he added, “You know, Draco, I promised Ginny eight months ago that I’d stop going on missions and let the younger, eager-to-prove-themselves Aurors endanger their lives. Well, it took a fall down some stairs and a bump on the head to knock some sense into me... I’m perfectly safe and Ginny’s perfectly happy now.”
Draco didn’t know what to say in response, he was so taken-aback by Harry’s morbid joking. How can Harry scoff at being hurt? he wondered as he cast about the room for inspiration. He used Harry’s file as an excuse to make small talk. “I see you’ve gone back to work,” he observed. “Did they give you desk duty pushing parchment until you can come back to the office?”
Harry glanced over his shoulder. “That? I wish it was work-related, but it isn’t. Actually, I was revising for a test on wheelchair maintenance my physiotherapist is giving me later this afternoon,” he explained.
Slightly bewildered, Draco asked, “Then why did you say I’d caught you at a good time?”
“You’re the best excuse to skive off the revision I’ve had all day,” Harry chuckled, making Draco feel a little more at ease.
“What would your wife say?” Draco asked.
“Ginny? She’d tell me to enjoy myself and then do my best on the test with what I’ve already learned,” Harry answered. “Unfortunately, I really do need to be proficient at caring for my wheels. I never was very fast on the Muggle roller skates my cousin Dudley left in his second bedroom. He had a tendency to roll through mud puddles and then forget to clean the wheels when we were growing up. If I don’t want old ladies to out-sprint me, I’ll have to know how to keep the chair in better repair than Dudley’s old skates were in.”
“Roller... skates? Your cousin? Why are you bringing them up?” Draco sputtered.
Harry shrugged and changed the subject. “How’s the family? Ginny said she saw Asteria in Diagon Alley the other day, and they decided to have tea together on the spur of the moment.”
“Asteria’s good,” Draco commented, feeling a flood of affection for his spirited wife. “She seemed to have enjoyed Ginny’s company last week, especially when your wife dragged her into the new lingerie shop that opened across from The Magical Menagerie for a bit of ‘exploration,’” Draco added with a smirk.
Harry raised an eyebrow. “Do you know if Ginny bought anything?”
“How should I know? Asteria said they were Christmas shopping!”
“Oh... well... erm...” Harry sputtered, making Draco snicker.
“Sorry if I spoiled her surprise,” he said.
“It won’t be a surprise very long if Ginny shows Lily what she purchased,” Harry chuckled, sounding more relaxed. “When it comes to presents, my daughter couldn’t keep a secret even if you paid her.”
Draco smiled and wondered what it must be like to have a daughter as Harry changed the subject, “James and his girlfriend came to see me last Saturday.”
“I wasn’t aware Professor Wolcott gave students permission to leave the school at weekends,” Draco observed.
“Normally, he doesn’t, but I’d requested that James and Kendra both be given permission because another Hogwarts student is now a resident here,” Harry explained. “Our healer thought it might benefit his young patient if he had visitors his age, so I wrote to the headmaster and he agreed the two could come.”
“I’d heard one of the Ravenclaw Quidditch players had taken a tumble. Is your healer’s new patient the student who was hurt?”
“Yes. He’s also a victim of the same criminals who hurt me.” There was an angry edge to Harry’s voice that Draco had never heard before. However, the moment passed and he added in a much calmer tone, “It just makes me so angry...”
“I can imagine. Do you think James’ visit helped?” Draco asked, genuinely concerned.
Harry smiled and glanced out the door. “I talked to the boy’s parents yesterday and they want James and Kendra to come back this coming weekend. But what really helped was the packet of letters that arrived at noon today. I was with Brian and his parents when it was delivered. A letter James wrote told Brian that not only were his Ravenclaw housemates asking where they could send their letters, but students from other houses were inquiring as well. Brian had about twenty letters to read this afternoon, all from friends at Hogwarts.”
“I hope the letter-writing campaign stays strong for him,” Draco commented sincerely.
“I do, too,” Harry agreed.
As they continued to talk about their families, Draco began to relax and really enjoy himself. He realized that even though Harry had been hurt, the accident hadn’t taken away the man Draco had slowly come to respect and call his friend over the last twenty years. He was glad, because Harry had always treated him with kindness and respect when no one else would in the aftermath of the war. Now he wondered if it would be his turn to support Harry once he left the shelter of this hospital and re-entered the Wizarding world.
“I had a letter the other day from Scorpius,” Draco said. “He’s still talking about the prank someone played back in November when they fumigated all of the Quidditch changing rooms with itching powder. He and his mates wanted to know how it was done so they could try it at home, heaven forbid.”
“Have they figured it out?” Harry asked. “James and Albus wrote to me about that, too.”
“No, not yet, but they have a fairly good idea because Madam Hooch caught James with some sneezing powder capsules...
“... that his Uncle George gave him,” Harry finished for him. “Yes, I know all about that. The last time George was here he was going on and on about how popular his new Wheeze was going to be when it comes out next weekend. He mentioned you.”
Surprised, Draco muttered, “He did?”
“Uh-huh. He’s rather proud of the fact that you gave him the best price for both the sneezing and itching powders he’s using in his products. He likes the quality of your products, too.”
Draco couldn’t help but grin. “Good. He’s cleaned out my entire supply of both products for the next few months. It’ll take that long to manufacture enough to keep him steadily supplied with enough left over for my other customers.”
Harry grinned back. “That sounds like a brilliant dilemma, Draco. George is ecstatic his invention has worked so well. He credits his success to your products.”
Draco felt his ears heat up. “I’m flattered, Harry, and I’m hoping to get more contracts like George’s in the near future,” he admitted.
“I do, too. Erm, I take it your father-in-law finally let you buy him out?”
“He did. I’m the sole owner of ‘Importations Magique, Inc.’ now. He still comes in once a month to help me with inventory and strangely enough, it’s nice to have his guidance,” Draco admitted. He knew he’d never say such a thing to anyone else because, to him, it was almost an admission of weakness. However, Draco only felt comfortable admitting this to Harry because he knew Harry would never divulge the contents of their conversation without first asking for permission.
“So... how does it feel to be the lone occupant of the Manager’s office?” Harry asked with a smirk.
“Brilliant, scary, mind-numbing and exciting all at the same time,” Draco confessed, knowing that Harry would keep his confidence. “I still can’t believe Lyndon Greengrass believed in me enough to sell me his company. I’m terrified the economy is going to go into recession and no one will buy my products because the price of transporting the goods will force an increase in prices. But at the same time, I feel like all the frantic scrambling to find a place for myself is finally over. I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished and don’t intend to lose what I’ve worked for.”
“I felt the same way when Old Man Robards retired and the Minister hired me in his place,” Harry said. He added sincerely, “I’m happy for you, Draco. I hope business continues to be good.”
“Thanks,” Draco murmured, sincerely touched. He hadn’t been fishing for compliments or well-wishes, but when they were freely given as these had been, he felt more confident than usual. He felt that now as he said, “Harry, I need your help with something. You’re the only Auror who takes me seriously and doesn’t revile me, even after all these years.”
His serious tone caught Harry’s attention. “What can I do for you?”
“I own a warehouse in North Woolwich, down by the river. It’s where my main office is because most of the goods I purchase overseas come on shore there. The last few weeks I’ve been detained much later than usual–last week something kept me late at the office four nights out of five. Normally, it’s quiet between midnight and two o’clock, but recently the Muggle police have been called about incidents with no real explanation for why they’re occurring.”
“What sorts of incidents?”
“Well, two weeks ago, someone was dumped in a doorway and left for dead several blocks from my warehouse. Not that unusual for the neighbourhood, but the body had strange marks on it that caught the attention of the police and warehouse owners alike. Then a week later someone called the police because one of the other managers heard screaming. They found nothing, but I’ve heard the sounds, too. There have been several other unexplained disturbances, and I’ve discovered they all seem to be coming from a building located at this address.” Draco handed Harry a piece of parchment. “It’s half a block from my warehouse, and near enough that I can see into the upper windows from my office.”
“I know the area,” Harry commented. “Not a place you want to stick around after dark.”
Draco had to agree. “Twenty years ago, when I first started working for Lyndon, the neighbourhood wasn’t so bad, but now it’s become a bit rough.”
“Yes, I can see why you might be concerned,” Harry said. “Has the MLE Squad been called in yet?”
Draco shook his head. “No, because the Muggle police think the warehouse in question is abandoned when it really isn’t. Someone started using the building at night about six weeks ago.”
“Only at night?”
“Yes.”
Harry mumbled something under his breath and slid back into his wheelchair, this time groaning a little. He looked up at Draco as he fastened his safety belt and said, “Usually, when one gets old, it’s the eyes that go first before the legs give out. In my case, the legs went before the eyes.”
That was all Draco could take. “Harry,” he growled in exasperation, “if you say another cruel thing about yourself I’m going to leave. Why are you doing this?”
Harry scrubbed a hand over his face. “You want the truth, Draco?” When Draco nodded, Harry continued, “Before the war, when things were getting bad, I gave Fred and George my Triwizard Tournament winnings to open their shop. I gave them the money because the Wizarding world needed to laugh back then.” He sighed. “You, of all people, will understand that I make these dumb jokes because if I don’t laugh, I’m going to go mad. I have to find the humour in the situation just to make the loss bearable.”
“Huh?” Draco asked, genuinely stumped. “I don’t get it.”
“Look, you’re my first visitor who isn’t family,” Harry explained. “I’m really glad you came, but I’m nervous as hell that you’ll decide not to come back now that you’ve seen what I’ve become.”
Draco ran a hand through his carefully-combed hair. “Harry, I’m angry that someone deliberately hurt you, but what you look like doesn’t matter to me and it doesn’t change the fact that I like and respect you. Besides, I don’t agree that ‘what you’ve become’ is anything to be ashamed of. You’re not letting your injuries stop you, and that’s what’s important.” He added shyly, “It’s inspiring, really.”
A look of pure relief registered on Harry’s face. “You mean that, don’t you?” When Draco smiled, Harry said, “You have no idea how good that makes me feel.”
Draco looked Harry in the eyes. “I do know, Harry, because you were my first non-family visitor to keep coming back in the early years after the war. You kept your promise to visit at least once a week and even though I resented your intrusion on my self-imposed exile at first, I eventually realized how much I looked forward to the time we spent together each week. Now it’s my turn to promise you I’ll visit once a week.”
Harry bowed his head for a moment and when he looked up, he was smiling. “Thanks.” He paused and then said, “I do believe we were discussing what you’ve observed, so let me get something to take notes on.”
He went over to his desk and brought back a Muggle fountain pen and some blank paper. He wrote several things on the top sheet and then asked, “What do you know about the bloke that was left for dead?”
As Draco described what he knew, Harry nodded and made more notes. He asked about the screaming and how Draco had deduced which magically-hidden warehouse was being used for possibly odd, out-of-the-ordinary purposes.
“I’ve seen lights flickering in windows that should have been dark,” Draco reported. “During the day, no one enters or exits the building as would happen with a normal business. I’ve also seen several people staggering or being dragged into the shadows between buildings as I’ve locked up and left for home.”
“Why did you use the word ‘staggering’? Was there something wrong with the people you saw?”
Draco struggled to recall what he’d seen in the dim light. “I used that word because it seemed to me that the people were hurt in some way,” he said finally. “They were hunched over and stopped frequently, many times using the building they’d just come from as support. Why do you ask?”
Harry made some notes and then replied, “On the night I was hurt, the Aurors were investigating the location of a possible illegal potions lab. The raid was only partially successful because I was hurt and two of the suspects escaped. From what you’re reporting, it sounds as if the potioneers we raided have set up another lab and have begun their testing procedures again.” He held up the parchment with the address on it. “With your permission, I’d like to send this to Ron who has taken over the investigation. I think this is something worth looking into.”
The mention of Ron Weasley made Draco very uncomfortable. The youngest Weasley brother had never let go of his schoolboy prejudices against him and whenever Draco and Ron shared the same room, it was inevitable Ron would make a cutting remark that never failed to put Draco on the defensive. At the moment, he began to wonder if he should have kept his concerns to himself, if Ron was going to be the one doing the investigating.
“Erm, will I be mentioned by name?” he asked apprehensively.
Harry grinned. “For the moment, you’re my anonymous source and your identity is known only to me,” he said, easing some of Draco’s fears. “However, if at some point we needed you to give more evidence, would you be willing to provide it?”
“Yes, of course, but I’d still appreciate it if my name could remain a secret for as long as possible,” Draco agreed reluctantly. “The rumours now circulating through the district are bad for business. If it were to get out that I was involved...”
“I can imagine,” Harry commented seriously. A Muggle alarm clock on his bedside table chimed and he rolled over to silence it. “My reminder to leave for physiotherapy in twenty minutes,” he explained.
Draco stood up. “I’d better let you get ready, then.”
Harry asked, “Did you Apparate or take the Knight Bus here?”
“Apparated. Why?”
“If you can wait a few more minutes while I write a note to Ron and the Assistant Head Auror, I’ll show you a more convenient arrival point.”
Draco sat back down. “I don’t have to be anywhere for another two hours, Harry.”
Harry smiled his thanks. “This won’t take long,” he said as he rolled over to his desk. He wrote quickly, folded his notes and sealed them and the address Draco had given him in an envelope. Then, he handed the letter to Draco. “I’m not allowed to do magic even though I live in the magical ward. Could you seal this so only Ron can open it, please?”
Draco shook his head. “I can’t. I was told at the reception desk that I couldn’t use my wand once it was registered or I’d get into trouble.”
Harry swore, making Draco chuckle. Then he called, “Ellery, please come here.”
The guard who had been standing outside the door came inside. “What can I do for you, Mr Potter?”
“Can you secure permission for Mr Malfoy to use his wand inside this room, please? He’s a friend I trust not to harm me,” Harry told the guard.
“Certainly, sir.” The guard left the room, leaving Draco to stare at Harry in wonder.
I’m a friend Harry trusts... The thought filled him with a peace he’d not felt very often since he’d discovered Asteria had fallen in love with him. It reminded him of his earlier realization that time and circumstance worked a magic of their own in which his life could be transfigured for the better by the mere words of a friend...
The guard returned. “All set, Mr Potter. Mr Malfoy is cleared to perform basic, non-medical spells. Should you require him to do more advanced charm or transfiguration work, both of you will be required to answer some questions as to the purpose of the spells.”
“Agreed,” Harry said. “Draco?”
“I accept.”
“Very good.” The guard left and Draco took out his wand.
As he tapped the envelope with a For Eyes Only Spell, Harry straightened the parchments in the folder he’d been perusing earlier and put them in one of his desk drawers. “Come with me. The Mail Room is next to the Transportation Office,” Harry explained as they exited his room.
“Transportation Office?”
“Yes. It’s the secure Apparition Point within The Groves. There are also several fireplaces connected to the Floo Network in there,” Harry explained as he led Draco down a corridor. They entered a doorway marked Mail Room and continued on through another marked Owlery. Draco was surprised at the number of owls dozing on the perches.
“I thought this was mostly a Muggle facility,” he remarked.
“It is, but with a dozen magical patients whose healers need to communicate with the magical families, the facility maintains the Owlery just like Hogwarts does. I’m allowed to board one owl to correspond with Ginny and the children,” Harry explained.
“Wouldn’t the mess and the noise alert the Muggles to something out of the ordinary?”
“No. The protective spells on this room are very strong. The Muggles think this room is a storage cupboard.”
“Brilliant,” Draco murmured, curious as to whether the same spells that hid Hogwarts hid this Owlery.
Harry called one of the owls down and attached the envelope to its leg. After it flew away, Harry turned to Draco. “Thanks for coming, Draco,” he said. “I hope I’ll see you again soon.”
Draco replied, “You will. I’ll be back again in January. Should I bring the chess board?”
“Please. It’ll be like old times, then. I’ll let you know what my schedule is after the hols and whether my office requires anything else,” said Harry cryptically as he led the way out of the Mail Room and into the Transportation Office. Draco appreciated Harry’s carefully-chosen words even though there was no need for secrecy at the moment.
At the Transportation Office, Harry introduced Draco to the wizard at the desk and explained that he wanted permission for Draco to Apparate directly to and from the facility. The wizard snatched a form from a stack and handed it to Draco.
“Fill this out and give it back,” the wizard instructed. “After you Apparate in, stop at this desk and sign in. The same goes for when you leave through either the Floo Network or the Apparation point. The sign-in sheet is always here.” He pointed to a clipboard with several sheets of parchment on it.
“Do I sign out now? I’ve concluded my business with Mr Potter,” Draco explained.
“Yes. You have ten minutes to say your good-byes.”
“How come I have that long?”
“It takes an average of ten minutes for the typical Wizarding family to be organized enough to leave,” the wizard chuckled.
“I see.” Draco turned to Harry and extended his hand. The two shook and then Harry left for his appointment.
Draco thanked the guard who cancelled a spell, which opened the door behind him. Draco then Apparated back to his office feeling as if he’d accomplished something significant.
*
Thursday, 10 December 2020, 0925 hours
Ron and Brodie stood outside the interrogation room looking through the one-way wall. On the other side, Susan was finessing her way through the Matron’s Assistant’s defences. He had not responded well to either Ron’s easy-going interrogation techniques or Brodie’s more direct methods, so they had appealed to Susan to try her skills on the prisoner. So far, she seemed to be succeeding; the prisoner was actually answering her questions rather than clamming up or falling asleep as the other two had done.
“Can you tell me your name? I have one on file, but I don’t think it’s right,” Susan said as she leafed through a thin file on her lap. “The powers that be upstairs think you’re Buford Beauregard, age forty-two, second husband of Maisie Beauregard and father of ten children ages six months to twenty-two years. Maisie is your third wife... oh, and you’re a blacksmith by trade.”
Ron had a hard time not laughing at the ridiculousness of Susan’s imaginary bio, but it seemed to have worked. The suspect’s eyes had widened at the mention of the number of children and the second and third marriages.
“NO! Th-th- they got that w-w-wrong!” he stammered. The real information seemed to tumble from him as he nearly shouted, “I’m M-Mark H-Huntley. I’m twenty-five, single, and I’m studying for my Healer’s certificate while working full time at St Mungo’s in the Non-Magical Injuries Ward.”
Ron exchanged knowing smiles with Brodie while Susan made notes in Huntley’s file.
“Mark, may I call you that?” she continued. The suspect nodded. “Do you like working in the... Non-Magical Injuries Ward?”
The suspect hung his head. “I used to. Before she came,” he mumbled.
The three Aurors’ interest was suddenly piqued.
“Who is ‘she’?” Susan asked carefully as she put down her quill in a special holder attached to her chair–prisoners weren’t allowed anything in the interrogation rooms and the Aurors were always careful to keep their possessions far away from them.
“The Matron,” Huntley answered.
“Ah, I see. Did you like working on the ward before the Matron came?”
“I did.”
“What was it like?”
“The Non-Magical Injuries Ward was always a hopeful place, unlike the long-term ward I began my apprenticeship in. Patients in NMI ward always went home if not totally cured, then so close to being well it was just a matter of time.”
“What changed about the ward and when?”
“After Matron took over the ward nine months ago, fewer patients responded to treatment. Healer Stilwell had no idea why and was short-tempered, especially when straight-forward cases seemed to get worse instead of better. Then, the patients began contracting strange illnesses and several of the other assistants started acting strangely.”
“What do you mean by ‘acting strangely’?”
“I had made a friend of one of the other Assistants and one day, he just stopped being friendly to me. It wasn’t long after that I observed him spacing out or daydreaming in the break room when he should have been attending to patients. From time to time, I noticed other ward workers behaving similarly.”
“Did you mention your observations to anyone?”
“No. I kept pretty much to myself. I didn’t want to get into trouble with the Matron. She has a hair-trigger temper and isn’t very pleasant to work with when she’s angry.”
“But weren’t you curious?”
Mark didn’t answer right away. Finally, he said, “I tried to find out, but Matron caught me and threatened to have me fired.”
“How did that make you feel?”
“Scared. I can’t lose my job, not when I'm so close to completing my education.”
Susan consulted her notes. “Does the Matron have a name?”
“If she does, I don’t know it. All the ward workers were instructed to address her as ‘Matron’ and nothing else.”
“Ah... Are you always paired with another assistant or do you work mostly by yourself?”
“It depends on the patient and what we’re supposed to do for him or her.” A pause, then, “Mostly I care for patients by myself, but if Matron needs me to assist her, then I’m to drop what I’m doing and do what she says.”
“I see,” Susan paused and leafed through the file. “Were you ever assigned to work with Harry Potter?”
The prisoner’s eyes widened. “Yes,” he breathed, sounding awe-struck. “I felt awful for what was done to him.”
Susan made a note. “The Aurors feel the same, Mark. Auror Potter is our friend as well as our supervisor... What duties were you assigned to do with or for him?”
Huntley listed the various duties he performed for Harry and the ward’s other patients, most of whom were being treated by Healer Stilwell. The prisoner was passionate about the pride he felt when the things he did for the injured made their suffering more bearable.
“Have you ever deliberately hurt a patient?”
Huntley gasped. “I never wanted to!” he nearly yelled.
Taken aback, Susan scribbled furiously, even as she asked calmly, “What makes you say that?”
“Matron... Matron threatens the staff.”
“What does she do specifically?”
“Threatens to Imperius us.”
“Why?”
“So we’ll do what she tells us, even if we know what we’re doing is wrong or will hurt a patient.”
“Have you ever disobeyed the Matron and refused to hurt a patient?”
The prisoner hung his head. His answer of “yes” was spoken so softly that Susan asked him to repeat his answer. He yelled, “YES, I DID AND I WAS PUNISHED FOR IT!”
“How were you punished?”
Mark began to shake. He closed his eyes and slowly raised the front of his prison uniform, exposing his abdomen. Ron heard Susan gasp and couldn’t help gaping himself: the man’s abdominal area was crisscrossed with red, ropey scars. After he lowered the uniform, he said, “There are more on my back.”
“Who did this to you?”
“Matron and a couple of other people she had working for her.”
Susan’s face was white, but she stayed where she sat and continued the interview. Ron wanted to hug her for it, even as he wondered why the prisoner’s condition hadn’t been noted on his entry parchmentwork. Her voice was full of compassion as she said, “I’ll understand if you can’t tell me what they did to you, but it might help others if we knew more.”
Mark pushed his chair back from the table far enough to rest his head in his hands and asked, “Can I have a glass of water, please?”
“Certainly.” Susan conjured a paper cup and filled it with water from her wand.
Mark sipped it as Ron wondered if he had at last found the reason the other two prisoners had acted so strangely during their interrogation sessions.
Finally, Huntley took up his story again. His tone was detached, as if he was trying to distance himself from the memories. “About a month after Matron took over the ward, I refused to give a patient two potions that weren’t on the list approved by Healer Stilwell. That night, I was kidnapped by two of the other Assistants as I walked to my flat.”
When he didn’t continue for over a minute, Susan prompted, “Where did they take you?”
Mark shuddered. “They took me to a big house in some woods,” he whispered.
“Do you think you would recognize the house from a picture?”
“I don’t know. I could try.”
Susan pushed three photographs across the table towards the prisoner, one taken in daylight, the other taken at night, the third of a completely different house. “Do you recognize any of these houses?” Ron stepped close to the wall in excited anticipation of the prisoner’s answer.
The prisoner pointed to the photo taken at night. “The moonlit house looks familiar,” he whispered.
On his side of the wall, Ron silently pumped his fist. He loved this prisoner.
Susan pressed on. “You seem afraid, Mark. What happened at that house?”
It was a long time before Mark answered. “They chained me to a wall in the cellar and made me watch as they threw pieces of broken glass at a bloke’s feet. They had a Silencing Spell on him, but it was clear he was in agony.”
At this, Ron commented to Brodie, “I remember reading about that bloke. He was one of the mystery cases the A and E healers called us about.” He grabbed a quill and dashed off a memo to Terry Boot, marked it “Top Secret, URGENT,” and sent it zooming upstairs at top speed.
“Why were they hurting the man, Mark?”
“I... I really can’t say other than he’d angered someone, and the Matron was teaching him a lesson... they... they were experimenting with self-closing wounds and needed a guinea pig, I guess.”
“Why were they experimenting with that type of wound?”
“They didn’t want evidence, I reckon.”
“Evidence of what?”
“Entry points to wounds made by objects that would cause sickness and infection.”
“How did you learn all this?”
“I listened.”
“I see... So, when they were through with the other man, you were next?”
Mark swallowed convulsively. “Yeah, I was,” he whispered.
“What did they do to cause those scars?”
The prisoner closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around himself. He rocked back and forth in his chair, clearly struggling with the memory. “That first time,” he began, “that first t-time... th-they chained me to the ceiling facing the stairs leading out of the cellar. I heard them talking before they started; they were going to use a different potion to coat the glass than the one they used on the other bloke. Then they ripped off my shirt and cast glass shards at my stomach with their wands. I passed out from the pain, I think. When I regained consciousness I was chained to a wall and was kept there for four days while I healed. The wounds healed over very slowly, sealing the glass inside my abdomen. I was threatened repeatedly that if told anyone what they were doing they wouldn’t hesitate to kill me.”
Brodie whispered to Ron, “That’s just sick. But it explains what we found in that cellar.”
Ron breathed deeply and then murmured, “Yeah, it does.” He turned his attention back to Susan and the prisoner.
“How is it that you’re still alive?” Susan asked.
“I’ve Summoned or Vanished every piece of glass except three out of my body,” he said with a paroxysmal shudder. “Those last three are so deeply embedded that I didn’t dare rip them out and I can’t see the area they’re in well enough to properly Vanish them without harming myself further. They have to work their way out of my body on their own or I’ll die.”
Susan was silent for a time during which time the prisoner alternately sipped the water and scrubbed his face with his hands. Finally, she said, “You said there was a second incident. Hadn’t you learned not to defy the Matron by then?”
“I had, but I’d been returned to my job under the Imperius Curse and for several months, even though I was in terrible pain, I obeyed every order I was given.”
“Did that include casting harmful spells at some of the patients?”
The prisoner nodded. “I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t help myself with Matron’s voice prompting me in my head.”
“So why did Matron experiment on you again and when was this?”
Ron knew the question wasn’t one of Susan’s better ones because it assumed too much, but the prisoner answered anyway.
“One day, in September, I think, without Matron knowing it, I was able to shake off the spell because the pain in my abdomen made it hard for me to work. I was in the break room when it happened and I think Tim, the other Assistant who sometimes shares my shift, saw what happened to me. Anyway, it was a great relief to not have Matron’s voice constantly in my head, but... but there were consequences...” He shoved the cup towards Susan and asked for more water. He drained the cup and held it out for more. As she refilled it, Susan asked him to continue.
The prisoner’s voice sounded defeated as he said, “A couple of hours later, I refused to give several patients unapproved potions and that night I was taken back to the dungeon.”
“What happened?”
“The Matron cast more glass, this time at my back and then switched to tiny pieces of metal that were again soaked in different potions and magically enhanced with several experimental spells. Later, after my head and hands had been locked in some stocks, one of Matron’s assistants would walk by and cast a spell...”
“What would happen then?”
The prisoner’s answer was barely audible. “When the spell is spoken the metal reacts... causing horrible pain.”
Ron groped for a chair and sat down hard. His mind racing, he heard none of the rest of Susan’s interview.
*
A/N: I realize some of you are wondering why I put Draco Malfoy in this chapter. Since DH came out in 2007 I’ve done a lot of thinking about what has happened to various characters: Draco Malfoy is one of them. I wrote the first section from Draco's point of view so that we could get into his head. I based how he acts and thinks on my interpretation of the possible changes wrought in Draco during the nineteen years between the last chapter of DH and the glimpse we get of him in the Epilogue. While he was still somewhat arrogant during the scene in the Room of Hidden Things, JKR portrayed the Malfoy family as huddling together in the Great Hall after the battle, not really knowing what to do. From this, I am guessing that they suffered greatly during the first few years after the Battle of Hogwarts, even though Harry Potter most likely said a few words in Narcissa’s favor at whatever trials the Malfoy family were subjected to. I also think Draco eventually recovered better than his parents: most likely he lived on the Continent the great majority of the time, since in the Epilogue Ron Weasley remarks, "So that's little Scorpius." Therefore, in the three years between the Epilogue and my story, Harry and Draco could have developed the friendship I wrote about in this chapter.
Also, I feel the need to address the issue of how to spell Draco’s wife’s name and why I chose to spell it the way I do. When in doubt, my philosophy is to go to the source and my research at the HP Lexicon and on JK Rowling’s website corroborate each other: in two places–the website and an ITV documentary–the name is spelled with one ‘o’ and one ‘e’, even though it’s reported that JKR pronounces the name as if it has two ‘Os’. Therefore, I feel I have made an informed choice and do not wish to debate the issue in the reviews.
Again, thank you for reading and leaving a review.
Chapter 13: 13: Meetings
Author's Notes: Uh-oh! Real life bit me hard this week and I nearly forgot to post this week's chapter! It's still Thursday, but for those who spent the day looking for my chapter, I apologize. Here is my latest chapter. Please enjoy it and then let me know what you think.
Friday, 11 December 2020, 0800 hours
In a meeting room on the second floor of the Ministry, a rather large group of people had gathered to discuss the Aurors’ investigation into what was now being called the Projectile Investigation. Ron, as head of the investigating team, chaired the meeting. Round the table sat Healer Payton Stilwell; Madam Felicity Nigel, Director of St Mungo’s Hospital; Randolph Robards, Deputy Director of the Auror Department; and the members of Ron’s Auror team Susan Bones-Finch-Fletchley, Terry Boot, Garrett Carmichael and Brodie Chambers. Also present at the meeting were the four members of the second forensics team, headed by Lavender Brown-McKenna, who had been called to investigate the scene in the basement of the house, as well as Silvio Tornincasa, the undertaker from the St Mungo’s morgue. Padma Pakrasi, head of the Auror’s Toxicology Department, sat next to Mr Tornincasa quietly going over her notes. The last two to enter the room were Stewart Ackerley, the representative from the Minister for Magic’s Office and Eloise Midgen, one of the Ministry solicitors who had been tasked with compiling the government’s case against the criminals to be discussed at the meeting. The two slid, slightly red-faced and out of breath, into the two remaining chairs as Ron rapped the table with the handle of his wand to call the meeting to order.
“I think we all know why I’ve called this meeting. Yesterday, due to the cooperation of the suspect we arrested several days ago, we learned a great deal of pertinent information,” he began. “We also need to hear the reports from the other departments and discuss what our next moves will be to ensure the safety of the public and the patients and ward workers at St Mungo’s. Auror Bones, will you please brief us on what the suspect told you yesterday.”
Susan’s report was quickly presented, revealing all of the facts but none of the emotion of the day before. What surprised Ron, however, was the fact that she didn’t stop with the revelation of the proximity of Mark Huntley’s second injury to Harry’s accident. She went on to say that he told her his wounds healed almost instantly, although they still left terrible scars. He had also reported that he’d been returned to his flat within hours of the “treatment”–as the Matron was calling her experiments–under a much stronger Imperius Curse. She ended her report by saying that on the day Brian Nelson was victimized Mr Huntley had only half-heartedly tried to escape as instructed previously by the Matron through the Curse–again having finally shaken it off–knowing that he needed to admit his involvement in order to stop others from becoming victims. When she was done, she passed copies of her report round the table.
Deputy Director Robards thumbed through the report as if looking for something. When he found what he was looking for, he marked the page with his finger and asked, “Auror Bones, why didn’t you mention that Huntley was one of the attendants present when Auror Potter was prepared for transfer to The Groves?”
Susan met his gaze as she answered, “That evidence is pertinent to a subject that will be discussed later in the meeting.”
“What is being done with the rest of this evidence?” Robards asked as he tapped Susan’s report.
“I’ll defer to Auror Weasley, if you don’t object,” she said, inclining her head towards Ron.
Ron cleared his throat. “Pursuant to what we learned from the suspect, I contacted the Department of Experimental Spells and had one of their Curse Reversers work with the two prisoners we arrested back in October.”
Robards frowned. “Why weren’t those prisoners released months ago?”
“Both had previous records, and as the Wizengamot considered the two dangerous to the public, bail was set very high. Neither could post bail, so they were being held downstairs in the holding cells,” Ron answered.
“And why hadn’t they been processed and sent to Azkaban?”
“They were under medical supervision they couldn’t get at the prison,” Madam Nigel interjected. “It was suspected the two were cursed, but our healers had determined that it would be detrimental to the prisoners if the unknown spell or spells were broken without proper observation first, even if it turned out the two were only under an Imperius Curse.”
“Very good, carry on.”
Ron said, “The Curse Reverser, Mr Justin Finch-Fletchley, was called away this morning at the last minute, so I’ll give you an overview of what happened yesterday. When he arrived on level ten, I briefed him on Auror Bones’ discovery and he began working with the male prisoner. In due time, he was able to lift the Imperius Curse which had been cast on the prisoner nearly a year previously. He was also able to lift the same curse from the female prisoner.”
“What were the affects of the reversal?”
“Both were given time to rest and then were questioned by members of my team. Both prisoners were cooperative and willing to answer questions instead of blatantly refusing or falling asleep as they had in the past.”
“What have you learned from these prisoners?”
Brodie spoke up. “Both prisoners acted as associates to or colleagues of the leader of the group, a witch known to us at this time only as ‘the Matron.’ The female prisoner, whose name is Alison Morven, told us that she, Kasey Oswald– the male prisoner–and two others still at large had a higher status than several volunteer and paid assistants. Incidentally, anyone working with or for the Matron agreed to be Imperiused against the possibility they should be captured by the Aurors.
“Anyway, Morven and Oswald were heavily involved in the preparation of the potions and various spells used during the Matron’s experiments,” he continued. “When asked, the two described the experiments they helped the Matron carry out, either handling the materials used or guarding the victims and inspecting and recording the results. There’s more about those in my report.”
“And did they confirm that one of the victims they experimented on was Mark Huntley?” Robards interrupted.
Terry Boot explained, “They did. Apparently, Morven and Oswald originally tried to recruit him because he is training to be a healer. What they didn’t count on was his sense of justice and how fiercely he stood by his Hippocratic Oath to do no harm.”
“Go on...”
“There’s not much more about those two,” Ron said, “except that they suddenly stopped duelling, put their wands on the ground and allowed themselves to be captured on the night of the raid.”
“During his interview, Oswald said he stopped duelling with the Aurors because the Matron told him to through their Imperius Curse connection,” Terry added.
Robards raised an eyebrow. “Did he give you any particular reason for why she had him stop?”
“Apparently, she reported she was done with her treatment.”
“Interesting. I wonder what that meant,” Robards mused as Ron raised an eyebrow at Terry. This was old news to him, but in light of all the new evidence, he was beginning to form his own profile of this Matron character.
Garrett Carmichael broke in, “We’re reasonably sure she meant she was done inserting needles into Auror Potter’s back. Auror Weasley’s report reflected his findings in the pit: the extra, smaller pit; Auror Potter’s blood and personal wand; and several vials containing extra needles and the residue from two different potions.”
Robards thumbed through a thick file he’d brought with him, finally pulling out a thick sheaf of parchment, which had been sectioned and flattened to allow filing. He turned a few pages and ran a finger down the middle of the one he’d selected. “Yes, it’s right here.” He closed Ron’s report as he queried, “And how long had Oswald and Morven been Imperiused again?”
“A little over a year. Apparently, they were in the Matron’s employ for several months prior to her being employed as a matron at St Mungo’s. They helped her set up the laboratory in the basement of the house we raided,” Garrett said.
“I see. What do you know about the volunteer or paid assistants?”
“The one we know about is most likely a wizard named Tim Dawson. My brother, George Weasley, employed him for a short time as a potion maker and stock clerk,” Ron reported flatly. “George dismissed him eight months ago for copying his development notebooks for a product that uses a magical version of a Muggle remote control device. At the time, George was just looking for an excuse to fire him because Mr Dawson wasn’t doing the job my brother was paying him to do, as well as his rudeness to customers. Once we started investigating Mr Dawson, we discovered that he was holding down a second job at St Mungo’s, first as a sani-wizard cleaning up the potions labs and then as a Matron’s Assistant.” Ron consulted his notes. “Mr Dawson held the job of sani-wizard from 1999 through 2018 when he applied for and was hired as a Matron’s Assistant. He wasn’t liked by the patients in the first three wards he was assigned to and had been shuffled from ward to ward when the patients complained. About two weeks after the Matron appeared on the Non-Magical Injuries Ward, Mr Dawson was assigned to her ward and has been there ever since.”
“Why do you think he has stayed in the NMIW so long?” Eloise Midgen asked, speaking for the first time.
“The patients in that ward are usually too sick to complain when they first arrive in the ward,” Healer Stilwell answered. “I investigated the rotation schedule to discover how the matrons were handling their personnel. The matron we’re discussing assigned Mr Dawson to the sickest patients and when they had responded to treatment enough to be more coherent and alert to their surroundings, Mr Huntley and other, more agreeable, Assistants were assigned to care for them.”
Miss Midgen’s eyes skewered the healer. “You seem to know quite a bit about this particular suspect,” she observed.
Healer Stilwell sighed. “That, I do. If we’re talking about the same witch, I’ve known her for over twenty years. I’ve always assumed her real name, the one I’ve always called her, was Shirley Higgins.”
“Any relation to Terrance Higgins, the Death Eater who was released from Azkaban a year ago?” Susan asked.
“Not that I know of,” Healer Stilwell replied. “As closely as we worked together over the years, I never knew much about her personal life.”
“And what did you work on together, sir?”
“Shirley was employed as an entry-level Potioneer on the Injuries floor beginning in 1997. I was a Healer-in-Training at the time and had been treating paralysis cases with conventional potions and not having much success. Shirley and I developed several potions, one of which has become the main nerve-regeneration potion used in the Non-Magical Injuries Ward.”
“I assume both of you have been compensated for your contribution to Healing,” Miss Midgen stated.
“Actually, only I have,” Healer Stilwell responded. “Five years ago, Shirley and I had a rather spectacular falling-out over the fact that the Wizarding healing journals were still giving me full credit for the potion’s success while her contributions seem to have been overlooked. She seemed to think that I was purposely not giving interviewers her name when, in actuality, I was. To make a long story short, Shirley quit her job at St Mungo’s and relocated to Germany to study at a healing school there for her matron’s certificate. When she returned to Great Britain and the hospital, she was re-employed as Shirley Gorman. She was assigned to the NMIW and shortly after that my troubles with non-responsive patients began.”
Miss Midgen surveyed the two St Mungo’s representatives shrewdly. “I recognize everyone here and know that the hospital’s legal representative isn’t present. How are you going to defend yourself if the Wizengamot decides to press charges against you and the hospital?” she queried.
Madam Nigel fielded this question by first tapping her lapel with her wand. Ron tried to hide his smile as he recognized one of George’s new products, a small, nearly invisible voice recorder disk to which another of his new spells was applied to activate it. He scribbled a note to himself to tell George he’d seen one being used.
“Everything being said by, about or to Healer Stilwell and me is being transmitted to a dicta-quill back at the hospital. Our solicitor, Vicky Frobisher, will have a transcript of this meeting five minutes after I deactivate the device,” she explained.
Miss Midgen nodded. “Very well. Healer Stilwell, I’m concerned that you’ve cast a blind eye to the fact that someone has been deliberately tampering with your patients, thus making their conditions harder to heal and causing them undeserved pain and suffering.”
Healer Stilwell half-rose from his chair at the accusation, but sat down when Madam Nigel touched his arm. With a great sigh, he addressed the Ministry solicitor. “You assume incorrectly that many of my patients were affected by Mrs Gorman’s experiments. According to my records only twenty of the three hundred sixty-seven I’ve treated in the last year were given unapproved potions to inhibit the success of treatment or were hurt in any way by Mr Dawson or Mr Huntley. That’s a little over five percent! Each case was different from the ones before it, so there was no reason to suspect any tampering until recently. I’ll tell you this: Mrs Gorman is a very shrewd witch who plans every move she makes very carefully; only when she’s absolutely certain that she will achieve the desired outcome will she actually order the administration of an unauthorized potion or actually hurt someone as she deliberately did Mr Potter and Mr Nelson. She was like that twenty-odd years ago when we worked together on the nerve-regeneration potions.”
“And do your records show which patients Matron Gorman experimented on and to what degree these patients were harmed?” pressed Miss Midgen.
It was Madam Nigel’s turn to bristle. “Miss Midgen, the hospital refuses to let Healer Stilwell answer that question. Suffice it to say that a full investigation is being conducted at this time by the hospital’s Board of Inquiries. If you wish to speak with any Board member or follow the investigation, please contact me after this meeting,” she stated imperiously.
Miss Midgen made a notation on her legal pad and sat back after murmuring her thanks. Stewart Ackerley, the Minister’s representative, leaned close as the two put their heads together for a few seconds. Ron couldn’t hear what they were saying, so he continued the meeting by calling on Mrs Pakrasi and the four forensics team members.
The forensics team tacked a large poster featuring the layout of the investigation site, which included the arrival area where the first forensics team was murdered. They described the house and its contents as well as those of the cellar dungeon, including the pit and experiment and holding areas. When asked for details, they deferred to Ron to describe his investigation of the pit within the pit.
He ended his report with some speculation: “It is my opinion that the Matron was the one down in the pit waiting for the stairs to give way so her victim would fall into position. Once Auror Potter landed on the stones, she set to work inserting sets of needles in his spinal column and a sword-like device in his left lung.”
“And the evidence you found corroborates this speculation?” Robards asked.
“Yes, sir,” Ron confidently stated. Robards nodded and then looked expectantly at the forensics team members.
The forensics team then reported on the contents of the wardrobe found in the experiment section of the cellar, which included four cauldrons full of variously coloured potions and several large blocks of a gel-like substance.
“It took us several weeks, but we finally identified the substance known as ballistics gelatine,” reported Lavender Brown-McKenna. “Once we identified it, the substance was easy to locate in Muggle chemical supply shops and a diluted version can be found in grocer’s shops because it is actually a common substance found in jellies.”
Ron, Susan, Garrett and Brodie exchanged glances as Mr Ackerley asked, “Why would they need ballistics pudding? They weren’t shooting arrows or firelegs at anyone.”
Ron barely kept a straight face as Lavender answered, “No, Mr Ackerley, there were no Muggle guns involved, nor were there any arrows. The Matron and her assistants were probably using the gel to evaluate their testing methods. Do you recall that Auror Bones reported how the glass shards and metal fragments were projected into Mr Huntley’s body?” Ackerley nodded. “Most likely, the suspects were throwing glass and metal at the blocks to gauge wound penetration and the force needed to bury the projectiles in a person’s flesh. Made properly and wrapped in pig flesh to simulate human skin, ballistics gel has a similar composition to human flesh and it’s relatively clear so it was the ideal substance to use in their tests.”
Mr Ackerley, looking a bit green, excused himself from the meeting.
“This substance, since it is available as food, is untraceable in the Wizarding world,” Ron added. “The MLE has someone inquiring about large purchases of gelatine as we speak. We may know in a day or two where the gelatine was purchased.”
Padma joined in now. “As for the other contents of the wardrobe, I was given samples from the six cauldrons Auror Weasley’s team found in the basement. The first substance I tested turned out to be a small quantity of a potion known for inhibiting lung function. The sword-like object Healer Stilwell took from Auror Potter’s body had traces of this substance on it. This potion may be the reason why the healers in the A and E at St Mungo’s had to resort to using a modified Muggle respirator on Auror Potter in order to re-inflate his lung after their inflation spells and potions did not work.”
Healer Stilwell and Madam Nigel both nodded in agreement as Padma continued. “There was also a nearly-dried-up potion that I identified as a cocaine-based mixture. Since Muggles use cocaine as a recreational drug to dull the senses, the suspects may have been testing this potion as a potential nerve inhibitor. They also have prescription forms such as Oxycodone, which Muggle doctors prescribe for mild to severe pain. However, due to the expense and possible unwanted side-effects, I think this potion was abandoned early on.”
“Would the cocaine-based potion have been easily brewed in someone’s kitchen?” Brodie asked.
“Absolutely. The quantity brought to me in its original cauldron was less than a litre, so it could have very well been brewed in the kitchen of the property in question,” she answered. “However, if they were using Muggle prescription drugs like Oxycodone or OxyContin pills, all they would have had to do is pulverize the pills and dilute them with water to the concentration they wanted. But again, if such side-effects as inhibited respiration and lowered heart rate became a problem, the Matron would have had enough reason to abandon the potion due to the real possibility overdosing their test subjects.”
Garrett mumbled in Ron’s direction, “Overdoses and dead bodies wouldn’t have been a problem for this group, but Padma’s theories are definitely sound.”
“I agree,” Ron murmured back as Susan commented, “That would also explain why we found only a few traces of that potion when we cast the detection spells.”
Ron turned his attention back to Padma.
“As for the other cauldrons,” Padma continued, “the potions in two of them were artificially coloured green and the other two blue. I was able to replicate each potion after breaking down their composition. One, the green, was a common anaesthetic used by Muggles during surgery or dental procedures. It had been altered and magically concentrated. The other, the blue, was a narcotic potion similar in nature to a Serum of Sentient Death. However, instead of simulating death, this potion actually was a tissue-killer.”
Healer Stilwell smiled at Padma. “Thank you very much for corroborating my theories, Mrs Pakrasi. You see, when I extracted the needles from both Auror Potter and Mr Nelson, both blue and green substances leaked out of the hollow needles; in both cases, the green substance was placed higher in the spinal column than the blue. Since the two victims were already hurt, they naturally wouldn’t have needed much of each potion to exacerbate their conditions.”
“Your report states you found another type of needle in the victims’ backs,” Miss Midgen spoke up. “What was the purpose of the second type of needle?”
Lavender spoke up. “Those were used to rip and tear flesh, most likely spinal cord fibres. I had the misfortune of having one of those needles worm its way in to my finger. It left a huge wound that was difficult to heal after I extracted it. Healer Stilwell, what sort of damage did you find in Mr Nelson’s and Auror Potter’s spinal cords?”
The healer described the extraction process and the results of the spells he used to see inside the victims’ bodies. He ended by saying, “The damage done to young Mr Nelson is much more profound than Auror Potter’s. I highly doubt Mr Nelson will ever walk again, the damage is so severe.”
At this, the witches and wizards around the table all looked very sad and quite grim. It was Lavender who broke the uncomfortable silence.
“I’d like to ask something of Auror Bones,” she said. When Susan nodded, Lavender said, “You stated earlier that Mr Huntley witnessed Auror Potter’s preparation for transfer. What, if anything, do you have to say on this?”
“On November first, Mr Huntley was asked to assist in the bathing and general preparation of Auror Potter for transfer to the rehabilitation facility, The Groves,” Susan began. “When asked what he did for Mr Potter, he answered that he was there to dress and undress Auror Potter before and after his bath. When I asked him if he’d seen anything else, Mr Huntley admitted that he’d witnessed the Matron inserting needles from various vials into Auror Potter’s spine and that there was no evidence of their presence once the wounds had closed themselves.
“It was shortly after Auror Potter was transferred that Mr Huntley overheard Tim talking to the Matron about ‘Auror Potter squealing like a stuck pig.’ The two later confronted Mr Huntley and threatened him with more treatments if he didn’t learn to activate the needles to use on subsequent victims,” Susan said with a shudder.
“That would explain Mr Potter’s unaccounted-for pain,” mumbled Healer Stilwell.
“Which leads us to the subject of boot prints,” Ron said, moving to the next topic. “Lavender, what has your team discovered about those?”
Smiling, Lavender said, “The prints at both the arrival point near the house and under Auror Potter’s window at The Groves are the same. Each set has the same wear pattern on the heels and identical nail patterns on the soles. Therefore, they belong to the same wizard.”
“This is only conjecture,” Ron stated, “but I’m willing to bet that the wizard in question is Tim Dawson, especially after what Mr Huntley overheard.” The others all nodded in agreement, so Ron continued, “Do any of you have any other evidence in this case?”
Terry Boot raised his hand, making Ron smile. “Auror Potter sent us an address given him by an anonymous informant who thinks a warehouse in North Woolwich is the newest hide-out of our gang of perpetrators. I checked it out during the day and found traces of blood in the alleyway beside the warehouse and on the pavement in front of the building. I also went again late last night; I saw movement in the upper windows, but didn’t hear or see anything unusual.”
“Thank you, Auror Boot,” Ron said. “I think you’re right about the warehouse and we will keep it under surveillance during the next few weeks.” He looked about the table. “Anything else?”
Silvio Tornincasa, the undertaker, spoke up. “I just want to confirm that the order in which the four members of the first forensics team died is correct in the report.”
Ron smiled at the soft-spoken wizard. “Thank you very much, Mr Tornincasa. Your report has been made part of the overall investigation,” he said. Then, turning to the table at large, he suggested, “Let’s all take a five minute break. Healer Stilwell, Madam Nigel, Mr Tornincasa, and the forensics team, we are done with this phase of the meeting. I do request that anything you’ve heard in this room not be discussed with anyone until the suspects have been apprehended and tried before the Wizengamot. Thank you very much for your time. If you are needed again, you will be contacted. The rest of you, I’d like you to stay and be part of the planning meeting after the break.”
The meeting broke up as everyone rose.
*
1330 hours
“Hi, Mr Potter, Auror Weasley,” Brian greeted the two as Harry rolled into Room Three followed by Ron.
“Hey, your custom chair arrived!” Harry exclaimed happily. “Looks good!”
Brian glanced down at the shiny new wheelchair in which he was sitting and shrugged. “It fits me better than the big silver one did,” he said softly, “but I don’t know how much I like it.”
Harry understood how he felt. “It’s a tool,” he said. “You don’t have to like it.”
Brian looked relieved and smiled shyly at Harry.
“Are you feeling better?” Ron asked.
Brian’s expression morphed into a scowl as he growled, “If one more person asks me that I’m gonna scream.”
Harry chuckled and said to Ron, “He’s definitely feeling better.” He turned back to Brian. “How was P-T this morning? I saw you working on the mats with Melissa as I was going out to the therapy grounds.”
“Hard, but it helped me stop being angry,” the boy replied.
“I agree,” Harry commiserated. Then he added, “Tomorrow, ask Melissa to show you how to use the punching and speed bags in the boxing area. The next time you feel like punching something, punch the bags. It’s better than hitting a wall or snapping at someone for no reason.”
“I’ll ask her,” said Brian somewhat unenthusiastically, but Harry knew he would when given the chance to think the idea over.
“Brian, do you have time to give us some help?” Ron asked, changing the subject.
Brian looked at his watch. “Yeah, I do. I’m not going anywhere until three and my mum said she’d be back in about five minutes.”
“Good,” Ron said as he put the box he was carrying on the table and sat in one of the straight chairs. “I’d like her to be here for you, but I can explain some things in the meantime. Brian, I need you to recall your memories of your stay at St Mungo’s–”
“I gave you my formal statement yesterday,” Brian interrupted.
“I know you did, Brian. This is something entirely different and it might be far more important than just words,” Ron explained.
When the boy looked bewildered, Harry interjected, “Have you ever heard of a Pensieve?”
Brian shook his head.
Harry explained, “A Pensieve is a tool Aurors use to view people’s memories.” He went on to describe how a Pensieve worked and some of the reasons the Aurors used one. He ended his explanation by saying, “I’ve used a Pensieve quite often in the last few weeks. I have one in my room and use it when my head feels too full to make sense out of things.”
“So what do you want with my memories?” Brian asked Ron.
“Remember the man I apprehended the day Healer Stilwell discovered the needles in your back?” Ron asked.
Brian looked troubled. “Sorta,” he answered, sounding scared. “I was in too much pain to remember very much.”
Ron reached out and patted Brian’s shoulder. “It’s all right,” he soothed. “The suspect has answered our questions and now we need to corroborate his evidence. What I’m asking you is if you’d be willing to let me copy your memories of the people you came in contact with during your stay at the hospital.”
“Will it hurt?” Brian asked as his mother walked in and greeted Harry and Ron.
“Will what hurt, love?” Mrs Nelson inquired.
“Auror Weasley wants me to give him some memories for his Pensieve,” Brian told her.
Mrs Nelson looked sceptical. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” she said. “My son’s already been through so much.”
Harry intervened, “Mrs Nelson, the memories Ron wants are the ones connected with the people who hurt us; the suspect he apprehended that day at St Mungo’s has finally talked and Ron wants to see if Brian observed more than just what he recalled in his statement.”
“I’m not sure my son will benefit from reliving his experiences at that hospital,” Mrs Nelson said forcefully.
“Mum, I want to give Auror Weasley my memories,” Brian interjected. “Mr Potter just told me that I could have the copies back when the Aurors were done with them and that if he and I viewed them together, he’d be willing to talk with me about them. He says he’s used a Pensieve a lot in the past few weeks.”
“If I allow this to happen and you give us back Brian’s memories, could I see them, too?” Mrs Nelson asked.
“Of course,” Harry said. “But Brian has the last say whether you get to come into the Pensieve with us.”
She looked relieved as she gave her permission. “And the extraction process won’t hurt my son?” she asked one last time.
Harry shook his head. “It doesn’t hurt to copy memories any more than thinking about them constantly does, Mrs Nelson.”
Still looking sceptical, Mrs Nelson sighed, “Very well.”
“Then let’s begin,” Ron said, taking out his wand.
Brian suddenly looked apprehensive. “You’re going to cast a spell on me?” he asked. “You’re not going to wipe my memory, are you?”
Harry rolled closer to Brian. “The spell is very specific and copies only the memory you attach to the wand tip. If you’d like me to get my Pensieve for a demonstration, I’ll go get it.”
Both Mrs Nelson and Brian looked relieved. Harry mumbled, “Be right back,” and quickly rolled down to his room where he unlocked his bureau and took out the small wooden box that held his Pensieve. Less than a minute later, he was back in Room Three.
“Let me demonstrate,” he said. “Ron, I’ll think of a memory and you can take it and put it in here.” He pointed to the Pensieve that now sat on the table. “Then, we’ll view it together.”
Ron stepped forward and when Harry had recalled a memory, he nodded and Ron touched his wand to Harry’s temple, pulling away a short length of fine, silvery memory. He gently shook it into Harry’s Pensieve and a moment later, the four were watching James Potter flying above the surface of the Pensieve, obviously playing Quidditch.
That’s all it took to reassure Brian and his mother. Brian willingly complied with Ron’s instructions and was soon handing over the specified memories Ron needed for his investigation.
When they were done, Brian asked, “Is it all right to feel relieved?”
Harry laughed. “Absolutely, Brian.”
“Good,” Brian smiled. “I hope what I gave you helps, Auror Weasley.”
Ron smiled at the boy. “You’re helping me a great deal.” He lifted the box of vials. “I’ll be sure these get back to you. And now, I need to be going. Harry, I’ll see you in a day or two with those papers we talked about.”
“Sounds good,” Harry agreed. Then, as Ron turned towards the door, Harry remembered something. “Hold on a moment, Ron. I have another memory for you,” he said. “Do you have an extra vial?”
“I do.” Ron set the box back on the table and took out the last empty vial and his wand. “I’m ready when you are.”
Harry nodded. “Go ahead and take it,” he said and Ron pulled the memory from his head. Harry closed his eyes, feeling a momentary sadness as he thought of Ginny. When he opened them, both Ron and Brian were staring at him.
“You OK?” Brian asked. “Your eyes are watering.”
Harry smiled at him. “I am. I just gave Ron a memory from eight months ago. It’s a promise I made to my wife in front of several hospital staff the last time I was in St Mungo’s. I’m feeling a bit sad thinking about how I broke that promise, though.”
Ron’s eyebrows shot into his fringe. “Are you sure you want me to have that one, Harry?” he asked incredulously.
“I am,” Harry said fiercely. “I think it’s important to the investigation.”
“If you say so.” Ron shot him a dubious look as he picked up his box again. “I’ll have a look at some of these this afternoon. See you soon,” he added.
“Say hello to Hermione for me,” Harry called as Ron headed in the direction of the Transportation Office. He stayed for several minutes talking with the Nelsons before taking his Pensieve back to his room.
*
1700 hours
“Ginny, you home?” Ron’s voice called from the direction of the kitchen.
“Yes,” Ginny answered from the lounge. “Come on through.” She hung a brightly-coloured ball on the Christmas tree she’d set up and turned to see Ron walking through the doorway carrying a box.
“Hi, am I interrupting anything?” Ron asked as he set the box on an end table.
“Just this.” Ginny gestured to the tree. “Nothing the kids can’t finish when they come home on the nineteenth,” she answered. “What’s in the box?”
Ron took his time taking off his cloak and laying it carefully over the back of a wing chair. “Erm... it’s what I’ve come to talk to you about,” he responded somewhat nervously, making Ginny raise an eyebrow. “I... erm... we... my team needs you to share some memories with us.”
Surprised, Ginny asked, “Memories of what?”
“Memories of all the healers, matrons and matron’s assistants you remember from Harry’s most recent stay at St Mungo’s,” Ron stated, sounding apologetic.
“Whatever for?” Ginny asked. “Do you know how many people I talked to from the time I first saw Harry in the A and E to the time he left? You’re asking a lot, Ron.”
“I know I am, but you don’t have to recall the people from A and E. We’re most interested in the people you encountered on the Non-Magical Injuries Ward,” Ron explained.
Ginny sucked in a sharp breath. “You mean... you think those people are somehow connected to Harry’s injuries?” she asked, sinking onto the couch.
“I can’t be specific, but watching your memories would be most helpful,” Ron replied.
“Gulping gargoyles!” Ginny exclaimed. “You’re asking a lot, but I’ll help. You want to do this right now?”
“Could we? The sooner we can sort through them, the better for the investigation,” Ron said as he took out his wand.
“All right. Give me a moment. Who do you want me to concentrate on?” she asked. She rubbed her temples trying to relax enough to let the memories come to the surface.
“Anyone who cast a spell on Harry, excluding the healers,” Ron instructed.
Ginny nodded and closed her eyes. When the images she wanted were close to the surface, she whispered, “I’m ready. Here’s the first...”
Five minutes later, Ron closed the lid on his box. Inside were twenty-five memories stored in variously-sized vials. He put on his cloak and Ginny, who had yet to open her eyes, felt the couch shift.
“You need anything?” Ron asked, his voice full of concern.
“No, but I could use a hug,” she murmured. “It’s not the most pleasant thing to recall so many memories. As glad as I am to share them with you, summoning them from where I’d tucked them away just brought the whole frustratingly stressful experience back in full force.” Ginny opened her eyes and looked at her brother hopefully. “Is there any chance I could have the vials back when you’re done? I might want to view them sometime in Harry’s Pensieve.”
Ron’s strong arms gathered her close as he said, “I promise to return the vials, sis.”
Ginny sighed thankfully. “Good. I hope what I gave you is useful,” she said.
“I think it will be. Thanks for your help.” He stood up and collected his box. “Will you and the children be at Mum’s on the twentieth?”
“No, we’re coming back here for a couple of days for some family time together before we go to The Burrow,” Ginny answered.
“All right. I’ll tender your regrets to Mum for the family, then,” Ron said. “See you soon.”
Ginny walked him to the fireplace, and with mixed feelings, watched her brother disappear into the green flames.
*
A/N: There you have it... the evidence all nicely laid out for you by the Aurors and other departments involved in collecting the data the Aurors need to legally arrest the Matron... if they can ever catch her!
My sincerest thanks goes out to Mutt n Feathers for her expertise in Muggle medicine and Rosina Ferguson for her Brit-picking prowess. Between the two, this chapter was spruced up and made ship-shape in those areas while Jedi34, RSS and RebeccaRipple read and asked questions during the numerous rewrites of various sections. Also, I appreciate the time Aggiebell took to go through the final version of the chapter after I sent it to her with only days to spare. I appreciate her questions and comments which forced me to rewrite part of several paragraphs until we were both satisfied... and then I decided to change them again! Thanks a bunch, Aggie! You’re the greatest!
Chapter 14: 14: Reunion
Author's Notes: I remembered bright and early today! I hope all of you enjoy the chapter enough to tell me about it. You know I always write back, even if you only leave me some stars.
Chapter 14: Reunion
Friday, 11 December 2020, 2305 hours
Nothing was going right! The Aurors were coming ever closer, closer than they had the night of the raid when she had wanted them in the house in the woods.
“How could he let himself be caught?” the Matron raged to her audience of three for the twentieth time. “You say he’s talking?”
Tim, the Matron’s Assistant, nodded, obviously too scared to speak up.
“This is disastrous! He knows too much! If he tells them everything, they’ll know to break the Imperius Curses on the others!” she screeched.
“Matron, calm down,” her colleague soothed. “They still don’t know we’ve set up shop in here.”
“Bollocks! That nosey warehouse owner from across the street saw you three last week. By now he’s gone to the Aurors with his information. We’ll have to move again,” the Matron decided.
Her two colleagues exchanged glances. “We could... take care of him,” one of them suggested with a sly grin. “You said yesterday we needed a test subject for the new potion. Why not the nosey one?”
“What good would using him be?” she bellowed back. “He’s too close to Potter and if he’s hurt or gets ill he’ll go straight to the Aurors. What good would that do us?”
“He won’t go if he can’t remember,” the other colleague suggested as she used a finger to mimic Obliviating a memory.
“None of you can wipe a memory sufficiently enough so that a clever busybody can’t reverse the charms,” the Matron fumed. “And all three of you have proven that your Imperius Charms are breakable!”
“Hadn’t thought of that,” Tim mumbled.
“You never think! All you do is act! You leave trails everywhere! You can’t hold down a job long enough to find new test subjects, so you’ve left evidence of your existence all over London! The only smart thing you ever did was copy the joke shop owner’s notebooks, and even then you didn’t manage to stay employed long enough to copy that final book.”
“What I did copy was enough to make your research worthwhile,” Tim retorted.
“Hardly,” the Matron answered coldly. “The experiments we had to conduct just added to our list of witnesses.” She changed the subject. “Does anyone have an idea of where we can relocate?”
The three shook their heads, muttering to themselves.
“Then start looking!” she shouted. “We need to move within a week! Dis-missed!”
As the other three Disapparated, the Matron smirked to herself. Maybe making an example of that warehouse owner on our last night here isn’t such a bad idea after all, she mused as she walked to the window that overlooked the street and the warehouse belonging to Importations Magique, Inc. She was pleased to see a light shining in the office window: this late at night it wouldn’t be very hard to kidnap the man because no one else was around. A plan began forming in her head... the longer she thought about it the better she liked it.
It was a rather long time before she set aside her plans, grabbed her Time Turner from its hiding place and Disapparated away from the warehouse.
*
Sunday, 13 December 2020, 1545 hours
Ginny sat on one of the benches lining the pool watching Harry work with Silvia in the water. Her husband was wearing a life vest that kept his upper body afloat, and the therapist had him actually swimming– strongly pulling himself along using only his arms–something Harry had hardly ever done when he could walk because of his poor swimming skills. To Ginny, it was a beautiful thing to see, for it not only meant that Harry was gaining strength by leaps and bounds, but that he would have a new activity to do with their children come summer. As long as she warned their three enthusiastic youngsters not to drown their father, she didn’t think there’d be any trouble getting Harry out in the pond at The Burrow.
She watched as Silvia let go of Harry’s hips and stood back a few paces. Although his legs sank a little, the specialized float secured between his knees kept them near the surface, making it easier for him to swim on his own.
“Keep going, Harry,” Silvia called as she hoisted herself out of the pool and sat on the side. “You’re doing nicely. Do four more laps with ten seconds rest between each for an even hundred metres. Then you can go get dried off.”
Harry flashed her a determined look and kept swimming.
Silvia came over to sit next to Ginny.
“He seems to be doing well,” Ginny commented as she picked up her wand and surreptitiously dried Silvia’s bathing costume, disregarding the no-wands rule.
Silvia scowled at the wand and Ginny shrugged and put it away.
“Yes, he is,” Silvia said. “I’m very pleased with his progress in the last week in therapy and in the pool. I’ve never seen anyone so determined to learn to swim. What happened to make him change his attitude?”
Ginny briefed her and Silvia smiled. “I knew he had it in him. It was just a matter of time, you know?” She lowered her voice. “I have some good news... Healer Stilwell has authorized me to start Harry on leg-strengthening exercises after the Christmas hols. We think with Harry’s new level of determination that he’ll be walking with crutches by July.”
Ginny closed her eyes and heaved a sigh. “Oh, I hope you’re right, Silvia. That would mean so much to him.” She opened her eyes. “I daren’t tell Harry, though. If I do, he’ll just push himself harder, I know him...”
Silvia patted Ginny’s arm. “He’s cleared to go home on Saturday, too, another thing he doesn’t know yet. Enjoy the holidays, Ginny. You both deserve to have some real family time,” she said.
Ginny could only smile.
*
Tuesday, 15 December 2020
“Sign here, here and here and initial here and here, please,” the Chrysler salesman instructed.
Ginny picked up a biro and the contract she was about to sign and began to read. Even though she had already read and signed several agreements sent to her by the National Health System, she still wanted to know what she was signing. She also knew that Harry had specified and paid for many conversions to the van he had ordered, including a lift and a raised roof. The papers she was signing today would finalize their five-year lease, and she wanted to make sure everything was perfectly in order. Finally, she touched the pen to paper, thinking that when she finished signing, she’d feel a similar magical sensation to the one she felt whenever she signed magically binding contracts like her contract with the Harpies or The Daily Prophet. However, there was no such feeling, and for some reason, she felt quite let down. Apparently, Muggle contracts used only the buyer’s signature to bind him or her to the purchase.
It took another fifteen minutes of signing and passing papers back and forth across the desk before the salesman said, “I’ve just rung for Charles. He’ll take you out and show you the basics of operation. All the manuals are in the map holder. Please read them before venturing too far from home.”
“Thank you, I will,” Ginny said and followed Charles out to the car park where a gleaming new Wheelchair Accessible van was parked in the wintry sunshine.
Charles handed Ginny the keys. “All yours, ma’am,” he said. “Open ‘er up.”
Ginny looked at the key fob attached to the key ring. There were little pictures on the brightly coloured buttons: she found the one she wanted and pressed it. Something in the van clicked. “What do I do now?” she asked, bewildered.
Charles gave her a strange look. “Open the door, of course,” he said, making Ginny feel foolish.
“Sorry, my mind is elsewhere,” she explained. “Can you show me how to operate the lift, please?”
It seemed that giving Charles something to do other than laugh at her was the right thing to do. It took several minutes and more than a few tries for Ginny to memorize the correct sequence for raising and lowering a wheelchair-bound person into the van. However, she soon felt confident enough to bid Charles good-bye and head for The Burrow and a session of spell-casting with her father and George which would enable her and Harry to operate the van in both the Muggle and Wizarding worlds.
She felt like a queen sitting up so high above the road. True, she had ridden in Hermione’s Range Rover many times and driven for years in the cars she and Harry had purchased. However, this was a completely new experience and she decided she was going to like driving this big, awkward vehicle because it meant that Harry could be beside her.
*
Friday, 18 December 2020, after supper
“Arlene, have you seen my tie with the brown stain on it?” Isabel asked as she stuck her head over the top of her bed. Moments before, she’d been retrieving items of clothing from underneath it and throwing them in the direction of her trunk.
“No, but I’ll give you the one my cat clawed to pieces. My mum’s going to hex me for that one. It was new in September,” Arlene replied as she overturned a bureau drawer onto her quilt.
“If it’s got cat fur on it my baby brother will sneeze if he gets near it,” Isabel said, “so no, I’d better not take it home.” She paused and then burrowed under her bed again. Suddenly, she called, “Hey Lily, I found that purple sock you were looking for the other day.” She tossed it across the room to Lily who sat on her bed folding her clothes the Muggle way.
“Thanks, Isabel. I’d hate to have to wear Dobby Socks on the train tomorrow,” Lily giggled, catching the purple sock deftly in one hand. She cast a cleaning charm on it and dropped it on her bedside table next to its mate. “I want to look nice tomorrow night when we go see my dad.”
Her two roommates goggled at her. “What are Dobby Socks, Lily?” Arlene asked as she abandoned her own folding and came to stand at the foot of Lily’s bed.
“When my daddy was here at Hogwarts there was a freed house-elf named Dobby working here who worshiped my dad,” Lily explained. “Dobby never wore matching socks, so whenever I or my brothers come down in the morning wearing mismatched socks, Daddy says we’re wearing Dobby Socks.”
Lily’s roommates giggled and Arlene pulled up her robes. “Erm... I think I’m wearing Dobby Socks today, then,” she said stepping back a few paces to show her mismatched red and yellow socks. Isabel snickered, “At least you found our house colours,” and still giggling, the three went back to their packing.
Lily was nearly done when the door to the dorm opened, admitting her three other dormmates, Andrea, Ebba and Ramona. The three newcomers sauntered into the room as if they owned the place instead of shared it. Lily exchanged eye rolls with Arlene and Isabel and locked her trunk; she’d learned her lesson last spring when she hadn’t finished packing in time to shut it properly and Ebba had levitated it just high enough to shake the contents onto the floor. There was no love lost between the two girls; they’d been squaring off since the first night of first year. That night, it had taken Lily another hour to repack before she could go to bed.
Ramona pointed her wand at her trunk, making its lid spring open. At the same time, her bureau began to empty itself. However, instead of neatly-folded clothes settling themselves into the trunk, a string of brick-like objects thudded inside, raising a cloud of dust. Ramona screeched in alarm and tried to cancel the spell, but it only made the bricks split apart and fall into the trunk with ever-increasing speed.
“Potter! I’m going to get you for this!” the enraged Ramona cried. “You make it stop right now! ”
Lily tried to hide her giggles behind her hand. “I’m not doing anything,” she chortled. “You must have said the wrong charm when you sent your clothes to the laundry the last time.”
“Don’t you go blaming Ramona for something she didn’t do!” Ebba cried, advancing on Lily. “She used the correct charm... I heard her!”
“Well, I didn’t do anything to her clothes,” Lily giggled as her friends added their own twitters of laughter.
“Then who did?” Andrea demanded, advancing on Lily, who wisely swallowed her next giggle so she could look Andrea in the eye.
Before Lily could answer, the door banged opened to reveal Rose Weasley standing there with her hands on her hips. “I did!” she announced proudly, causing Andrea’s, Ebba’s and Ramona’s heads to swivel in her direction.
Ramona recovered first; she pointed her wand at Rose and stomped across the room to where the other girl stood in the doorway. “You make it stop, then! You’ve ruined my clothes!” she demanded.
“No, I haven’t,” Rose smiled mildly. “It’s a simple charm that won’t harm them at all.”
“I don’t believe you,” Ramona hissed. “Fix them. NOW!”
Rose leaned against the doorstop. “Will you stop acting like my cousin and her friends are the pariah of Gryffindor Tower and at least speak civilly to them instead of acting like something unpleasant you’ve stepped on?” she asked.
Her three opponents glowered at her, so Rose turned slowly towards the stairs. “Enjoy your petrified clothes, ladies,” she said. “I’ve heard stone knickers are all the rage this Christmas. Ta-ta.” She left with a little wave of her fingers.
Ebba stomped over to Lily. “Make her come back, you rotten little twit!” she shouted.
Lily stood her ground. “I can’t make Rose do anything,” she said truthfully. “But you might be able to if you said ‘sorry’ and promised to be nicer to me and Arlene and Isabel.”
“Oh, all right! ” Ebba fumed. She turned to Ramona and Andrea. “Come on, you two. I don’t want to have to wear stone knickers tomorrow.” The three stormed out of the room leaving Lily, Arlene and Isabel to collapse in a fit of giggles on Arlene’s bed.
All too soon, Andrea, Ramona and Ebba returned, followed by Rose. Without a word Andrea and Ebba tried to pack their trunks the same way Ramona had done with the same results. By this time, it was nearly lights-out; any minute the Prefects would be making their rounds, so Rose just pointed her wand at each of the trunks and gave it a twitch. A pale yellow light shot from her wand and landed first in Ramona’s trunk and then the other two. Immediately, the bricks became cloth again, although they were covered in a monumental amount of brick dust. Ramona started to protest.
“You’ve learned basic cleaning spells,” Rose said sagely. “Use them.”
The three took out their wands and began casting spells, eliciting an exchange of winks between Lily and Rose.
As her cousin left, Lily whispered, “Thanks, Rose.”
The older girl winked at Lily. “Glad to help. See you on the train tomorrow.”
*
Saturday, 19 December 2020, 1200 hours
Ginny slammed the driver-side door of the new van and fastened her seatbelt. Glancing over at Harry, she asked, “All set?”
He grinned at her. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” he said from his place beside her–the front passenger seat had been removed and special tie-downs installed so that his wheelchair could fit beside the driving seat. “How long is the drive?”
“About three and a half hours,” Ginny answered.
“Barring traffic,” Harry chuckled, sounding as nervous as she felt.
Ginny started the engine and pulled out of The Groves car park. “Here we go,” she chirped to cover up her own insecurities concerning the trip.
Harry smiled at her and placed his hand briefly on her knee. “I’m eager to see the children,” he told her. She smiled back and then concentrated on her driving.
The drive went smoothly all the way to London. They talked little; Ginny suspected Harry was enjoying the quiet, which was broken only by the soft strains coming from the “surround sound” wireless system. At one point, he even nodded off. She pulled off the road and quickly conjured a headrest for him: his grateful sigh went straight to her heart. She was glad he was napping because it meant he’d have more energy with which to deal with the children’s exuberance.
Once in London, Ginny took her time negotiating the busy streets. It felt so different driving here, not only because of her inexperience with the traffic, but her perspective was very different from what she was used to as a pedestrian. Eventually, she began recognizing her surroundings and started looking for a wheelchair-accessible parking spot. There were none on street, which she found exceedingly frustrating, so she searched for a garage with enough overhead clearance for the van. It took a while, but she finally found one close enough to King’s Cross Station and their hotel for the night that Harry could greet the children if he chose to brave the crowds.
“Harry, we’re here,” she called softly, even though inside she wanted to scream at him to wake up, she was so frustrated by all the delays. She turned off the engine and gently shook his shoulder.
“Wha–oh? Here already?” he stammered. He patted the headrest. “Thanks for that. Could you get rid of it, please?”
Ginny smiled and cancelled her spell, then tapped the tie-downs holding Harry’s wheelchair to the floor of the vehicle. “Let me get the lift ready before you roll over,” she instructed.
Several minutes later, they exited the garage’s lift up to street level and began negotiating their way down the crowded pavements towards the station. By the time they reached the entrance, Harry was gasping for breath with the exertion of dealing with curbs, pedestrian crossings, impatient motorists and pedestrians who deliberately walked in front of his chair. Ginny was just as frustrated because their bubble of time before the train arrived was rapidly evaporating.
As they crossed the threshold into the cavernous building, Harry pulled ahead of Ginny and led the way to a less-crowded corner.
“What now?” she snapped, instantly sorry when her husband looked taken-aback.
“Ginny, I can’t make it in time, I have to slow down,” he said, his eyes pleading with her to understand. “Apparate onto the platform and meet the children. I’ll catch up and meet you on this side of the barrier.”
Ginny took out her handkerchief and mopped his sweaty brow. “That sounds like a good plan, dear,” she said as she fought her impatience. “It’ll take us about a half-hour to gather trolleys, trunks and owl cages, plus all the various and sundry that the three will have spread all over the train.”
Harry looked relieved as he said, “Thanks for understanding, love. See you soon, then.”
Ginny gave a nod, looked about cautiously, then slipped behind a pillar and Disapparated. She appeared again on the familiar platform just as the train was pulling in. It didn’t take long for her to find Ron and Hermione who were there to meet Rose and Hugo and she went to stand next to her brother.
He greeted her with a crass, “Took you long enough,” and then stepped back when she scowled angrily at him.
Hermione hissed, “Shut it, Ron! How dare you be so critical! She’s probably just left Harry somewhere.”
Ron blanched and immediately apologized just as Ginny heard, “Hey, Mum!” and looked up to see Albus and Lily standing in front of her.
“Oh, my darlings, it’s so good to see you!” she exclaimed, genuinely relieved that she wasn’t going to have to chase her children all over the platform like she had done a few times in the past. Then, she realized her oldest was missing. “Erm, where’s James?”
Lily giggled and pointed up the platform. “Oh!” escaped Ginny before she could help it: James was saying a rather passionate good-bye to Kendra.
“He’ll see her on Boxing Day when they go to see Brian,” she commented in exasperation to no one in particular.
“I remember several very similar partings twenty-odd years ago,” Hermione smirked. She picked up Rose’s book bag and set it on the trolley Ron had found.
“Yours or mine?” Ginny asked as her brother commandeered another trolley and brought it over for Albus’, James’ and Lily’s trunks.
Hermione giggled, “Both” and the two women shared knowing smiles.
“Are we going home or somewhere else for the night?” Albus asked as the two families started towards the barrier leading to the Muggle platforms.
“We’re staying at the Merritt Hotel tonight,” Ginny told them with a tired sigh. “It’s very close to the station, but James, Whitehorn will have to fly home because the hotel doesn’t allow pets.”
Ron said, “Give him here, James. He can fly home from our house.”
James handed Whitehorn’s cage to his uncle who put it on their trolley.
“How come we’re not staying at the Leaky Cauldron?” Albus asked.
Ginny had a believable answer ready. “It’s so close to Christmas there are no rooms available at the Leaky Cauldron.”
“Does the Muggle hotel have a pool?” James and Albus asked together.
“A recreation room?” Lily chimed in.
“It has both. It’s a hotel for people on the go who have been sitting all day and want a change of activity,” Ginny replied. “The brochure says the pool is on the roof.”
“Brilliant!” James exclaimed as Albus added his own “Wicked!”
The children talked excitedly about their choices of entertainment as they all stopped in front of the barrier to say their good-byes. The Weasley family went through first, leaving Ginny to organize her brood.
“I’ll go through first,” she told them. “Lily, Albus, you’ll be next and James will bring up the rear with the trolley. Don’t dally. I need to check us in at the hotel before six o’clock.”
With that, she passed through the barrier leading to the Muggle platform and immediately looked for Harry. She spotted him nearby just as Lily came through. The young girl’s eyes widened with surprise and joy as she spotted her father.
“DADDY!” she yelled, dropping her book bag and making a bee-line for Harry.
Ginny watched as the tiredness left his face at the sight of his daughter and a moment later all three Potter children were sharing a group hug with their father.
*
A/N: Several of my pre-betas have mentioned that Harry owns the Grimmauld Place house, which is a fifteen minute walk from King's Cross Station, and wondered why Ginny wasn't taking the family there for their night in London. My answer is that while the house has been renovated to suit the Potter family, it has not had any of the conveniences installed that would enable Harry to easily live in the house. Therefore, Harry and Ginny made the decision to stay in the Merritt Hotel which had rooms designed with the handicapped in mind.
Thank you, readers for reading and reviewing. I enjoy responding to your comments and look forward to them as much as you do to each new chapter. I hope you’ve enjoyed how quickly the story has moved through this week so that the next few chapters can deal with the Christmas hols.
Many thanks go out to my team of pre-beta readers, Jedi34, RSS, RebeccaRipple and Mutt n Feathers who continue to question and remark over every detail. I send special thanks to my Brit-picker, Rosina Ferguson, who sent me information and links to sites about the British National Health System’s Wheelchair Accessible Vehicle program. She’s a goldmine of information which I find fascinating not only as a source for the details which make the story more authentic, but also as a comparison of the differences between our two countries. Finally, thank you to Aggiebell who waited patiently for me to send her the final, rewritten, sections of this chapter until the very last minute and then took the time away from an important computer project to see that the chapter was ship-shape and ready for posting.
Chapter 15: 15: Home
Author's Notes: To my readers, thank you for your continued support. I appreciate your reviews more than you know because watching the hit counts go up does get lonely. Also, thank you so much for voting for my story in the Silver Trinket Awards; I was happily surprised to find For Love of Family had garnered enough votes to earn an Honourable Mention in the Best Drama category. I sincerely appreciate your loyalty.
Saturday, 19 December 2020, 1630 hours
The clock in the outer office of Importations Magique, Inc. struck five times as the secretary pointed her wand at the filing cabinets next to her desk and locked them all with one swift movement. A moment later a tall blond man with a receding hairline stepped into the room, locking his own door with a spell as he did so.
The secretary smiled. “It’s good to be going home early, Mr Malfoy,” she observed. “Will you be going directly home tonight?”
Draco shook his head and glanced at his watch. He had exactly a half hour to get to King’s Cross Station. “Not tonight. I’m picking up my son from school,” he said with a rare smile.
“It should be nice to have him home for the holidays,” Draco’s secretary commented. She put on her cloak. “I’ll see you at half-five on Monday morning, sir.”
With a glance out the window at the warehouse across the street, Draco said, “I appreciate your willingness to come in so early. Good night.”
The secretary exited the office and clattered down the stairs to the main floor. Draco followed her a few minutes later, after making sure the last of his employees had left the building. As he pressed the button to close the overhead sectional door from the inside, he glanced up at the windows of the other warehouse. A lone figure on the top floor stood silhouetted against the glow of a lamp, obviously watching him. The door slid closed. The automatic lock slipped into place and Draco Disapparated as a shiver rand down his spine.
*
1835 hours
Because of the holidays, King’s Cross Station was exceptionally busy, more so than it usually was early on Saturday evening. The hustle and bustle was such that if compared to the noisy corridors of Hogwarts during a passing period, the noise made by the travellers, trolleys and trains would have drowned the students’ voices three times over. What’s more, all those people made navigating from Platform 9 much more hazardous than Albus had imagined. True, he had gone home for the Christmas hols last year and hadn’t given the crowds much thought at all, but now that his father was in a wheelchair, he was very much aware of them.
The Potter family’s progress towards the street entrance was slow, not only because James was pushing the loaded trolley, but because people kept walking rudely in front of Dad’s chair. Their disregard caused not only him, but Albus and Lily as well, to veer out of the way to avoid collisions. To Albus, it was as if his father didn’t even exist because his head wasn’t at people’s eye level.
Finally, the family reached the street entrance and Albus’ mother hastened away. When Lily asked where she was going, his father explained their new van was in the wrong car park and that she needed to move it to the one belonging to the hotel. Albus nearly heaved a sigh of relief that their pedestrian trials were nearly over, but then thought better of it when he discovered there were as many people outside the station as there were inside! The family continued past the entrance and out into the covered area in front of the station.
“Hey! Watch it, man! You nearly ran me down!” an annoyed tourist carrying two huge bags screamed at Dad, who had pulled up sharply when the man had crossed his path from the left. It was suddenly clear to Albus that his Dad truly hadn’t seen the man.
Oh, Merlin! Dad still can’t see anything coming from his left! he realized as the tourist pushed past James and the trolley. His father’s apology fell on deaf ears as the man hurried away.
Albus sidled over to James. In a low voice, he said, “We need to protect Dad. Lily and I’ll walk on his left if you’ll take his right a little ahead of us.”
James nodded. “Good plan. That bloke was out of line,” he muttered. The boys took their positions as the family continued towards the curb to meet the van. The plan worked because people seemed to want to avoid the trolley more than they had Dad’s chair.
As the four Potters reached the curb, Dad patted Albus’ arm, making him look down. “Thanks, son,” he said and Albus could see the grateful expression on his dad’s tired face.
They reached the curb and Albus sighted his mum standing next to a large blue van. “There she is,” he remarked unnecessarily.
“James, bring the trunks. Albus, you help him put them into the back,” Mum directed, pointing her key fob at the van. There was a loud click as the doors parted. “The hotel is just across the street. Honey,” she said looking at Dad, “do you want to walk or ride?”
“I’ll walk,” Dad answered and Albus thought it a strange term to use as he helped his brother stack the trunks in the cargo space behind the last seat.
“Can I go with you, Mum?” Lily asked.
Mum smiled at Lily and held out her hand. “Come along, my little pixie,” she said, making Lily blush. She helped Lily past the driving seat and then entered the van herself. “See you in a few minutes,” she called as James shut the back doors and took the trolley to a nearby trolley park. Albus waved as she started the van and pulled out into traffic.
He heard Dad sigh. “It’ll be all right, Dad,” he said, even though he was panicking inside. Mum had forgotten to tell them the name of their hotel. “I’m sure she’ll be back to get us.”
“She will. We should have gone with her,” Dad said in a tired voice. He pointed to his right. “Let’s go over to that pedestrian crossing. I think your mum said the hotel was that way.”
The three Potter men slowly made their way towards the intersection, Albus on his father’s left, James on his right, both boys walking a pace or two in front of his chair. They reached the crossing without mishap and Dad stayed back and to the side to allow people access to the street. Albus stood as close to his father as the wheelchair would allow and put a hand on his shoulder. To his surprise, his father rested his head on Albus’ hip and closed his eyes.
Five minutes later, Lily appeared on the opposite side of the street. She waved wildly to get their attention and then beckoned to them to cross with the next light. Albus gently shook his father’s shoulder, waking him. It was nearly dark as the Potter men followed Lily into the hotel.
Mum greeted them in the middle of the lobby. Dad looked surprised as she said, “All set. We’re on the second floor next to the water fountain.”
“You’ve already checked us in?” Dad asked, sounding dismayed. “That’s always been my job.”
Mum just smiled at him. “You wouldn’t have known what to remind the receptionist about, dear,” she said, “since I was the one to make the reservations.”
Dad looked as if he was going to protest, but Mum just continued in an unnaturally patient tone, “Not here, Harry. If you want, we’ll discuss this in the suite.”
“Fine,” Dad pouted and waited while Mum led the way out of the lobby and down a corridor lined with doors to the lift.
Their suite was everything Albus imagined it would be. The hardwood floors of the common area gleamed in the glow of the recessed lights in the ceiling. Mum showed Albus and James their room and the boys spent a few minutes squabbling over who would sleep on which side of the bed. Then James asked their mum where the pool was. She told them and the two Potter brothers quickly changed, grabbed a towel each from their ensuite and raced each other down the corridor to the lift. They had just dunked each other in the deep end when their dad appeared at the door.
“May I join you?” Dad asked, rolling his chair close to the edge of the pool.
“I didn’t know you could swim,” James commented. He hoisted himself out of the water and stood by Dad’s chair. “Do you need help getting in?”
Dad shook his head. “No, son, I don’t. Just stand back and let me show you what I can do.” To Albus, his father sounded rather proud of himself.
However, James didn’t move, instead looking as if he was poised to offer assistance even if it wasn’t necessary. Albus caught the annoyed look on his father’s face as he repositioned his chair and prepared to slip out of it and onto the pool deck.
Mum must have told James to help Dad even when he doesn’t want help, Albus realized as his dad pushed himself out of the chair. At the same time, James lunged forward as if to catch their father, but the two collided and fell into the pool with a tremendous splash.
“James, you idiot!” Albus yelled when his brother surfaced.
James yelled back, “It’s not my fault he wouldn’t let me help!”
“Dad doesn’t want your help!” Albus shot back.
“How do you know, you little twit–” James countered.
“You two, stop fighting!” their father yelled, cutting through their argument. Both Albus and James looked towards the sound. Their father had somehow managed to get all the way to the other side of the pool. “James, get over here and explain yourself.”
Albus watched as James swam across the pool and stood in front of their father who seemed to be lounging by the side of the pool with one arm on the deck. The pose looked relaxed, but as Albus moved closer to hear his brother get scolded, he saw the muscles in his father’s arm tremble with the effort of holding up all his body weight.
“I’m sorry,” James mumbled. “Mum told me I was supposed to help.”
“When I want your help, James, I’ll ask for it,” Dad said. “Do you understand me?”
James hung his head. “Yes, Dad.”
“Good. I’m glad we’ve cleared that up. Now Albus, would you get the float I brought with me, please. It’s in the bag,” Dad said, looking at Albus.
Albus brought the float and attached it to his father’s legs as directed and then stood back. With a grateful smile, their father pushed off from the side and swam towards the deep end with powerful strokes, his legs trailing behind him just under the surface. Seeing his father so at home in the water caused Albus to cheer.
“Brilliant, Dad! Wanna race?” he offered. When his father grinned, Albus swam over.
“James, you be the judge,” their father instructed with a smile.
James counted down and the race was on. Albus knew he was a good swimmer, but to his surprise, his father beat him to the shallow end by almost a body length... and he wasn’t breathing hard, either!
“My turn for a race,” James requested. “You up to it, Dad?”
Their father smiled. “You’re on. Albus, please count down.”
This race was a tie and James demanded a rematch, which their father won. After that, the three of them slowed down and did laps until Mum came to tell them to dress for dinner.
*
0222 hours, Sunday, 20 December 2020
Something in the night woke her. She didn’t know whether it was the strange bed–she’d slept in enough of those lately–the hotel noises, someone walking out in the corridor or her own worries surfacing long enough for her to wake, but whatever it was had her wide awake and staring at the ceiling. Beside her, Harry shifted in his sleep. He had chosen to sleep in his right side tonight and when Ginny moved, he stretched out a hand as if seeking to know whether or not she was still beside him; he sighed, sounding contented, when she touched his fingers.
Ginny waited a few minutes and then withdrew her hand. Harry was deeply asleep again, so he didn’t protest, nor did he object, when she slipped out of bed. She found her wand on the bedside table and wandered into the suite’s common area after donning her dressing gown.
The suite had a huge window overlooking the street below, and Ginny went over to it and pulled the curtains apart. At this hour the street was nearly deserted and she could feel its loneliness. She let the curtain fall back in place and went over to the tiny kitchenette looking for a mug and a teabag. She found both, filled the mug with hot water from the special spigot in the sink, and took her steeping tea back over to one of the chairs by the window.
As she sipped the hot liquid, her thoughts strayed to the surprises awaiting her family back at Snidget’s Haven. She was proud of what she’d done to improve the house and she hoped Harry and the children would accept the changes without question, even though she hadn’t prepared them. She thought the boys would find the spellwork and mechanical additions rather interesting, but she worried that the ramp outside the front door would bother Harry immensely. She hated how it advertised that an invalid lived in the house, but what could she do? In her whirlwind of making changes during the first two weeks after Harry’s accident, she had done things she should have taken more time to think through, she knew that now; Ron and Hermione had tried valiantly to dissuade her from changing the house so drastically, but she hadn’t listened and now her guilt was finally catching up to her.
I’ll tell Harry in the morning, she decided, he needs to be prepared for how ugly the front of the house is now...
She finished her tea, and even though she was far from sleepy, she went back to bed, telling herself that she could assuage her guilt during the drive home.
*
1654 hours
Harry sat up straight in his wheelchair, peering in anxious anticipation as Ginny swung the van between the decorative gates and onto the drive leading up to Snidget’s Retreat. He’d always loved watching the house reveal itself bit by bit as the drive curved this way and that, following the contours of the land until it straightened out and the house was there in front of him, three storeys of magnificently old brick, mortar and slate-shingled gables. Twenty years ago when Harry and Ginny had taken possession of the Potter family estate, the house had been almost as in need of repair as Grimmauld Place had been. Now, after a tremendous amount of work, it was Harry’s pride and joy, a home he was proud to call his.
As Ginny pulled the van closer to the front entrance, Harry caught sight of something that made his blood boil. “Ginny,” he barked, barely controlling his temper, “what is that attached to the veranda?”
Smiling, his wife turned to him. “I see you’ve found the wheelchair ramp,” she said. “There’s another one out back as well.” She accelerated a little as if to pass the house.
“Stop the van, Ginny,” Harry ordered angrily. “I’m getting out.”
“Harry Potter, you’ll do no such thing!” his wife commanded.
“Then stop the van and tell me what the hell you did with the stairs at the front of the house,” Harry nearly yelled. He ignored Lily’s startled squeak from the rear seat as he swore. “I built those stairs with my own hands, using MUGGLE carpentry techniques! They’re my steps! I laid each and every stone and mortared them in place BY MYSELF!
“That monstrosity is a blight on the front of the house! Vanish it or I’ll find a wand and do it myself!”
“Calm down, dear,” Ginny said evenly. “The stairs are still there. The carpenters just covered them up.”
“Carpenters?” Harry shouted. “When did you bring carpenters into our home? What did you have them do?”
“Well, for starters, they built the ramps to Muggle specifications, installed bars in the master bath, lowered the clothes racks in your wardrobe...”
Harry put his head in his hands. “I don’t want to hear any more about it,” he told her. “I can hardly wait to see how you’ve ruined our house.”
“Ruined! Harry James Potter, I’ve done no such thing. I’ve improved it, in fact, so that you can live here with us.” Ginny stomped on the accelerator pedal so hard the tires spun on the snow-covered drive. When at last they found traction, the van lurched forward so fast they nearly hit the garage doors. Harry was very glad when they came safely to a stop.
*
Monday, 20 December 2020, 1354 hours
Albus wandered about the house marvelling at the ingenious accommodations his mother had installed to make his father’s life easier. There were spells on all of the lintels, which magically widened for the wheelchair to pass through without changing the appearance of the rooms. The short flights of steps leading up to the library or down into the sunken reception and great rooms would become ramps when his father’s chair approached and stopped for two seconds. Even his father’s wardrobe had been enchanted to gently move the clothes rods about so he could choose his robes and shirts each morning.
The most creative addition, however, was the lift. His mother had converted the old dumbwaiter that, in times long past, had been used to transport food and beverages and goods from the bottom of the house to the attic, for use as a one-man lift. The shaft had been magically widened; the walls, floor and ceiling of the lift itself had been enlarged to accommodate his father’s chair with a decent amount of head- and elbowroom; and the machinery had been strengthened to adjust to the extra weight. When anyone stepped inside and closed the half-door, all they needed to do was tell the lift what floor they wanted and they’d be whisked away to their destination. To Albus, that was a pretty brilliant piece of magic.
Despite all the new magic and the good tidings the Christmas season was supposed to bring, the Potter house wasn’t a very happy place to be at the moment, and in actuality, Albus was trying very hard to avoid his parents. It was only early afternoon and he was tired of listening to them bicker. Growing up a partial-Weasley, Albus was used to family squabbles and often enjoyed joining in himself. However, this felt very different, almost as if his parents were in some sort of power struggle.
It had started after dinner last night. Albus, James and Lily had been sitting on the floor of the great room playing Exploding Snap while their father read in his wheelchair and their mum did needlepoint in her favourite chair with her feet up. Then Dad’s book had fallen on the floor when he’d reached for his tea cup. Instantly, Mum had jumped up and retrieved it for him, even as Dad had reached down to get it himself. Dad had told Mum to sit down and then proceeded to calmly pluck his book from the floor; Mum had sat down and scowled at him for five minutes.
Later, Dad had left to go upstairs by himself. However, Mum had followed him to help him operate the lift. When he’d proved that the little rehearsal earlier in the day had been enough for him to remember what to do, Mum still had insisted on activating the lifting spell and then Apparated upstairs to meet him. Her appearance in their bedroom had been met with angry words and the rowing had begun. Dad had kicked Mum out of the bath... twice; told her to sit down at breakfast when he wanted more coffee; patiently found the book he wanted in the library by himself, even though it was on a shelf high above his head; and fetched his own jacket, even after Mum had sprinted into the kitchen from another part of the house to get it for him, when he had wanted to go outside and inspect the wheelchair ramp at the front of the house. He wanted to see if it could be moved or at least be made invisible. Each time, Mum had huffed that she could have retrieved, opened, lifted, poured whatever it was he wanted faster and easier than he could and each time Dad had told her to let him alone, he could do it himself!!
Albus had become very tired of listening to the arguing and had quietly put on his father’s work coat and gone out the back door. He was now half-way down the wheelchair ramp sweeping the snow carefully off the boards and inspecting them for ice. It made him feel good to be doing something useful. When he finished the ramp, he grabbed the snow shovel and attacked the white drifts on the path to the garage, scooping and throwing the fluffy white stuff a little harder and farther into the garden than necessary. When he reached the pavement in front of the garage, he thoroughly cleared the huge space, a job that usually took the combined efforts of two of the five Potters. Tired and cold, he finally trudged back to the house, hoping it would be quiet. It wasn’t.
Albus stomped up the stairs and slammed the door to his room, sealing it with a spell... under-age magic laws be hanged.
*
1745 hours
Harry finally escaped his wife’s haranguing and rolled down the ramp at the back of the house. He’d seen Albus shovelling the snow off the ramp and path earlier and was thankful for his son’s efforts as soon as his wheels hit the pavement leading to the garage that stood a little behind the house. It was slow going for more snow had blown over the stones again, but eventually, Harry made it to the access door without mishap. Taking a key from his pocket, he inserted it into the lock and let himself into the cold darkness of the building, closing the door behind him. A moment later, the beam from a small torch he carried illuminated the workbench at the back of the room. Harry quickly located a kerosene lamp he kept handy and rolled over to light it with a Muggle match. He now had just enough light to see what he’d come to look at.
The bright yellow, two-passenger Ferrari sat gleaming in the middle bay of the three-car garage between Ginny’s BMW and the van, compact, sleek and very new. It had been Ginny’s birthday present to him back in July when he turned forty, and Harry could count on his fingers the number of times he’d driven it before his accident. It had been his weekend car, a vehicle in which he’d tested his driving skills on the twisting roads of this county and the surrounding ones. He’d felt marvellously free sitting behind its wheel, especially when his sole passenger had been his lovely wife, who had enjoyed those drives as much as he had done. He closed his eyes, forcing down the sadness that threatened to overwhelm him with the realization that he’d never drive the beautiful sports car again.
Finally, he picked up the lamp and rolled over to the driving side of the Ferrari. He placed the lamp on the floor and opened the door, running his hand lovingly over the tan leather driving seat and appreciating the soft smoothness of the interior workmanship. He inhaled, pleased that the new-car smell was still present.
One last time... he told himself. All I need is one... last... time...
Then, one thing led to another and he hoisted himself into the seat, swinging his legs under the wheel and placing his foot on the accelerator pedal. He closed his eyes, imagining the sensation of the powerful engine pulsating through his body as he drove and the responsiveness of the controls as he guided the Ferrari along the road. Finally, sadly, he let the images fade away and opened his eyes again. He couldn’t keep the car; there was no place to store his wheelchair, nor did the manufacturer make hand controls for this model–he supposed he could have the car converted by the NHS mechanics, but it still wouldn’t be the same... This was a walking man’s vehicle, and Harry couldn’t walk.
With a tremendous sigh, he opened the door, and manoeuvred himself back into his wheelchair, shutting the door for the final time. He allowed his hand to trail over the smooth metal as he rolled back to the workbench to put away the lamp. Maybe he’d give the car to George instead of selling it: George was doing well enough that he could afford the insurance for a Ferrari, which was as expensive as adding another teen driver to one’s policy. Harry chuckled sadly at the thought as he extinguished the lamp and put it back on the workbench. Not quite ready to leave the quiet of the garage, Harry sat in the dark until he became cold.
He had just locked the access door when a worried voice called softly across the darkened garden. “Dad, are you all right? Did you fall or something? Mum was getting worried when she couldn’t find you.”
Harry sighed. “Yes, James, I’m fine,” he answered, trying valiantly to keep the emotion from his tone. “Tell your mum I’ll come inside in a moment.”
*
Ginny had started dinner while her husband was Godric-knew-where. He’d left their bedroom in the middle of an argument saying that he wanted some peace and quiet and to be left alone. Well, if he wanted to be left alone, who was she to complain? But first, she had plenty of laundry that had come home from Hogwarts to do. After he’d left, Ginny had spent a good half-hour down in the cellar sorting it by hand and starting a load of whites, wondering as she always did where her sons found the dirt and mud that clung to their uniforms. Her new surprise this term was the Muggle make-up smears she’d found on several of Lily’s white blouses and the collars of almost all of James’ uniform shirts... Hmmm... that merited an investigation later on...
Now, as the washer took care of the mud and make-up, Ginny threw flour, yeast, a little sugar, salt, some water, some milk and an egg into a large bowl and, grabbing a wooden spoon, began making bread for dinner. The dough came together quickly; it was rather sticky, so Ginny dumped it out on her floured kneading board and charmed a bench knife and some flour to work it smooth while she prepared the rest of the meal. A little more flour, a pinch of salt, a bit of lard and some cold water made a quick crust for the fish pie–Albus’ favourite dish–that would bake at the same temperature as the bread. She followed this up with a few quick swipes of her wand, causing several heads of broccoli to wash themselves and separate into florets for steaming. By the time she’d accomplished all this, the dough was smoothing out and was almost ready for rising.
However, Ginny wasn’t quite ready to set the dough aside to rise; she always needed to finish the kneading herself to make sure the gluten in the flour was fully developed. After cancelling her charms, Ginny dusted her hands with flour and began folding and pushing the dough. It felt good to do this physical work; she often used the repetitive task to relieve stress, think things through and calm herself down if she needed to. Tonight was no different; she let her mind wander, wondering what she was doing so wrong that she and Harry were constantly at each others’ throats. They’d always been amicable–not like Ron and Hermione and their years of constant bickering at all–and suddenly, Harry was home after an absence of two months and she couldn’t do anything right! He’d even threatened to search for and find his wands so that he could relocate the wheelchair ramp to the far side of the house, the ungrateful wretch! How ridiculous was that? The family never used the side door, the one that led to the library terrace; they always used the back door since it was closer to the garage.
What bothered Ginny the most, though, was Harry’s threat to find a wand and use it. She worried that if he did get hold of a wand, he’d undo all the good things the long months of no magic had done for his brain. According to Healer Stilwell, Harry needed at least six more wandless months to regain his peripheral vision on the left side and also stabilize his magic again after his brain injury... she understood that if he used magic before he was ready he could jeopardize his sight at best and become a Squib at worst! But did he? She had no idea because they hadn’t talked about it...
Ginny jumped as a warm hand touched her arm.
“Mum... Mum! You can stop kneading the bread now,” she heard Lily request quietly. “It needs to rest and rise.”
Shaking her head to clear it, Ginny said an absent, “Thanks, Lily,” and gently patted the dough into a ball. She then placed it in a greased bowl, which she sat on the cooker, the warmest place in the kitchen even when she wasn’t cooking.
Lily came over to her and pulled her into a hug. “Everything’s going to be all right, Mum,” she said. “We’re finally all together as a family again.”
The thought made Ginny smile, even as a single tear dripped down her cheek.
*
A/N: Just a couple of quick thank yous this time... To my pre-beta team of Jedi34, Mutt n Feathers, RebeccaRipple, and RSS, thank you for being so indignant about Ginny’s treatment of Harry in this chapter. Your complaints led me to add a new section to the next chapter and I hope you realize how valuable your comments are to me. To Aggiebell, my beta, thanks for all the new commas as well as your continued support and help in posting this story.
Chapter 16: 16: Clarification
Author's Notes: I found it highly amusing that the reviews for last chapter were divided into two categories; those sympathising with Harry who ranted against Ginny and those who tried valiantly to make sense of Ginny’s actions and ended up scolding her anyway! Your reactions made me think about possible changes I need to make to future chapters and I thank you for agreeing with my betas who kept telling me that something has to be done to make Ginny stop and think about what she’s doing to her family. I hope you find this chapter to be the solution or at least the beginning of the repairs to the Potter’s marriage.
0945 hours, Wednesday, 23 December 2020
A huge pile of clean laundry sat outside his door when he opened it Wednesday morning. For some reason, his mother had been doing laundry non-stop since they’d all come home on Sunday. She’d washed his and Albus’ Quidditch uniforms twice trying to get a lingering phantom stink out of them that only she could smell. James was of the opinion that she’d gone barmy over them: they were Quidditch uniforms, for Merlin’s sake... they were supposed to get dirty and smelly!
Then, after she’d finished all of those, she’d decided that all the beds in the house needed clean sheets, so on Monday she’d awoken everyone at oh-dark-thirty and made them all send their sheets down the shoot to the laundry room in the cellar. However, when Dad had started changing their bed like he’d been told to, Mum had thrown another fit and chased him out of their bedroom saying she’d change their sheets herself. Dad had been in a foul mood the rest of the long morning.
James sighed loudly and bent to pick up a stack of uniform shirts. A second later, note fluttered to the floor. Curious, he dropped the shirts and turned the note over.
James,
I hope you’re spending as much time doing your homework and revising for OWLs as you are in broom cupboards with your girlfriend.
Mum
So Mum had found the shirts with Kendra’s make-up on them. I should have sent those to the laundry at school, he thought. The snogging had been a little more passionate these last few times... so what? It had helped him forget how upset he was over his father’s accident. They hadn’t done much more than kiss...
Angrily, James crumpled the note and stuffed it into his pocket before taking his uniform shirts into his room and dropping them unceremoniously into his school trunk. He went back out into the corridor and brought in the rest of his laundry to put away. Then he grabbed the clothes he was going to wear when he and Kendra went to The Groves to visit Brian that day and headed for the shower.
Twenty minutes later, he stomped into the kitchen and stood glaring at his mother as she stood at the cooker stirring a cauldron of porridge. Behind him, he could hear Albus and Lily laughing.
“Mum, will you quit starching my pants!” he thundered.
His mother turned around and smiled at him. “Good morning to you, too, James,” she said.
“MU-U-U-UM!” he whined.
She turned back to her cauldron. “I’m sorry, James. I thought I’d rinsed those. Remember I told you I spilled the starch last night? I must have missed that pair,” she said.
He eyed her suspiciously, then looked over at his siblings. They shrugged, exchanged a worried look and bolted from the table. He could hear them pounding up the stairs to check their own under clothes and allowed himself a small smirk.
“All right,” he conceded. “I just hope you didn’t spill the magical starch that keeps stiffening every time... you know...” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence.
Mum turned off the flame under the cauldron and drew her wand. “No, it wasn’t that bottle of starch. Here, let me fix you...” Two seconds later, his clothes felt like they should. Then, she said, “You look nice, James. Will you be warm enough down in Devon?”
James smiled and looked down at his Weasley sweater, polo neck shirt and jeans. “I think I will be, since Kendra, Brian and I will be inside at The Groves,” he said.
“Good.” Mum flicked her wand at the cauldron and it sailed to the table, landing with a soft thump. “Come and eat. You’re meeting Kendra at five to eleven?”
As James answered, “Yes, Brian’s expecting us at eleven,” Albus and Lily walked back into the kitchen, Lily holding several rather stiff white rectangles.
Albus smiled smugly and announced, “She didn’t starch anything of mine,” to which Lily poked several very precisely folded singlets, “What did I do? Why are my clothes starched?” She glared at Mum, and James couldn’t help snickering behind his hand.
Mum ignored them. “Then you’d better eat quickly, James,” she said, adding a plate piled high with bacon and sausages. She sat down and joined them, but only after Lily made her promise to rewash everything she’d accidentally starched.
At precisely five minutes to eleven, James stepped out of the fireplace in The Groves’ Transportation Room. Kendra was already waiting and she gave him a big smile as he took her hand and kissed her cheek.
“Happy Christmas a bit early,” James mumbled into her ear, causing her to giggle.
She kissed the tip of his nose. “Happy Christmas to you, too,” she echoed. She patted her school bag. “I have your present with me, but I thought you’d want it later.”
James opened the door for her as he agreed, “Later will be fine. I have yours, too.”
To his surprise, Brian was waiting at the Matron’s station between the Magical and Muggle rooms. “I thought I’d wait here for you instead of in my room,” he said as James and Kendra walked up to him. “It’s been bloody boring the last few days with your dad gone, James, and only my parents to talk to.”
James sighed. “I wish I could say the same for our house,” he remarked more to himself than to the others as Brian led the way down the corridor past his room to a lounge area.
Kendra squeezed his fingers. “Care to tell us about it?” she asked as they waited for Brian to park his chair.
“I’d rather not,” James answered, feeling distinctly uncomfortable now that he’d made the stupid remark.
Brian eyed James as he sat down on one of the sofas, Kendra next to him, still holding his hand. “Is your mum trying to do stuff for your dad all the time?” he asked perceptively.
James stared at his friend. “Yeah, she is,” he admitted. “Why?”
“My mum’s doing the same thing,” Brian sighed. “I mean, I’m re-learning all these life skills I did by myself before I got hurt so I can go back to Hogwarts and not need a house-elf to trail after me, but Mum just can’t stop smothering me sometimes. My dad has tried to tell her I need to do things myself like Melissa wants me to, but it’s like his words go in one of her ears and out the other. Melissa’s even talked to her about leaving me alone, but Mum...” He shook his head. “I’m beginning to think my accident has hurt her more than it has me.”
James stared incredulously at Brian. “That’s exactly how it is at my house,” he said after a moment. “And the rowing hasn’t let up since we drove through the gates on Sunday afternoon and Dad saw the wheelchair ramp Mum had some carpenters build onto the front of our house.”
“Didn’t your mum take pictures of the changes she’s made to show your dad?” Brian asked, sounding surprised.
James shook his head. “It was a complete surprise to all of us,” he sighed. “None of us–Dad, Albus, me, Lily–we had no idea Mum had been so busy changing things around the house while we were gone.”
“I would have thought she’d have done something like that,” Brian commented, sounding mystified. “As soon as I was transferred here, Dad made sure I knew everything they discussed with my healers; some of it still hurts, but I’ve never been surprised like that. My parents even gave me a photo album with pictures of the things they have changed in our house, complete with before, during and after construction photos. I’m not sure I like everything they’ve done, but at least I’m prepared.”
“I wish Mum had done that for us,” James muttered to the floor.
Kendra squeezed his hand. “Maybe your mum wanted to surprise your dad with the things she changed,” she speculated.
“If she did,” James said, “the surprise fell flatter than a deflated Quaffle. I mean, he was surprised all right, but the next instant he was madder than a wet hen. He tried to make Mum open the door of the van so he could get out, but she wouldn’t.”
“Why wouldn’t she open the door?” Kendra asked. “I know it’s winter, but your dad has the right to get out of his own van.”
“Mum didn’t think so. In fact, she was so angry with Dad she nearly drove the van through the wall of the garage,” James said quietly, still very uncomfortable about airing his family’s dirty wash to his friends.
“Do you think your mum thought your dad was ungrateful?”
James raised an eyebrow at Brian’s question. He considered his answer carefully. “No, I don’t,” he said slowly. “I mean, she doesn’t feel like the mother I left on the platform in September. It’s as if... erm, it’s almost like she’s one of those Muggle wind-up toys my grandfather has.” When Kendra and Brian looked at him blankly, he explained, “My favourite is a monkey. If you wind the key” (he mimed winding the toy) “on the back and set it on the floor, the monkey walks and plays a drum for a few steps. My Uncle George loves a pair of plastic teeth that chatter at you when they’re wound up. If you’ve been to his shop you might have seen the teeth that chatter when you tap them with your wand? His magical version is an exact copy of the Muggle toy.”
Brian chuckled, “I have some of those teeth. I thought they were bloody brilliant when I was nine.” The smile left his face as he asked, “So you think you’re mum’s wound up like those teeth?”
With a long sigh, James answered, “I don’t think, I know.” He stood up and began pacing in front of the picture window that looked out over the rose garden. “Ever since she and Dad met us at King’s Cross, Mum’s been doing out-of-character things. Saturday night she checked our family into the hotel, and she ordered dinner from room service while Albus, Dad and I were swimming in the hotel’s pool. Then, since we got home, she’s done all my Hogwarts laundry twice, followed us around picking up and straightening things like we were all five again, and she’s made homemade bread every night this week, even though we haven’t eaten most of what she’s made yet. Do you know what’s wrong with her?”
Brian had been scowling during James’ recitation and now said, “It sounds to me as if she thinks she has to do everything, not only for your dad but for the rest of you as well, so you lot will think she’s in control of everything.”
James sat back down and ran his hands through his hair. After a moment, he said, “You may be right, Brian, you may be right.”
Kendra then asked, “Have your parents resolved the issue with the ramp at the front of the house?”
James glanced sideways at her and groaned. “You don’t want to know about that,” he said.
“Yes, we do,” she insisted. “It sounded like it bothered you, so I want to know why.”
“All right. They did resolve that row, but not until late yesterday afternoon after Mum made Healer Stilwell come over to check Dad out,” he divulged.
“What happened?” Brian asked.
“Mum and Dad had been ‘discussing’” (James made finger quotes around the word) “the ramp since Sunday afternoon. In the meantime, my dad had begun searching for his wand. He’d found it in his desk drawer in his study and yesterday morning, while we were all still asleep, he went out the front door and began taking the ramp apart using magic.”
Kendra interrupted, “Why are you emphasizing using magic?”
“Because Dad can’t see things coming from his left because of his brain injury and he isn’t supposed to be doing magic,” James explained. “Healer Stilwell says Dad’s begun regaining more of his peripheral vision in the last few weeks as his brain heals and by not doing magic, his body is supposed to be repairing itself quicker than if he was channelling his energy into spells.”
“That makes sense,” Brian agreed as Kendra nodded, too.
“Anyway,” James took up the story again, “Mum woke up when she heard a ripping noise which was Dad magically tearing the last boards out of the stone steps that lead to the front veranda. The rest of us woke up when we heard her shouting at him and him shouting right back. Albus and I were the first out the door and we couldn’t believe what Dad had done; he’d neatly sectioned the ramp into six pieces and was levitating them around the side of the house to the library terrace one by one. Mum yelled at Dad to stop what he was doing because he was hurting himself and he countered that he was doing just fine, thank you very much, and kept sending the last section a little ahead of his wheelchair until he disappeared around the corner of the house. Mum followed him, still trying to get him to stop; the more she yelled the more he ignored her until he had reassembled the ramp completely where he wanted it and repaired the holes in the front steps.”
“Was your mother right about him hurting himself?” Kendra asked.
“I don’t think so,” James answered, “because I heard Healer Stilwell telling Mum that the only thing wrong with Dad was mild magical exhaustion which would clear up after a nap and a good lie-in this morning.”
“Did you see your dad before you left?” Brian asked.
“Yes,” James answered. “He came into the kitchen just as I was leaving. He seemed fine when he told me to tell you hello.”
“That’s good.”
“Yeah, it is.” James reached into his pocket with one hand, shook his wand out of his sleeve a little with the other and handed Brian two enlarged packages a moment later. “Happy Christmas from the Potter Family, Brian,” he said, changing the subject.
Brian blinked at the brightly-wrapped gifts. “Thanks,” he breathed. Then, his face fell. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t get you anything.”
James smiled at his friend. “No worries. You’ve given me a gift already by making my dad happy that he can help you,” he said. “Go on, open them.”
Brian tore at the paper of the larger flat box and his eyes widened when he pulled out a pair of fingerless dragon-hide gloves. “I can’t accept these,” he protested, even as he slipped his hands into them and flexed his fingers, the hide making a delicious creaking noise as the gloves sized themselves to conform to his palms. “They’re too expensive.”
James chucked. “Dad said you’d say that. He told me to tell you that the gloves are essential equipment. They’ll last much longer than leather gloves and protect your hands for years without looking worn. You can’t argue with that,” he replied.
“Well, if you put it that way...” Brian trailed off as he held up a hand to admire his gloves. Then, he opened the second package.
Inside, was a small card about the shape and size of a Muggle business card. On it was printed: The holder is entitled to one or more purchases valued at a total of twenty Galleons, courtesy of Flourish and Blotts. There were instructions on the back, which Brian read before tapping the card with his wand. Immediately, a Pensieve-like image rose from the card listing the various sections of the book shop.
“Wicked!” Brian exclaimed. “I’ve seen these and wondered how they worked.” He poked a finger at the image and a list of Hogwarts textbooks materialized before their eyes. “It says the owl will bring my purchase the next day.”
“It’s re-loadable, too,” James said. “When you’ve used up the twenty Galleons, you can take it back to the shop, hand over your gold and the clerk will charm the card with the amount you’ve paid.”
Brian beamed. “This is so fab! Thanks, James!”
Kendra, not to be outdone, James knew, now held out her gifts, one wrapped and the other an unwrapped box of Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans. Brian immediately opened the beans and held it out to James and Kendra after he’d extracted a small handful.
“Thanks,” he said.
“You’re welcome,” Kendra said. “The wrapped box is actually from me and quite a few of your housemates. We all pitched in to purchase it.”
Eagerly, Brian unwrapped the gift, which turned out to be a card notifying him that he was the recipient of a year-long subscription to Quidditch Monthly magazine.
“How did you know this is my favourite magazine?” he asked.
“I asked your mum which magazines you read and she named this one and Which Broomstick,” she answered. “I took a poll of your housemates and they unanimously chose Quidditch Monthly. I think they know you pretty well. The January issue comes out tomorrow, so look for the owl.”
Brian smiled and suddenly turned his head away as a tear escaped and trickled down his cheek. Muttering, “Damn!” he swiped at it while James and Kendra pretended not to notice. When their friend looked back, Kendra said softly, “Brian, you don’t have to keep what you’re feeling inside around us. We know you’re going through a tough time right now because James’ family is, too.”
James nodded because he was fighting a huge, Quaffle-sized lump in his throat.
“I just... I can’t... I thought...” Brian sputtered, “I can’t get over everything you and my housemates have done since my accident. I get letters and packages nearly every day from my housemates, people I don’t even know.” He laughed as he reported, “One girl even sent me an unsigned love letter and a box of chocolates which my mum threw in the bin because they were laced with love potion!”
Kendra snorted. “That would have been Alice Chalmers, a third year Hufflepuff,” she giggled. “You’re not the only one she sent those to. It caused a big scandal, because she sent the chocolates to every male Quidditch player at Hogwarts via owl order from Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. James and his brother even received some.”
“Yeah, I did,” James said sheepishly, “but Albus and I recognized the box and threw the chocolates away before we ate any of them.”
“So what happened? How did they find out who sent them?” Brian asked.
“One of the Slytherin seventh years actually ate one on a dare right before breakfast,” Kendra snickered. “Made a spectacle of himself in the Great Hall calling for Alice to come forth because he loved her and wanted to marry her!”
The three shared a laugh as a chime sounded and a voice announced the dining room was serving lunch. Brian fumbled in his pocket and pulled out two ticket-like pieces of paper. “Would you like to have lunch with me in the dining room?” he asked.
James’ stomach rumbled hungrily. “Yes, please,” he smirked, earning an elbow in the side from Kendra.
He and Kendra waited until Brian had taken his gifts back to his room and then the three joined the other patients and some of the visitors for an enjoyable meal.
A couple of hours later, James exited the kitchen fireplace and stood brushing the soot off his clothes while he looked for his parents. The house was quiet, so that possibly meant they were both in their own “corners” and not making life miserable for each other. Sighing heavily to himself, he wandered into the great room and stood looking out over the snow-covered back garden.
“Hey, James, have a good time with Brian and Kendra?”
“Hey, Al,” James said as Albus came to stand next to him. “I did.”
“You don’t seem very happy about it.”
James shoved his hands in his pockets and stared out at the snow. “Kendra made me tell them about Dad and the ramp,” he said, feeling more than a little uncomfortable. “What she and Brian said makes perfect sense; Mum and Dad need to talk about what they’re doing to each other because it’s hurting our family.”
Albus was silent for a time, also staring at the snow. “So... are you going to make them talk now? And do you want me to go with you?”
James sighed. “Guess I’ll get it over with. Where are they?”
“Last I saw, they were both in Dad’s study,” Albus answered.
James stared at his brother. “And they’re not taking each other’s heads off?”
“If they are, they have very strong Impervius and Silencing Charms on the door.”
A small smile tugged at the corners of James’ mouth. “Then I’ll just have to take my chances.”
“Good luck,” Albus called after him.
The study door did not have an Impervius Charm on it because James was able to knock upon it. He heard the squelching sound of someone cancelling a Sealing Charm and then his mum opened the door. She looked tired but not argumentative, so James took that as a good sign.
“Can I come in?” he asked, looking past his mother to see his dad sitting at his desk.
“Certainly. How was your visit?” Mum asked.
James walked into the room and chose a spot in the middle of the floor from which to address his parents. “It was all right. Brian said to tell you thank you for the gloves. You were right, Dad, he accepted the gloves once I told him they were equipment,” he reported.
His dad eyed him with his head cocked to the right. “James,” he began, “you didn’t come in here to tell us you were home or that Brian liked his gifts. What’s on your mind?”
Suddenly feeling very self-conscious, James blurted, “You and Mum need to talk things out like adults instead of quarrelling constantly. You’re making Al, Lily and me feel like we want to go back to Hogwarts!”
Without waiting for his parents’ reaction and feeling very uncomfortable because this was the first time he’d ever spoken like that to his parents, James fled the room. He raced upstairs to his bedroom to grab his broom and then jumped out his open window into the afternoon gloom. He hoped his parents wouldn’t be terribly angry with him, but for now a good long flight at break-neck speed felt like the only way he could calm the emotions raging through his head.
*
Harry stared at his wife as the door to his study banged shut and James’ footfalls pounded up the stairs. His son’s words slowly began sinking in and a feeling of intense guilt stole over him as Ginny’s eyes widened.
“I’m sorry,” they said simultaneously.
Harry wrenched his gaze from his wife’s face and stared unseeingly at the books in front of him for a time as his fists clenched and unclenched on the polished surface of the desk.
“You, first,” they began at the same time again. If the situation hadn’t been so grave, he would have smiled, but he couldn’t, not when everything she’d done in the last few days made him feel completely useless and, like James, want to leave and go back to The Groves.
Harry lifted a hand, palm up, gesturing towards Ginny. “Ladies first,” he said, wondering what she thought she was sorry for.
Ginny stood up and pulled her chair closer to his desk as if stalling for time. When she was finally settled, she said, “I’m sorry for making so many changes to the house without consulting you. I know I should have asked you what you wanted done, but I didn’t and I’m sorry.”
Harry sighed. “Ginny, I like the changes you made... for the most part. I know you were only thinking to make my quality of life better and I appreciate your thoughtfulness. I can even forgive you for not telling me about the changes. But what hurts the most is that you disregarded my feelings and put a ramp on the front of the house over steps I had built myself. I’m probably being petty, but you hurt me by doing that.” He closed his eyes as the anger once again threatened to surface. He pushed it down because he knew they needed to talk, not fight. “When did you have the work done?”
“The first week of November,” Ginny answered in nearly a whisper.
Harry sucked in a startled breath. “But that was nearly two months ago! Why then?”
Ginny wrung her hands. “I thought... IthoughtIwasbringingyouhometodie,” she answered in a rush. A tear trickled down her cheek.
Harry stared at his wife, completely stunned by her confession. It took him a long moment to find his voice and when he did, he asked quietly, “You... I... you really were that frightened?”
“Yes, Harry, I was terrified we were going to lose you. You were so broken inside, so helpless...” She trailed off, her face muscles working as she fought not to cry. “I even had a hospital bed put in here that stayed for five weeks. Then you really began working hard in therapy and I knew we wouldn’t need the bed.”
Harry ran his hands through his hair. “But why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t tell you because you didn’t seem to care!” Ginny shot back.
He could only manage a small, “oh!” Now that he knew, he could see how Ginny could have thought she needed to do something like that and why she had withheld the information from him... he was as much at fault as she. “That wasn’t a very good time for me,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry I was so difficult.”
Ginny reached into her pocket and pulled out her handkerchief. She dabbed at her eyes as she said, “I’m sorry, too.”
They were silent for a moment and then she looked directly at him. “Can I tell you something?”
Harry looked at her expectantly.
“I hated what the front of the house looked like as soon as the ramp was finished,” she said. “I knew you’d be upset by how ugly it made the house, but I didn’t know how to tell you about it. I... I was embarrassed because I’d made such a colossal mistake.” She smiled sheepishly at him. “I’m glad you moved the ramp because I couldn’t do it myself. I don’t know the carpentry spells you used to make it look so good,” she ended with a pointed look out the French doors that led to the terrace and the newly-relocated ramp.
“Ginny, why didn’t you trust me to know what my limits are?” Harry asked.
She looked back at him, sad again. “I believed Healer Stilwell when he told me that if you performed magic before you were ready, you’d damage your brain, jeopardize your vision and possibly become a Squib. He scared me, Harry. He scared me for you and when I saw you magicking those sections of the ramp around the corner, all I could think about was stopping you from hurting yourself.”
Harry sighed. “I know you meant well, and I could have understood your reasons yesterday morning, but instead of coming calmly out of the house to see what I was doing, like you have in the past, you stormed down the steps and started treating me like a recalcitrant child. You didn’t give me the chance to explain myself, either. You just assumed something that wasn’t true.”
Ginny blew her nose. “I know. I was wrong and I’m sorry,” she said contritely. Then, she looked up. “How did it feel to use magic again?”
Harry smiled. “Wonderful. As soon as I touched my wand I felt a little more like myself again,” he admitted. Ginny smiled, too. “I knew my body was ready to do magic again.
“But how did you know?” she asked.
It was Harry’s turn to smile sheepishly. “I’ve been doing accidental magic for the last ten days and when I talked to Silvia about it, she recommended I try some of the Hogwarts first year spells even without a wand,” he said, mostly to his desktop. “I’ve perfected Wingardium Leviosa and have been levitating papers and cups and clothes around my room since last Thursday.”
When he looked up, tears were running freely down Ginny’s cheeks. “Oh, Harry, I’m so sorry I doubted you,” she cried and promptly buried her face in her handkerchief.
Harry backed away from his desk and rolled around it to Ginny’s side. “I forgive you,” he whispered as he put his arms around her. This only made her cry harder. He held her until her tears subsided to sniffles. “Ginny, are you all right?” he asked.
She nodded and blew her nose. “Yeah, I am,” she choked. “But I’ve been so stupid these last few days, so unobservant and untrusting, that it’s made you and the children crazy, crazy enough for James to consider going back to Hogwarts and missing Christmas with the family.”
Harry’s good mood evaporated at the reminder of why they were talking. “Yeah, you have. Ginny, love, I don’t need you to sprint from one room to another every time I drop something or want something. If I need help, I’ll ask. I told James that on Saturday night at the pool when he helped me so much we both fell in.”
Ginny’s head snapped up at this, her eyes wide. “You... he... fell into the pool? Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked.
“We decided to keep the incident between us because we’d both learned from it, Ginny. We talked briefly about my expectations, your request that he help me whenever he could, and his interpretation of both; we worked out a mutual understanding that we both could live with and I think he’s happy with it. He didn’t like all the responsibility he thought you’d saddled him with, but he was doing his best to do as you asked, and after we had our talk, he still felt some added responsibility, but it was something he could live with.”
“I need to apologize to James, don’t I?” she commented rhetorically.
“We both should... together,” Harry said.
“And I need to stop acting like a five-year-old’s mother around you, so you won’t be annoyed with me all the time.”
“And the next time we check into a hotel, can I be the one to go to the reception desk?” Harry asked.
Ginny bit her lip in that funny way she had when she was playfully considering something. “Yes, as long as I get to drive,” she said, her eyes twinkling.
“Yeah, about that...” Harry deadpanned and they both burst into giggles.
“I suppose I should stop trying to be Superwoman,” Ginny said finally. “I think that’ll make all of us happier.”
Harry nodded. “Especially, me,” he admitted. “And I promise to be more understanding and patient instead of snapping your head off when you still try to do something I can do myself. I was wrong to get mad every time you tried to help me and I’m sorry.”
Ginny reached up and cradled his cheek in her hand. “I forgive you,” she said.
“Good,” he said as he patted his knees. “Come here. I think I need to hug you at the very least.”
His wife giggled and sat on his lap. Harry felt his legs take her weight and he hugged her fiercely. “Oh, Ginny, thank you for talking to me,” he murmured into her hair. The next moment, they were sharing a deep, heart-felt kiss.
*
A/N: Thank you Jedi34, RSS, RebeccaRipple, Regina Ferguson, and Mutt n Feathers for all the support, comments and scoldings you gave me during the writing of this chapter. I appreciate your input more than you can ever imagine. Also, thank you to Aggiebell for the quick beta of this chapter and for helping me to remember to post it in the wee hours of Thursday morning so my readers are happy and don’t spend the entire day looking for my latest update.
As always, thank you readers for reviewing this story. I look forward to reading and answering your comments.
Chapter 17: 17: Arrival
0900 hours, 24 December 2020“Good morning, you lot, downstairs for breakfast in twenty minutes!” she said, the Sonorus Charm amplifying her voice from where she stood at the bottom of the stairwell. “Bring all bags, pillows, and personal entertainment items you’re planning to take to The Burrow with you. There will be NO going back upstairs for forgotten items. I repeat, breakfast in twenty minutes!”
The reaction was immediate.
A thump to her right... Albus hitting the floor on all fours.
Three quick steps across the hall from left to right, followed by a door banging shut... Lily streaking into the bathroom across the hall and beating her brothers.
“Lily! You’d better be done in five minutes!” That was James... and Lily always took seven minutes in the bathroom.
A new sound, the steady shifting of the old floorboards... Harry on his way to their en-suite.
Her family was up.
Her charm cancelled, Ginny turned back to the kitchen and the pile of gifts she had been steadily shoving through the Floo to The Burrow for the last ten minutes. She had two more large gifts she needed to send before the children came downstairs, so she quickly threw a pinch of Floo Powder into the flames and when they were ready, she shoved the first big box in, called out its destination, held it until she felt it being taken from her hands and then repeated the action just as Lily came downstairs, her book bag bumping along behind her.
“Where do I put this, Mummy?” she asked.
“By the fire–no, hold on, back door, please,” Ginny told her, correcting the mistake she was likely to make two more times that morning. None of the family was used to the idea of travelling by car to The Burrow, but until Harry could Apparate in his chair... Ginny sighed and finished putting breakfast on the table.
Surprisingly, her family made it downstairs, through breakfast and out to the van without mishap or forgotten items.
“Harry, love, will you be sitting with me up front or do you want to lounge in the back?” Ginny asked as she opened the van doors.
Harry rolled onto the wheelchair lift. “I thought I’d start the journey next to you, dear,” he smiled at her. “Maybe later I’ll ride in the back.”
“All right, then. The rest of you get in on the other side after your father is settled,” Ginny directed. Her children grumbled and opened the door on the other side of the vehicle.
James entered first. “Mum, do you want me to tie down Dad’s chair?” he asked.
“I’ll get that, James. You make yourself comfy and be sure to share space with your brother and sister.”
“I wish there were three seats,” Albus complained as he began arranging his belongings on the same seat as James. “How come Lily gets a seat to herself?”
“She called it first. Maybe you’ll get the single seat next time if you come downstairs first,” Ginny said, trying to be diplomatic. She shut the van doors, climbed into the driving seat and started the engine.
As the estate gates closed behind them, Harry remarked, “This is a first. I don’t think we’ve ever gone somewhere as a family and not forgotten something.”
“If we did, it’s easy to go home and get it or borrow from family,” Ginny said. “Thank goodness we don’t have to get permission to go back for something like the children do at Hogwarts.”
Harry smiled. “I agree,” he said and opened the map to help her navigate.
Their morning’s journey was uneventful. They stopped for lunch, and after they’d eaten, James asked to sit up front with her. While he helped her install the front passenger seat, Harry eased himself onto the middle seat with Lily. The two immediately began conversing in whispers as, with James’ help, Ginny eased the van down the slip road and back onto the motorway. When she looked back an hour later, Harry had stretched out on the seat with his head in Lily’s lap. Their daughter was happily reading a book while absently running her fingers through her father’s hair. Harry was asleep.
oOo
1432 hours
Molly pulled aside the sitting room curtains and peered out the window. “They should be here by now,” she fretted to Arthur.
Arthur turned a page of the Prophet. “Mollywobbles, will you please sit down? The enchantments will tell us when the van arrives. Besides, Ginny told us to expect them between half-two and half-three. It’s only just half-two.”
Molly let the curtain fall back into place and sat down in her chair. As she picked up her knitting, she sighed, “I just worry so, Arthur. This is the first year we’ve ever had anyone come home by car. What if Ginny gets lost? There’s so much snow this year, it’s even kept Ron and Hermione and the children from getting here when Hermione thought they would.”
“No, Molly, I think Hugo wanted to go flying with Ron before they came this morning,” Arthur chuckled. “Some sort of a father/son tradition, remember?”
“Yes, now I remember. Where are the children? The house is entirely too quiet,” Molly remarked as she began knitting.
“Let’s see, at last count, Roxanne, Molly and Lucy were all up in Bill’s old room getting first-hand news about Paris and Dominique’s new job. There was a lot of giggling going on behind that closed door when I went up there a while ago. I think Fleur, Audrey and Hermione are in the kitchen, Percy and Ron are in my shed discussing who knows what, and Bill, Fred, Louis, Angelina and George all took Hugo out to the pitch to give him some family Quidditch coaching. I think he’s hoping to move up from the reserve team next year, and his uncles, aunt and cousin were more than happy to help him warm up the brooms. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a full-blown three-a-side Quidditch match being played at the moment.”
“And Teddy and Victoire?” Molly enquired with a raised eyebrow. “I haven’t seen them in a while either.”
“Ice skating on the pond, of all things,” Arthur chuckled. “Or at least that’s what Teddy said they were going to do... I doubt they’ll be doing much skating since they haven’t seen each other in six months.”
Molly smiled and sighed contentedly. “Good. All present and accounted for except Ginny and her brood.” She glanced at the family clock; the Potter family hands were all still on “Travelling” as they had been since half-eight that morning. She went back to her knitting as Arthur took up his paper again.
A sudden, claxon-like alarm sounded forty-five minutes later, causing Molly to jump and drop several stitches. “Oh, Arthur,” she gushed excitedly, “they’re HERE!”
oOo
At Molly’s exclamation, Hermione smiled and cast a Patronus message in the direction of the Quidditch pitch. Then, she hurried to catch up to Fleur and Audrey who had just reached the front door. The three witches joined Molly and Arthur as a dark blue van pulled to a stop in the snow in front of the garage. A moment later, the sound of six zooming brooms filled the air as girlish laughter spilled through the opening door.
“Did you send a message to Teddy and Victoire?” Audrey asked as the far van door slid open and the silhouettes of the three Potter children jumped to the ground.
Hermione murmured, “I did. I expect they’ll be along shortly.”
Audrey sighed. “I wish I could send Patronus Messages, but I’ve never been able to produce a corporeal Patronus,” she said in a whiney tone. Hermione scowled, wishing the other witch would shut it, as Audrey continued, “Oh look, Ginny’s driving. I didn’t know she could drive.”
Hermione bit her tongue to keep from making the stinging retort that was on the tip of her tongue. As much as she liked Percy and adored her nieces, Molly and Lucy, Hermione had never warmed up to his arrogant wife.
The driver’s door of the van opened and Ginny’s booted foot reached for the ground. At the same time, the other sliding door opened to reveal a wire cage, which folded down with a motorized whir to reveal their first glimpse of Harry’s shoes on the foot rest of his wheelchair. A moment later he rolled onto the lift, which descended slowly to the snow.
Beside her, Audrey gasped and murmured, “The poor man,” causing Hermione to glare at her sister-in-law.
“If Ginny hears you she’s going to be hopping mad,” she hissed. “There’s nothing poor or fragile about that man, so stop feeling sorry for him. In addition, think about how Harry feels every time someone says something like that! Would you like it?”
“I didn’t mean...”
“Oh, yes, you did, so I suggest you stop feeling sorry for Harry,” Hermione said defensively.
“I get the point.” Audrey sounded annoyed, so Hermione turned back to the scene by the van.
Nearly the entire family was now clustered around Harry and their reactions to his chair were almost comical. Ron, George, Molly and Arthur had all gone to see Harry in hospital and at The Groves, so they knew what to expect. However, the children attending Hogwarts–other than Harry’s–Bill, Fleur, Percy, Audrey and the older cousins hadn’t been able to visit, so the sight of Harry’s Muggle wheelchair caused some consternation amongst those who hadn’t seen it. What caused Hermione’s mortification, however, was the fact that even though she’d prepared Rose and Hugo verbally, it still seemed her son expected his uncle to get out of the chair and walk to the house. When Harry didn’t, Hugo looked rather disappointed.
Harry now rolled off the lift and Hermione groaned inwardly as the front wheels of his chair sank up to their axels in the snow.
“Hey, you lot,” Harry called above the din of those greeting him, “can I have a little help here?”
Hugo, who was standing to Harry’s left, thrust his broom at his uncle. Harry flinched, his head whipping round to face his nephew, as Hermione berated herself for forgetting to tell her children their uncle still couldn’t see well peripherally to the left.
However, Harry seemed to be coping well enough because he said, “Thanks, Hugo, but I don’t fly any more.”
Her son immediately looked incredulous. “But Uncle Harry, you always fly when you’re here. Why can’t you fly now?”
“How about if I tell you inside?” Harry asked. “It’s a little cold for such a long story out here.”
Hugo seemed satisfied with this and stepped away, leaving deep footprints in the snow.
That gave Hermione an idea. “Hey, Harry!” she called as she took out her wand. “Do you want skis and a pony for your sleigh? I could Transfigure the children...”
At this, Hugo, Lily, Albus, Rose, Louis, and James all protested loudly, making the adults smile and shake their heads.
“We haven’t done anything!”
“We’re not in trouble, Aunt Hermione!”
“Dad, stop her! You’re the head of the Aurors!”
“It’s against the law to Transfigure children, Aunt Hermione, you know that!”
“Stop teasing us, it’s Christmas! We’ve been extra good!”
Laughing, Harry quipped back, “I don’t think Molly allows farm animals inside the house, Hermione, so I’ll have to settle for something a little more mundane. Will you clear the snow off the path please?”
“Sure thing, Harry,” Hermione agreed as three more of the nearby adults whipped out their own wands. They helped her Vanish the snow off the path to the steps and Harry rolled himself onto the porch and almost all the way into the house.
“Damn!” he cursed as his knuckles contacted the doorposts.
“Hang on, Harry!” Ginny called from where she was standing talking to Bill and Fleur. She pulled out her wand and aimed it at the door. A moment later, Hermione and the others watched in fascination as the entrance widened just enough for Harry to propel his wheelchair across the threshold.
“You’ll teach me that spell?” Hermione asked Ginny as the two embraced.
Ginny smirked, “I take it you finally gave in and let Ron purchase that humungous scale model Quidditch stadium he’s been drooling over for so long.”
Hermione groaned. “He and Hugo wore me down. Quality Quidditch Supplies is going to deliver it on Boxing Day and I’m afraid it won’t fit in the door. I was told parts of the set were un-shrinkable.”
Ginny patted her arm. “Remind me later to write it down for you.”
“I will, and thanks.”
oOo
Teddy and Victoire had hung back to let the rest of the family go into the house behind Harry. As he watched his godfather struggle with the doorway, he let out a troubled sigh.
“I wish I’d come home sooner,” he said.
“I know you do, but what good could you have done?” Victoire asked. “Uncle Harry needed his Healers, not sorrowful relatives. I know you wrote to him as often as you could, and even Aunt Ginny told you in her letters how much your news meant to Uncle Harry. Besides, your employer needed you more.”
Teddy drew her into a fierce hug. “Thank you for reminding me of that,” he said into her hair. “I needed to hear it from someone other than my grandmother.”
Victoire had a twinkle in her eye as she said, “Ah, I see you’re counting my opinion more than your grandmother’s. Very wise, my darling, very wise.”
oOo
As soon as the bags were stowed in her old bedroom, Ginny descended the stairs and joined her mother and sisters-in-law in the kitchen where they’d just started preparing the evening meal.
Donning one of her mother’s frilly white aprons, she rolled up her sleeves and asked, “Mum, would you like me to make the bread?”
“Don’t you want to sit down, Ginny?” her mother asked.
“Actually, I really need to stand for a while,” she said. “I’ve been sitting in the van for seven hours and I need to do something other than stare straight ahead. So how many loaves would you like?”
“Four. Two wheat, two white, please,” her mum requested.
Ginny found the supplies and began mixing the batches of dough from memory. As she worked, she watched her family settle in for the evening. Lily had immediately joined the group of girls clustered at one end of the kitchen table while her sons had disappeared out the kitchen door in the direction of the Quidditch pitch. If she had her druthers, Ginny decided, she’d rather be with them instead of the stuffy kitchen. Maybe tomorrow afternoon...
Her attention strayed to her husband who had parked his chair in a corner of the kitchen. With so many people, the normal furniture and extra chairs in the room, he had found a place to be with everyone and not be constantly in the way. He seemed content to have people come to him, but she still wondered what he was thinking... her constant worrying of the past months was still very active despite the understanding they’d come to yesterday. She sighed. It was going to be very hard to let go...
oOo
Just before dinner...
Harry grabbed the frame of the door leading into the sitting room and pulled his chair into the room through the narrow opening. He was happy to be back amongst his family in the crazy house his in-laws called home, but now he needed a little solitude; however, with twenty-two people in the house, a moment’s quiet to himself was not something easily obtained. It impressed him that he’d managed to find a room empty except for George.
“All right, Harry?” George greeted him from his seat on the floor by the fire. “Have the rampaging hordes finally gotten to you, too?”
Harry chuckled. “It’s more like our nieces and their high-pitched giggles,” he admitted as he parked his chair next to the sofa and transferred seats so he could talk to his brother-in-law more easily. “Could you shrink my chair, please? I still have to be careful of how much magic I do,” he admitted, thinking of how tired he’d been yesterday after moving and reassembling the ramp sections to fit the terrace.
“Sure thing, Harry,” George said, pulling his wand and pointing it at the wheelchair. “How big do you want it?”
“Pocket-size, please,” Harry answered.
A moment later, George handed him the miniaturized chair. Harry smiled his thanks and propped his feet on a poof, stretching his legs towards the fire. He could just barely feel its warmth suffusing through his trousers.
“So... how’s business, George?” he asked as he stuffed the tiny wheelchair into his shirt pocket.
George smiled. “Couldn’t be better.”
“I thought so. Where’s the new shop opening? Ron told me you’re going to America on Boxing Day,” Harry said.
“I’m opening two new shops, actually,” George grinned. “He’s right. I’m taking a Muggle aeroplane across the Atlantic and then two Portkeys to go across the country to get to them. The first is in San Francisco and the second one is in Las Vegas. Both cities are huge tourist attractions and they both have reputable Wizarding shopping areas, San Francisco more so than Vegas because of the latter’s stigma of being free with the Galleons and adult entertainment.”
“I’ve heard of both,” Harry replied, grinning. “One of the Muggle matrons at The Groves just returned from visiting Vegas and she seemed quite awestruck with the Strip. She seemed to like a number of the resort casinos even if she lost several hundred pounds gambling.”
George grinned. “I’m going to make the Galleons roll in hand over fist in that shop simply because the managers of the shopping mall I’m setting up in dictate the minimum price for most items,” he said. “Sure, they’re going to take a small percentage of what I make from that shop, but by and large, I get to keep most of the profits. I’m just hoping there will be enough magical customers coming in to off-set the Muggle ones.”
Puzzled, Harry asked, “So your shop isn’t in the Wizarding district?”
“No, it’s not,” George replied. “It’s half in the Muggle casino mall and half in the Wizarding casino mall. I tell you, Harry, the place is huge! I have more floor space in the new Vegas shop than I have in the Bonn, Paris and Milan shops combined!”
Harry’s eyes widened. He’d been to the shops George had mentioned–all three were absolutely huge compared to the Diagon Alley shop–so he had an idea of just how large the new Las Vegas shop was going to be. He’d also been to the shops in Edinburgh, Dublin, Barcelona, Rome, and Brussels when George had opened them. The only franchises Harry hadn’t taken a Portkey to for their openings were the shops in New York, Boston and New Orleans in America. Now, with the two new shops on the opposite side of that country, George’s monopoly on joke goods would be thirteen shops strong, and rather than be superstitious about it, Harry suspected George considered the number thirteen to be quite lucky.
“Have a great time at the openings, George,” he said sincerely.
“You can count on that, Harry. I always go all-out in order to entice customers.”
Harry nodded as they drifted into companionable silence.
At length, Harry said, “George, can I... can I ask you something?”
His brother-in-law smirked, “You already did.”
“Twit,” Harry muttered. “Seriously, this is important and you’re the only one I feel comfortable asking.”
The smile had slid off George’s face at the change in Harry’s tone. “What’s on your mind?”
Harry sighed heavily, reluctant to broach the subject, but needing to talk to George about it. “There’s no good way to say this,” he began, “except... I want to give you my Ferrari.” He glanced at his legs as George inhaled sharply.
“Why? Why do you want to give me your car?” was the shocked inquiry.
A huge, frustrated sigh escaped him as he ran a hand through his hair. “I’m never going drive that car again, at least the way it should be driven, and you’re the only one in the family who would enjoy it, appreciate it, and take care of it properly. Will you take it, George?” Harry asked hopefully, his eyes now positively skewering George. “I have the transfer of ownership papers in my bag, wherever it went.”
George clambered to his feet and began pacing about the sitting room. “I... I...” he sputtered, seeming lost for words.
Feeling somewhat panicked because George’s reaction surely meant a rejection of his offer, Harry’s words came out in a rush. “Look, the insurance is paid through July, as is the number plate. And as much as I want to keep it, I can’t because if I do, James will think it’s going to be his to drive next year and I’m not about to turn him loose on the roads round Snidget’s Retreat in a car worth a quarter of a million pounds.”
This solicited a snort from George. “And you think I’d have any success at preventing Fred from trying to drive a Ferrari if it sat in my garage?”
Harry considered this and had to smile himself. “Honestly, George, I think you’d be more successful than I,” he said. He gazed at George hopefully. “Will you take the car?”
“No. I can’t accept the car.”
Had he heard right? “Why not?” Harry asked, mystified.
George stopped pacing and sat down next to Harry. “First of all, that car was your birthday present from my sister,” he said. “I’m not sure I want to weather one or more of her tirades because we’ve hurt her feelings. She gave you that car, Harry, it was her idea to buy it for you.”
“I know it was,” Harry confessed. “That’s why I can’t just up and sell it. I need to keep it in the family so Ginny will understand I’m being practical.”
George raised an eyebrow. “All right, I think I see your point,” he said slowly. Then he added, “Do you know for sure you’ll never drive again? I know the Ferrari is a Muggle car, but don’t they make special controls for people like you?”
That made Harry angry. “People like me don’t drive sports cars, they drive vans. That’s the reality, George,” he snapped.
“Sorry. Forget I said that.” He thought a moment and then asked, “So why wouldn’t Ginny want to drive it herself?”
That question stopped Harry completely. He hadn’t even thought about keeping the Ferrari for Ginny to drive... but would she want to?
“I don’t know,” he said quietly as he tried to remember Ginny’s reaction the one time she’d driven the yellow car on her own birthday. He recalled her initial trepidation and then the absolute joy on her face as she discovered how much fun it was to guide the car along the road at break-neck speeds. “‘Almost better than flying,’” he murmured to himself, quoting Ginny’s comment.
George seemed to pounce on this. “See, Harry? She enjoys the car. I can’t take that away from her any more than I could take it away from you.”
“But if we keep it, I’m still going to want to drive it, George,” Harry said, still feeling frustrated.
“Harry, I know all your vehicles have been equipped with the spells to make their batteries run properly in magical areas because I did the charms myself. Why couldn’t we charm the Ferrari to let you drive it without your legs?” George asked.
“It wouldn’t be the same,” Harry grumbled. He searched his mind for an appropriate analogy. “It’s similar to biting into one of your Canary Crmes and only turning into half a canary. The effect is the same, but the result doesn’t feel right.”
George sighed. “Fine. Do what you want, Harry, but I’m not taking the car. To me it would be like taking Fred’s old Beater’s bat and using it in the championship match against Slytherin. I wouldn’t feel right using it because it wasn’t mine. Does that make any sense at all?”
Harry thought about this for a long moment. “You win,” he finally said. “I won’t try to give my car away or sell it until I know for certain I’ll never walk again.”
George squeezed Harry’s shoulder and then stood up. “Listen, Harry, I’m flattered that you think enough of me to want to give me the car,” he began. “And I hope you understand why I can’t accept your generosity.”
Harry nodded and then took his miniaturized wheelchair from his pocket. “George, I can’t sit in this when it’s this small. Will you enlarge it so we can go see what’s being put on the dinner table?”
“Of course, Harry,” George said, taking out his wand. He cast the spell and then led the way back to the kitchen.
oOo
“Harry, dear, can I do anything for you?” Molly asked as she came upon him sitting in front of the stairwell and gazing upward with a troubled expression. George had just passed her looking bothered and she was concerned for both him and Harry at the moment.
Her son-in-law startled at the sound of her voice. “Oh, sorry, Molly,” he sighed. “I was just thinking about having to climb all those stairs to Ginny’s old room...”
“Is that a problem?” Molly asked. Then she took a better look at Harry’s chair and instantly understood. “I take it you don’t want to be carried up to bed tonight.”
Harry shook his head. “It’d be too embarrassing, Molly,” he said, sounding defeated. “And I don’t think I can push myself up so many flights; the angle’s too steep and there’s only one handrail...”
“Well...” she said, “the only solution I can think of is to Transfigure the sitting room sofa into a bed for you and Ginny and then move Lily, Rose and Lucy to Ginny’s room. Would that help?”
Harry looked immensely relieved. “Thanks, Molly,” he said. “And if you don’t mind, I’ll use the scullery to change in so you can put the sitting room back together before breakfast. Will that be all right?”
Molly didn’t like the idea of her son-in-law going without a shower and said so, hands on hips.
“One of the first things I reviewed with my therapist when my magic began functioning again was hygiene spells,” Harry explained quickly. “I promise I’ll be as clean as I would be if I took a shower. Besides, it’s much quicker than a tub bath and on top of that it’s one less towel for you to launder.”
Admitting defeat, Molly said, “All right, dear. I’ll have Arthur bring your bag down from Ginny’s room after dinner.” She dropped her hands and turned back towards the kitchen.
“Thanks,” Harry called after her, but Molly wasn’t paying much attention any more; her mind was on the meal she was preparing. She needed to test the potatoes to see if they were ready for mashing...
Having Harry and Ginny sleep in the sitting room was going to complicate the gift distribution at midnight. Normally, she rounded up all the gifts from their hiding places and Banished them to the sitting room. With Harry and Ginny using the sitting room as their bedroom, she’d just have to think up another place to assemble the piles of presents this year. Maybe her bedroom... no, that wouldn’t work... not enough room. Maybe the scullery? No, again, too cramped. That left the attic where she’d hidden most of the packages to begin with. She hated having to go up there because of the ghoul and the frigid temperature this far into winter, but it was the best solution to her problem.
“Mollywobbles...” Arthur’s voice cut into her reverie. “You’re upset, the mash is nicely pulverized.” Molly looked at the potatoes she’d been pounding away at with a Muggle masher and decided her husband was correct.
“Sorry,” she murmured.
“What’s on your mind?” he asked as he handed her the milk pitcher.
She told him about her agreement with Harry and her frustration over the change in plans. “I don’t know why it’s bothering me so,” she admitted.
“Could it be family tradition?” Arthur asked. “You know as well as I do that traditions can be modified. Look how many times we’ve had to adapt over the years and still we’ve kept the spirit of whatever tradition we were changing. This is just another adaptation.”
Molly sighed. “You’re right, Arthur. I reckon I just don’t want to make any changes, is all.”
Her husband chuckled suddenly.
“What is it, dear?” she asked.
“Do you remember the year we learned just how specific Harry’s Silencing Spells had become?” he asked, a mischievous glint in his eye.
“How could I forget?” Molly tittered. “Harry’s learned some choice swear words from those criminals he’s caught over the years.”
“Well, he wouldn’t have needed to use them if you hadn’t accidentally hit him in the head with that iron cauldron you’d purchased for Ginny that year,” Arthur said, shaking his head.
Molly turned towards him, an expression of mock annoyance on her face. “Might I remind you she hinted strongly that she wanted the graduated cauldron set?” she recalled. “How was I to know the two of them were celebrating the holiday privately in her girlhood bedroom?”
“Well, they were trying to create a family at the time...”
Molly turned back to the mash and splashed in some milk and dropped in a generous amount of butter. “I still swear James was born a month early...”
“Likely story, likely story,” Arthur said, sounding very amused. “I find it rather humorous that you always Banish Harry and Ginny’s gifts to the opposite side of whatever room they’re sleeping in...”
Molly giggled as Arthur drew her to him and she rested her head on his chest. “We’ll weather this one, just like the others,” he said, kissing the top of her head.
Molly turned her face up to his and they shared a quick kiss before she turned back to her dinner preparations. “Yes, I think I’ve figured out the solution to this particular problem,” she said.
oOo
Somehow, all twenty-two occupants of The Burrow managed to squeeze into the kitchen for the evening meal. Hermione had been roped into service to help Bill with the temporary room expansion charms, and because Harry’s wheelchair didn’t fit well under the kitchen table, a second, smaller table had been brought down from the attic and set up for him and the overflow from the larger table.
Harry was enjoying Fred’s news from the Department of Magical Games and Sports where he’d been employed since he’d left Hogwarts eighteen months ago. A consummate story teller, Fred had the table’s occupants laughing at a story about the Chudley Cannon’s Seeker when Teddy Lupin stood up and tapped his water glass, bringing all conversation to an abrupt halt.
“Attention, everyone. Victoire and I have an announcement to make,” he said as everyone gave them their attention. Victoire rose slowly from her chair next to him and he put his arm around her shoulders. “This afternoon, I asked Victoire to marry me and she’s accepted!”
The kitchen erupted in happy squeals and loud declarations of congratulations. Several chairs, including Bill’s and Fleur’s, overturned as their occupants jumped to their feet in order to hug the happy couple.
“When’s the wedding?”
“Where will you hold it?”
“Did you give her a ring?”
As Teddy and Victoire were inundated with questions, Harry sighed happily and caught Ginny’s eye across the room. His wife was beaming and if he was not mistaken, crying quiet tears, too.
An hour later, Harry rolled out onto the back veranda to find Teddy sitting alone on the steps.
“Hey, Harry,” he said in greeting.
Harry closed the door and parked his chair as close to the steps as he dared. “I know I said this earlier, but congratulations, Teddy,” he said. “I’m very happy for you and Victoire.”
“Thanks, Harry,” Teddy said, “I still can’t believe she said ‘yes’.”
“Why? You two have been going out for several years and it’s been obvious since last summer that you were serious about each other,” Harry observed.
Teddy stood up and turned to face Harry. “I suppose it’s because I’d convinced myself that Victoire would say ‘no’ for some reason.”
Harry smiled. “Would you believe the same thing happened to me?” he asked. Teddy gaped at him in surprise. “It’s true. I was so nervous the week before I asked Ginny to marry me that I convinced myself she’d rather fly for the Harpies than settle down with me. All that worry seemed silly after she accepted my proposal.”
Teddy ran a hand through his hair, his eyes locked on the front wheels of Harry’s chair. “That makes me feel a little better,” he muttered, making Harry chuckle.
“Teddy, I want you to know that if you and Andromeda need anything as you get closer to the wedding, you can always ask Ginny and me for help,” Harry said. “Weddings are expensive, and if there’s something your bride wants, but it means you’d have to cut corners somewhere else, please let me and Ginny help.”
His godson stared at him for nearly a minute before Teddy said, “I... I... can’t do that, Harry...”
Harry reached up and briefly gripped Teddy’s arm. “You’re part of my family,” he said meaning every word, “and I would feel terrible if your special day was lacking because something was too expensive.”
Teddy sighed. “Thank you, Harry,” he said, smiling. “Can I tell Victoire?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if you did,” Harry chuckled. “Now tell me about Australia...”
oOo
The lights in the stairwell extinguished themselves as she stepped off the last stair and turned to go into the sitting room where the sofa had been transfigured into a bed for her and Harry. From where she stood, she could see the entirety of the room in the soft light of the fairies decorating the Christmas tree. She would have to ask them to dim their brilliance so she could sleep.
Harry was already in bed, curled on his left side, facing away from the middle of the bed and the side Ginny always slept on. His wheelchair was parked as close to the bed as it would go and not be in the way, but in the cramped space, Ginny would be hard-pressed not to brush against it in one way or another. How she hated that thing! It represented everything that was wrong with her family right now. She hated the people who had hurt Harry and she had come to realize that in a way, she hated herself and her husband for what they had become together. A tear trickled down her cheek as she held her left hand aloft to look at her wedding rings. Her diamond engagement ring sparkled in the fairy light, reminding her of the evening Harry had slipped the gold band on her finger in front of five hundred guests. Had it really been twenty years? Would she ever go back to being the happy wife and mother she’d been two months ago?
Sighing, Ginny brushed away the tear and crept into the sitting room, stopping next to the Christmas tree to whisper the spell to dim the fairies’ brilliance. Then she pushed past the wheelchair and climbed into bed, burrowing under the covers until only the top of her head was visible. As she closed her eyes, she heard Harry’s sleepy, ascending “Hmmm?” She answered with a descending “Hmmm” of her own. He sighed and when he couldn’t turn over to catch hold of her hand like he used to, Ginny silently cried herself to sleep.
oOo
A/N: I hope all of you have enjoyed the arrival of the Potter family at The Burrow. As with the first Christmas after the death of a family member, the Potter/Weasley clan are reacting to the first holiday following Harry’s accident and some are mourning the fact that he isn’t the same person physically as he was the previous Christmas.
I’d like to thank my pre-betas, Jedi34, RebeccaRipple, RSS, and Mutt n Feathers and my Brit-picker, Rosina Ferguson for all the help you’ve given me on this chapter. Also, a big thank you goes to Aggiebell for her continued beta-goodness, since she’s constantly reminding my that commas aren’t like salt to be sprinkled liberally through sentences.
I look forward to all comments and thank you, my readers, for continuing to make each Thursday a day I anticipate with relish.
Chapter 18: 18: Christmas
Author's Notes: Just a few quick thank yous... to my pre-betas Jedi34, Mutt n Feathers, RebeccaRipple, Rosina Ferguson, and RSS, thank you all for your opinions and encouragement on this chapter, especially Mutt because you understand Ginny so well. Also, thank you to Aggiebell, my beta for the many times she read this chapter. I think I sent her at least three different versions, all with new material that needed to be read and/or commented on.
0745 hours 25 December, 2020
Since so many members of the Weasley family were at The Burrow this year, Christmas breakfast was served buffet style and everyone drifted to different parts of the house to consume it. Ron was happy his mother had let Hermione and Audrey convince her to serve the meal this way, because it gave him an excuse to get Harry off to one side for some private conversation. He purposely elbowed Ginny out of the line and took her place in back of his friend.
“Ron, I was there first,” she protested.
“Yes, you were,” he agreed, “but I want to talk to Harry and this way we’ll be together when we leave the line.”
“You’ll help him with his plate?” Ginny asked, sounding uncertain. “It will need a Temporary Sticking Charm so it won’t slide off his lap.”
“I heard that.” Harry’s tone was light. “I’ll ask for help if I need it.”
“He’s family, Ginny, and family helps family, right?”
She sighed. “I know... Go on, you two, and stop holding up the line.”
“Thanks,” Ron said and turned his attention to Harry and their empty plates.
“What did you want to talk about?” Harry asked as they found a secluded corner in which to talk.
Ron put their drinks down on a small table and settled into his chair before answering. “A lot of things, Harry,” he said. “We haven’t had much time to really just talk like we used to and there’s stuff you need to know.”
“All right, what do you want to discuss first?” Harry asked between bites of toast.
“I guess I’d prefer to get business out of the way first,” Ron said as he stirred his porridge to cool it a little. “I held a planning meeting last week with the various departments plus Healer Stilwell and the director of St Mungo’s, and we’ve come up with a plan that just might work.”
“Tell me about it,” Harry said, his voice taking on the no-nonsense tone he always used at the office.
Ron held back a smile as he described the plan.
When he finished, Harry was silent for a rather long time. Finally, he put his empty plate aside and asked, “What does Hermione think about this?”
Ron felt his ears heat up. “I haven’t told her yet,” he said sheepishly. Harry sat back and laced his fingers across his stomach and Ron could easily picture him doing this exact same thing behind his desk at the Auror Office. “Erm... I’m using the excuse that it’s classified information, Harry. You know I’d get in trouble if Robards thought I’d compromised the investigation in any way... including telling you what we were planning.”
“I don’t like it, Ron,” Harry said. “You’re playing with fire here and if something goes wrong, you could end up like me.”
Ron sighed. “It’s a risk I have to take, Harry. Robards and Stilwell agree, even though Brodie and Garrett had another, safer idea which we’re using as Plan B,” he said, “but the more I mull the two over, the more I think our Plan A is the best way to catch the Matron.”
“When are you planning on carrying it out?”
“Not for a couple of weeks yet. There are some things still pending that need to be in place before we can do anything. We won’t attempt anything until everything is in place.”
“I hope one of them is some in-depth training on the specialized skills needed for a situation like the one you’re planning.” Harry’s tone made it clear what he wanted for his Aurors.
“That’s one of them,” Ron explained. “Robards is arranging for the entire Auror Department to take a specialized course that covers the new magic, procedures and techniques we need to capture the perpetrators and keep everyone involved safe.”
“Good. Even if most of the teams never encounter a situation like the one you’re planning, the new skills will benefit everyone. Please tell Robards I’d like a report on the results of your training to be sent to me. Is he going to participate?”
“Yes,” Ron answered.
“I was hoping you’d say that,” Harry said, looking pleased.
“In the meantime,” Ron continued, “I think you’d better warn your informant that it might be best to take an extended holiday or at least work from home for a couple of weeks.”
“Why’s that?”
“Brodie, Terry and Garrett gained access to the warehouse on Monday and did some exploring. They found evidence of the same type of experimentation we found at the house as well as signs of either packing up or unpacking of various parts of the room. We think it’s likely that the Matron and her compatriots are looking for new premises and may be gone from their present location within the week.”
“How does that affect my informant?”
“Harry, there are only two known magical warehouses on that block. One is being rented to an unknown company; the other has been there for thirty years and changed ownership within the last eighteen months. You might as well tell Draco Malfoy that he’s in grave danger and shouldn’t be alone at the office after hours.”
Harry’s eyebrow had disappeared into his fringe at the mention of Draco, the only sign that Ron’s guess had been correct about the identity of Harry’s informant.
“I promised him he’d be anonymous,” Harry croaked, sounding troubled. “What happens now? You know who he is, which means I’ve violated the trust it’s taken us years to build.”
Ron stared at the empty plate he held. “I only just figured out who your informant was yesterday. I haven’t told anyone, not Robards, not Garrett, not Brodie or Susan or Terry, nobody. I promise to keep his name classified just as you did.”
“So nothing has been written in a folder that someone could copy?” Harry asked. “I’m concerned because Draco has a wife and son...”
“Nothing,” Ron confirmed. “I just hope a verbal warning or an unfamiliar owl will alert him to how serious things could get for him, his family and his employees.”
“I’ll get word to Draco one way or another,” Harry promised.
Ron smiled. “You’re a good friend, Harry... to both of us.” He was surprised a moment later when Harry disagreed.
“Ron, I’ve been anything but that the last few months. Just ask my wife!” Harry protested. This was just the opening Ron needed for his next subject.
“Actually, I think I will,” he said.
“Huh?” This seemed to startle Harry. “You’ll ask her what?”
“Mostly why she’s not acting like herself,” Ron said, leaning back in his own chair and reaching for his mug of tea. “Harry, I’m worried about my sister. I don’t think anyone else in the family sees it, but have you notice that she hasn’t sat down or relaxed since you arrived yesterday?”
To Ron’s surprise, Harry leaned forward and supported his forehead with his fingers. “I’d hoped after our discussion yesterday that she’d back off,” he muttered.
“You argued?”
“Yes, from the time we picked up the children Saturday. James came home from his visit with Brian on Wednesday and told us that if we didn’t stop arguing, he was going back to Hogwarts and was probably taking Al and Lily with him.”
“What’d you two do?”
“We managed to talk civilly for the first time since we set foot in the van on Saturday.” Harry looked up, his expression bleak. “Ron, she thought she was bringing me home to die.”
Ron felt the sadness and confusion of those first two weeks come flooding back. “We all did, Harry. You have no idea how scared and helpless we all felt, especially after Healer Stilwell performed the emergency surgery on your heart,” he admitted.
“I’m beginning to get the picture,” Harry said. He reached for his mug and took several sips. “So... how do we help her? What can I do?”
It would be so easy to just brush off the question with an I-don’t-know answer, but Ron knew that was a copout. Finally, he said, “I think you’re doing it already, Harry. You’re showing her that you’ve become stronger and are capable of taking care of most of your needs by yourself. The more you demonstrate it, the less she’ll tend to hover, I reckon.”
Harry looked relieved. “I hope so... I... I thought it was more of an ... intimacy problem,” he stammered, his ears turning Weasley red.
Ron cocked his head to the right. “It could be that, too,” he chuckled softly. It was his turn to feel embarrassed as he asked, “Have you tried anything? Can you... feel anything... you know... intimate?”
Harry cleared his throat. “No, we haven’t and yes, there’s ... sensation,” he hedged.
Ron bit his lip and then said, “Right. Good to know. Now let my sister know that, too.” With that, he gathered their dishes to take to the kitchen. “Erm... nice talking to you, Harry.”
*
0932 hours
On the coast of Scotland, not far from Aberdeen near Stonehaven and just south of the ruins of Dunnottar Castle, was a set of magically-carved steps leading down the cliff face to an almost imperceptible crack in the rocks. There, in a cave carved by the relentless crashing waves of the North Sea, a make-shift potions lab had been set up, along with two other chambers, one big enough to hold three containment cells and another, larger room for conducting experiments. At this moment, only the potions lab was in use, because the other three people who worked here were celebrating the holiday. The potioneer, on the other hand, was using the peace and quiet to tend her cauldrons as they bubbled and hissed and sent up clouds of coloured steam.
The Matron pushed some limp hair out of her face and gazed thoughtfully at her finished potion. It was a pearlescent blue-green colour, a combination of the two potions she’d been using on her last six test subjects and her two successful victimizations of Payton Stilwell’s patients. The two separate potions had done what they’d been designed to do, kill nerves and successfully cripple both victims, but this newest potion... This potion had the properties of both previous potions plus an added ingredient that when activated remotely by a specific spell would cause severe anaphylactic shock, which would kill the victim within minutes if the proper medical spells and/or potions were not administered straight away. The beauty of this was that the needles could leak their poison into the victim’s system and at precisely the right moment, with the caster as much as a mile away, the spell could be cast and the victim dispatched without suspicion.
She could hardly wait to try it out on another of Stilwell’s patients. She smiled. It was a very happy Christmas, indeed...
*
Across the room Ginny was deep in conversation with her sisters-in-law. It was a nice, easy discussion that allowed her to sweep the room with her eyes, looking for anything her children and husband might need. With one ear on what Fleur was saying about Louis’ chances of getting a job at the Ministry right out of Hogwarts verses his taking a Gap Year between leaving school and then finding a job, Ginny willed her mind to stop thinking about the drive home in two days’ time and dreading the long stint behind the wheel of the van. She was also quite tired; she hadn’t slept well last night because she had dreamed of Harry’s funeral again, the one she’d started planning in her head during the long nights right after Harry’s accident. Despite the fact that her husband was within earshot and very much alive, she just couldn’t shake the sadness and terror of facing life without him...
Oh, Harry, don’t ever scare me like that again...
“Earth to Ginny! Earth to Ginny!” Angelina’s voice broke through her thoughts and she turned back to the group to find her friend looking at her with a rather concerned expression. “Ginny, you’re a million light-years away. What’s up?”
Ginny smiled shakily. “The ceiling,” she quipped, pointing over their heads with her fork.
Angelina shook her head. “I’m serious, Ginny, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Still trying to evade he sister-in-law’s question, she answered, “Actually, it’s been over twenty years since I’ve seen Nearly-Headless Nick. What about you?”
Scowling now, Angelina said, “Stop it, Ginny. You can’t fool us. You’ve been too quiet the entire time you’ve been here... how... how are you holding up?”
The question startled Ginny. She hadn’t thought about her own needs in quite a while. “I’m fine,” she answered, using Harry’s pet response to any question about his well-being that he didn’t want to answer.
“Oh, so you’re turning into Harry now?” Hermione asked, giving her a searching look. “I don’t believe you. You know as well as I do that’s the answer he always gave us when he was being evasive about his feelings.”
“Fine.” Ginny crossed her arms over her chest as she glared at Hermione. “If you really want to know, I didn’t sleep well last night because the bed was lumpy, the fairy lights on the Christmas tree reminded me of the light globes that hovered over Harry’s bed at St Mungo’s and Harry snored because he has a slight head cold but won’t take anything for it except Muggle cold preparations. He can’t take Pepper-Up Potion because it interferes with his other potions,” Ginny said irritably. “Now do you see why I’m tired?”
Hermione glanced at Angelina. “Those are just excuses,” Angelina said quietly. “I know there’s a deeper reason you’re not joining our discussion.”
Glancing away to look for James, Albus and Lily and finding them still at the table with their cousins, Ginny asked, “Why do I need a reason for tuning you out? I have a family to look after.”
“You used to do that a lot when the kids were younger and you felt you needed to know where they were all the time. That was justifiable when the boys were tiny terrors trying to demolish everything in sight. Your family isn’t under five years old any more, Ginny,” Angelina said. “They haven’t needed this much attention in ages.”
“I know that!” Ginny snapped. She turned back to her best friend and sister-in-law again. “Just leave me alone, all right? I’m fine,” she answered, hoping the answer would satisfy at least Angelina.
“If you say so...” Angelina shrugged and left her alone as Hermione scowled and turned back towards Fleur.
However, as she finished her Sally Lunn bread, Ginny asked herself, Am I really fine? The scary answer... she didn’t know.
*
1108 hours
He stood in the woods surrounding the estate called The Burrow. He was frustrated. Harry Potter was in that building. The Auror, Ronald Weasley, was in that building, too... And Weasley was in there celebrating the holiday while he... He banished the thought and moved to his other hiding spot where he could view the back door...
What infuriated him most was that the stupid security enchantments on the property were too effective at keeping him out; they would not allow him in to set the magical traps ordered by the Matron. For reasons he could not fathom, the Matron wanted Auror Weasley dead, or if not dead, so physically, mentally or magically impaired that the Auror would be forced to hand off the investigation to another of his colleagues who was less-familiar with the case. He stood there, willing Weasley to come out into the garden, but he did not come.
In fact, none of the occupants of the house had come out yet this morning and it was beginning to snow again. He tapped his head with his wand, casting a Disillusionment Spell upon himself and settled beneath a tree, hoping the warming charm on his cloak would be enough against the light snow which was beginning to fall.
*
1300 hours
The Burrow felt cosy with nearly all her brothers and their families home for Christmas. The morning had gone quickly with breakfast followed by the family gift exchange. She had been pleasantly surprised when Lily and Al had agreed to help their cousins pass out the gifts. She’d received some lovely and thoughtful things as had Harry and the children, and she was glad her family understood how last-minute her shopping had been. A light lunch had followed the gift exchange, and it would be another hour before all the wives descended on the kitchen to prepare Christmas Dinner.
At the moment, her children and most of their cousins were out in the back garden for the boys-against-girls annual snowball fight. Their high-pitched giggles and shrieks of laughter filtered through the windows to where she was sitting at the kitchen table nursing a cup of tea. Looking through the door to the sitting room, she saw that her husband, her brothers and her father were all engaged in their traditional Wizard’s Chess match which Ron had instituted the year the war had ended as something completely new that Fred would not have participated in willingly. This year they had set up three boards for the tournament and from the grin on Ron’s face, it was likely he would win again this year.
Ginny took a sip of her tea and suddenly realized that she had been sitting in this exact spot for nearly an hour with absolutely nothing to do. It was a very strange feeling, one she hadn’t enjoyed in over two months. Since Harry’s accident there hadn’t been time for her to just sit like this; there had always been something demanding her attention because of how much time she was spending at The Groves with him. But now that he’d learned so much and his life was out of danger, she suddenly realized he wasn’t going to need her constantly.
How do I feel about it? she asked herself.
Her answer surprised her because instead of words like relieved or satisfied, the first two words that came to mind were obsolete and superfluous... and they absolutely terrified her. On impulse, she rose from her chair and wandered up the stairs to her old bedroom where she’d left her handbag. She felt... restless... and in need of something physically exhausting to do. There was an old cloak hanging in the wardrobe and without a second thought, she put it on, snatched up her bag and walked out the kitchen door. Ten steps from the house she turned on the spot and Disapparated.
Chapter 19: 19: Missing
Author's Notes: So here they are: Ginny’s reasons for leaving. I know some of you will wonder why she even contemplated some of them, but when you’re under stress, you sometimes do and think things you ordinarily wouldn’t when you’re relaxed and happy. You'll find them about two-thirds of the way through the chapter. However, please don't skip to that section because there's a lot of good stuff that leads up to that Ginny section. Enjoy and thanks for reading.
1330 hours, 25 December 2020
Lily opened the front door, cold, wet, and ready for some hot cocoa, which her grandmother had promised would be ready after the boys-against-girls snowball fight. She had come in a bit early, looking for her mother and eager for a few quiet moments together by the fire. The last place she’d seen Mum was at the kitchen table, and Lily was hoping she was still there. She was immediately disappointed when Mum’s cup and saucer were on the table, but no Mum was in sight. Sighing, Lily began wandering the downstairs rooms in search of her mother, leaving a trail of wet footprints across the floor.
“Hey, Short-stuff, you look like you’re looking for someone?” said Uncle Ron. “I think you need a Drying Spell, too.”
Lily looked down at her soggy shoes and wet jeans. “Could you add a Warming Charm, too? I was looking for my mum. She knows where my dry clothes are,” she explained.
Uncle Ron pulled out his wand and aimed it at Lily. “I can help with the charms, but I don’t know where your mum is,” he said. “Ready?”
Lily smiled and turned fully to face him, spreading her arms wide so the spell could find all the wet nooks and crannies in the fabric of her clothes. “Thanks, Uncle Ron.” She smiled as the spells dried and warmed her wet mittens and socks.
“Not at all,” her uncle replied. “If I see your mother I’ll let her know you’re looking for her.”
Giving him a small wave, Lily started up the stairs, intending to peer into each bedroom until she found her mum.
Her search proved fruitless and Lily came downstairs dreading going outside into the cold and wet again. As she emerged from the stairwell, she spied Albus’ broom leaning against the wall next to the kitchen door. Her brothers and cousins were all gathered at the table slurping down hot cocoa and stuffing biscuits into their mouths; they paid her no attention as she crossed the room, grabbed the broom and took off from the top step, intent on searching the estate from garden to pitch to pond if she had to.
First, she circled the house, just in case Mum had gone out to the van for something. It was parked next to the garage with a thin layer of snow on its roof. The path Aunt Hermione had cleared for Daddy had been filled in a little, too, and there were no footprints leading from the house to the van, so it was ruled out as a place for Mum to be.
Next, Lily flew through the back garden and out to the pond, half expecting her mother to be sitting on her favourite rock, enjoying the silence of the winter scene. If Mum was there, maybe they’d do a little ice skating like they’d done last Christmas. She was disappointed when Mum wasn’t sitting by the pond.
Finally, her concern turning to mild panic, Lily flew to the Quidditch pitch. It really was the logical place for Mum to be, because Lily had often found her on their family’s pitch at home, throwing charmed Quaffles at the hoops and doing flying drills she remembered from her time with the Harpies. However, the pitch was as deserted as the pond and van, the only thing in the snow was the Quaffle Hugo had forgotten to bring in after yesterday’s practice.
Not one to give up very easily, Lily circled the pitch, peering into the woods surrounding the clearing. “MUM!!” she cried. “MUM, ARE YOU HIDING?”
No answer.
Now fully alarmed, Lily sped back to the house through the orchard, pushing Albus’ broom as fast as she dared fly it. With tears streaming down her face, she entered the kitchen, dropped the broom next to the door, and made a bee-line for the sitting room as Albus yelled at her to put his broom away properly.
“Dad, Dad, have you seen Mum?” Lily cried as she entered the sitting room.
Dad looked up from his chess game with Uncle Bill, “Erm, no, Lily, I haven’t seen her all afternoon. Isn’t she in the kitchen having a cup of tea?” he asked.
“No, she’s not. I went all through The Burrow looking for her and she wasn’t in any of the bedrooms. I even went outside and looked in the van,” Lily explained as her father’s expression turned from curious to concerned.
“You’re sure you didn’t pass her? Maybe she was in the loo.”
Lily shook her head. “I’m certain, Dad. I even took Albus’ new broom and flew over to the pond and the Quidditch pitch. I called and called, but she’s not here!” she insisted, fat tears beginning to form in her eyes.
Daddy pushed away from the chess table and swung his chair towards her. Then, he opened his arms, inviting her onto his lap. “Come here, my sweet girl,” he said. Lily scrambled onto his lap; she had to hook a foot around one of the bars of the foot rest to stay on, but stay on she did as Daddy continued, “We’ll find her, Lily. I promise.”
Uncle Bill asked, “How long ago did you start searching for her?”
Lily looked at the clock. “Maybe a half-hour ago. I came in from the snowball fight about ten minutes before everyone else did because I was cold and wet and not having fun any more. Uncle Ron dried me off and warmed me up when he saw my wet footprints all over the kitchen.”
Uncle Bill said to Daddy and Uncle George, Uncle Ron, Uncle Percy and PopPop who were now listening, “She’s had a half hour’s head start if she’s Apparated somewhere.”
“Would she have Apparated away?” Uncle Percy asked. “I remember she used to hide in the attic when she was little, even in winter like this when Fred and George picked on her too much.”
“Or what about the tree house in the apple orchard?” Uncle Bill asked. “I remember finding her there on more than one occasion.”
“Sorry, big brother, but the tree house collapsed three years ago in that big storm that blew in from the Atlantic,” Uncle George said.
“That’s the one that took half my roof with it,” Uncle Bill remarked.
“We know,” Uncle Percy said, sounding impatient. “Since Lily’s upset, I’ll go up to the attic to find Ginny. See if I can talk her into coming down.” He rose from his chair and disappeared up the stairs.
“I’ll go find the girls and see if Hermione or Angelina have seen her,” Uncle George volunteered as Daddy tightened his hold around Lily and she moved her head to a drier spot on his shoulder.
“Maybe Mum and Fleur have seen her,” Uncle Bill suggested, also rising.
Uncle Ron now sat in Uncle Bill’s chair. “Do you want me to search the grounds, Harry?” he asked.
“It wouldn’t hurt, but I think Sweet Pea here did a thorough job of it, didn’t you?” Dad asked.
Lily could only nod.
Uncle Ron sat back down at his chess board. He studied it for several minutes and then murmured some instructions to his pieces. They moved just as Uncle Percy came back into the room.
“She’s not up there,” he reported as he sat across from Uncle Ron and stared at their board.
“Didn’t think she would be,” Uncle Ron murmured, making Daddy whip his head around to look at him.
“What do you mean by that?” Dad demanded.
“I told you she’s been acting oddly,” he told Dad. “This is probably just her way of getting away from all of us.”
Lily sat up. “Do you think Mum is hiding, Dad?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he said, sounding sad.
Uncle Bill and Uncle George entered the sitting room. “Nobody’s seen her since lunch,” Uncle Bill said.
“I’m worried,” Dad said as Aunt Hermione came in.
“Lily,” her aunt said, “why don’t you come with me? Grandmum saved you some hot cocoa and a few biscuits. Would you like some?”
Lily nodded and slid off her dad’s lap, but not before she gave him a big squeeze. “We’ll find her,” he murmured to her. She gave him a soggy smile and followed Aunt Hermione into the kitchen where Albus was busy polishing his new broom at the table.
He looked up and glared at her. “Lily, you didn’t ask permission to take my broom,” he said accusingly.
Lily hung her head. “Mum’s missing!” she blurted. “I took your broom to go see if I could find her.”
Albus put down his polishing rag. “Mum’s missing?” he repeated. “Why do you say that?”
Aunt Hermione handed Lily a mug of cocoa. “Your sister and all your uncles have looked everywhere for her and she’s simply not here,” she said. She cocked her head to one side, absent-mindedly set a plate of warm biscuits on the table and left the room.
“You went looking for Mum?” Albus asked. “And you took my broom to go do it?”
Lily nodded.
Albus smiled at her. “You’re forgiven,” he said. “Erm... just this once.”
Lily stuck her tongue out at him. They giggled together and Lily felt a little better.
*
The cold winter wind bore down on Holy Island from the Irish Sea, carrying with it a flurry of snowflakes that turned the quaint seaside town of Holyhead a pearlescent white as it drifted against walls and accumulated in corners and on window casements. It swept across the barren land making the low brush thrash and bend on the desolate landscape.
Not far from the town proper, the flags surrounding a magically hidden Quidditch stadium stood out stiffly from their poles, attesting to the strength of the winter tempest. However, inside the stadium–disguised for Muggles as a derelict warehouse nobody used any more–the wind was much calmer with just enough of a breeze to freshen the air.
It was here, high above the pitch, that a lone witch had come to fly in frantic patterns around imaginary opponents and hurl several huge red balls at three of the six golden hoops. Each Quaffle was enchanted to come back to her and she had also enchanted a mechanical Keeper to fly interference and cause her to make split-second decisions about each of her shots.
The witch retrieved a Quaffle, drawing her wand and cancelling her spell on the other three balls. They dropped to the snowy ground and rolled a little way before coming to a stop. The witch ignored them as she turned towards the goal hoops, faked to the right, flew left and sent the Quaffle whizzing through the middle hoop, startling a flock of birds that had settled on its top. The Quaffle returned to her and the witch caught it, cancelled her retrieval spell and dropped it with the others as she took off racing around the stadium, pushing herself and the broom to their limits. If there had been an observer in the stands, he or she might have been able to read “Weasley-Potter” embroidered across the witch’s back as she flew past...
*
1400 hours
In the sitting room the atmosphere was very different than what it had been forty minutes ago. All of Ron’s brothers were in deep discussion about where to look for their sister, completely ignoring poor Harry who sat next to the forgotten chess game, listening to everyone’s theories. His face was grim with worry, reminding Hermione of the many times she had seen that same expression on his face when they were at Hogwarts.
She approached Ron and whispered in his ear, “I think Ginny went home for something and hasn’t come back.”
Ron nodded. “I agree,” he murmured. “She could also be sitting on their roof.”
“Not in this weather,” Hermione said. “She may have fallen asleep and lost track of time instead.”
“Want me to go looking for her?” Ron asked.
“Yes. I’m coming with you. Let me get my cloak,” Hermione answered. As Ron stood up, the scraping of his chair legs on the floor distracted his brothers from their discussion.
“Where are you going?” Bill asked.
“We think Ginny might have gone home and fallen asleep on the sofa,” Hermione replied. “She looked tired this morning.”
“With Harry’s permission, we’re going to Apparate to Snidget’s Haven and see if Ginny’s there,” Ron added.
George, who had been quietly listening to the discussion, stood up abruptly. “No! Don’t go!” he ordered. “If you two go she’ll just bolt and we’ll never find her until she wants to be found!”
“How do you know?” Harry demanded, looking wildly from one speaker to another. “How do you know she’s at home? How do you know she’ll bolt?”
George walked over to Harry and knelt by his wheelchair. “Harry, I can’t explain it. It’s a feeling I have. Let me go, please,” he pleaded. “I... I think I know why she left and what to say to bring her back.”
Hermione glanced at Ron. His expression told her more than any words. “George needs to go,” she told the men. “I think the rest of us should fan out and search the estate just in case Ginny didn’t Disapparate.”
George said to the others, “Right, then. I’ll get my cloak.” He disappeared up the stairs, his brothers all following. A moment later he reappeared, stuffing a miniaturized object into a pocket. He went straight to Harry.
“I’ll find her, Harry. I’ll bring her back home.”
Harry ran a hand through his hair. “I wish I could go with you,” he sighed.
Hermione laid a hand on his shoulder. “I know you do, but it’s best if you let George go alone.”
Harry looked down at his legs. “I’d be more of a burden than a help,” he said, sounding rueful.
George stood up. “Later,” he said simply and in three quick strides was across the sitting room and headed for the kitchen door.
Hermione Summoned her cloak and with one last smile at Harry, opened the front door and went to search the front garden.
*
1415 hours
“Harry,” Arthur said, startling his black-haired son-in-law. “Let’s go out to my shed where we can have some privacy.”
“All right,” Harry said, nodding woodenly.
Arthur fetched their cloaks and watched in amazement as Harry lowered himself down the front steps and into the snow. Then, drawing his wand, Arthur led his son-in-law around the house to the shed, melting a path in the snow for Harry as they went.
As soon as the shed door closed, Arthur turned to face Harry and said with conviction, “I have faith George will find Ginny.”
Harry turned his bleak-eye expression in his direction. “How do you know, sir?” he asked, making Arthur smile. Harry had never quite fallen out of the habit of being polite to him in times of stress.
“Well, son,” Arthur began, “your Ginny was always very close to Fred and George in temperament; the three of them often thought along the same lines, especially when it came to pulling pranks and being inventive. She also never thought Molly and I knew she was sneaking out at night to fly on her brothers’ brooms when she was little, and it never occurred to her to wonder why the broom shed was often left unlocked after sundown.” He chuckled softly. “Her mother would have been angry with me if I’d locked it on my way in at night.”
Harry grinned at this. “Ginny did the same thing for Lily starting the summer before James went off to Hogwarts,” he said.
“As did Molly’s parents before her,” Arthur added. “You see, Harry, the Prewett witches are a very hardy, strong-headed lot. They can endure as much or more adversity than a wizard in times of trouble. During the second war, there were times when I was ready to throw up my hands and quit the Order over some of the things Dumbledore made us withhold from you, but Molly... she remained steadfast in her belief that if Dumbledore needed us to remain silent–even though it caused you excruciating pain sometimes–that was what was best for you. We argued many times over your right to know, as we did over various subjects concerning our children.”
“I remember,” Harry said quietly. “You defended my right to know about Sirius that night at the Leaky Cauldron before my third year. I never thanked you.”
Arthur smiled as Harry lapsed into silence, his face a cloud of misery. At length, he asked, “So what does that have to do with why Ginny disappeared?”
Arthur went over to his cloak, which he’d hung by the door, and took out two picture frames. The one he handed Harry was the Potter family portrait he and Molly had received as a Christmas gift. It showed the five Potters happily posing on the Blackpool pier on their holiday last August. His daughter looked relaxed and happy in the photo, hugging the man she loved while the sons and daughter she cherished stood in front of her.
“Has Ginny looked like this in recent months?” Arthur asked, peering at the portrait over Harry’s shoulder.
His son-in-law studied the photo. With a monumental sigh, he murmured, “Not since the middle of October.”
Arthur handed him the other photograph, a framed snapshot of the Weasley family gathered on the staircase of Grimmauld Place circa July of 1995 by the absence of Charlie and Percy. Harry immediately seemed to comprehend the reason for the two photos by the change in his expression.
“If I didn’t know better,” he said quietly. “Ginny could be Molly in this picture.”
“Why do you say that?” Arthur asked.
“Molly’s expression is the same one Ginny has worn since my accident,” Harry explained. “It’s almost as if Ginny’s been taking on everyone’s burdens, just like Molly carried mine that year...” He trailed off as he handed the photos back to Arthur who set them on his workbench.
“Harry, your wife is exactly like her mother in that respect; as fiercely protective as a mother dragon and as selfless as a house-elf when it comes to her family,” Arthur said with a smile. “It is my opinion that our Ginny has born the burden of your recovery to the point of exhaustion, so that she has nothing left to give. I think she reached her breaking point sometime this afternoon and simply needed to get away to find the part of herself she tucked away when you were injured. She’s seen that you no longer need her as much as you have in recent weeks.”
“You’re right; I don’t need her as much as I used to. We argued for nearly five days because she still wanted to do everything for me–and I don’t need her to any more–until James made us sit down together and come to an agreement,” Harry said, “or rather a truce. Do you really think she’s finally letting go?”
Arthur nodded and placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I do, son, I do. Do you remember what Molly was like in the early days, right after the war ended?”
Harry nodded, seeming to make the connection. “I do,” he said. “Ginny and I couldn’t believe her mum never shed any tears except the ones she cried at Fred’s funeral. She was constantly coming up with things to keep us busy so we didn’t have to think.” He snickered. “Ginny thought her mother was purposely messing things up.” Arthur chuckled because he knew his daughter had been right. Harry continued, “When I asked her why we were doing so many chores, Ginny said her mum told her keeping busy would keep our minds from dwelling on our sadness. At the time I wondered how Mrs Weasley was so wise.”
Arthur smiled at this. “Well, Harry, Molly had nearly raised seven children and when push comes to shove, sometimes a parent needs to be a bit creative in the chore department.”
Harry laughed outright at this. “Tell me about it,” he said. Then he sobered. “But what happened to Molly when she finally realized we were all beginning to recover from our initial sadness over Fred’s death?”
Arthur sighed as the memories came flooding back. “She couldn’t hide behind being busy or caring for her family for very long after that, now, could she? The stress was just too great and one afternoon when you were off at the Ministry–I think it was several days after Ginny’s birthday–she locked herself in our bedroom with the wireless and refused to come out for three whole days. Do you remember?”
Harry’s eyes had gone wide. “Yes, I remember. She came out two days before Ginny and Hermione left for Hogwarts,” he said slowly. “That’s what’s happened to Ginny, hasn’t it?”
“I’m afraid so, Harry. Ron recognized the signs that something was wrong with his sister, but it is George who knows what to do to get her to come back. It may take a day or two, but if he finds her, Ginny will be well taken care of,” Arthur said. “She’s in good hands.”
Harry slumped in his chair, cradling his head in his hands. “I hope you’re right, Arthur. I hope you’re right.”
*
1445 hours
The interior of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes Diagon Alley shop was a little chilly when George Apparated into the office. He didn’t bother lighting the fire because he only meant to be in the shop long enough to grab a few things that might be useful in his hunt for his sister. If his hunch was correct, he was in for a long, cold wait for her to exit her hiding place. Quickly, he strode through the shop, picking up a Headless Hat, the deluxe model with transparent view port; a Mischief Mantle, a capelet with the same properties as the Headless Hat that covered only half the body; a box of Canary Creams, the long-lasting kind that actually allowed the victim to fly a short distance; and his old Beater’s broom that still bore the marks from Umbridge’s chains. He swiftly shrunk the lot and pocketed it before Apparating to his next destination.
He materialized again inside the foyer of Snidget’s Haven without incident–other than a slight slow-down as he passed through the security enchantments–with the intention of only staying a few minutes. He hastened through his sister’s home towards her office at the very top of the house, stopping only to admire the magic that had been used to construct Harry’s lift and the folding steps leading to his office and the library.
Deciding to shave a little more time from his visit here, George Apparated onto the landing outside Ginny’s office and opened the door. It took only a moment to make a few observations and discover what she’d taken. Then, again feeling the power of Harry’s security enchantments as he Disapparated, he left, hoping he remembered where the Apparition point on Holy Island was.
His landing was somewhat jarring because he’d not been quite as deliberate as he should have been since he’d not been to the Harpies’ stadium in over ten years. He smiled when he discovered he’d landed only a few dozen paces from his chosen stake-out spot and thankfully, all in one piece (he’d Splinched himself once a few years back when his Deliberation hadn’t been very precise about where he’d been going and he never wanted to do that again).
The topography of the island hadn’t changed much: the absence of trees on the wind-blown island provided little by way of concealment places, so he decided to set up camp about thirty paces from a door he remembered as the team entrance. If he was correct, it would only be a matter of time before his sister emerged from the building. He didn’t think he’d missed her because there was still enough light to see the door from his spot in front of it.
He settled down to wait behind a waist-high outcropping of rock, putting on the Headless Hat and Mischief Mantle, conjuring a folding chair and casting a few warming charms and wind-break spells. His plan was to watch the door until dark when he would start combing the Wizarding and Muggle pubs looking for Ginny.
The feeble daylight had almost faded away when the sound of a door unsealing itself caught his attention. George glanced at his watch. Half past four... his hunch had been correct, it seemed. A moment later, Ginny stepped through the entrance and turned to secure the door, completely unaware that she was being observed. When she turned back round, George saw her expression was one of extreme sadness mixed with exhaustion, not unlike her demeanour after her team had lost a match her first year as a Harpy. He longed to take her in his arms and comfort her… but that would have to wait. First, he needed to make contact.
Throwing off the Mischief Mantle, he popped a Canary Cream into his mouth and chewed vigorously. A second later, he had taken wing and was flying erratically toward his sister because he had not taken into consideration the strength of the wind. His plan was to land on her shoulder and chirp in her ear once or twice before the sweet wore off.
His bizarre, wind-buffeted flight did get Ginny’s attention for she immediately drew her wand and pointed it at him. He instantly changed his plan of action and landed on the tip of her wand, surprising her a little, but not enough to scare her.
“All right, which of my brothers are you?” she demanded, but the question wasn’t delivered very authoritatively because George could tell she was trying not to laugh.
“Chir-me, George,” he said as he landed on his feet and spit out a few yellow feathers. A clattering noise told him he’d not jumped off Ginny’s wand fast enough, causing her to drop it. Not good...
Ginny’s attitude changed swiftly from amusement to angry suspicion. She eyed her fallen wand, looking not a little frightened now and he remembered he was still wearing the Headless Hat. Slowly, he raised his left hand and took off the hat.
“What was your motto when you were trying to open the shop?” she demanded, backing away from him.
George stayed still. “Anything’s possible if you have enough nerve,” he quoted.
His answer must have been correct because the next thing he knew, Ginny had thrown herself at him and was hugging him fiercely: she didn’t cry, but he knew her tears were not long in coming. It was only a matter of time… This same thing had happened to him long ago when it was Ginny who had come to find him the summer after Fred died... He held her tightly, rubbing her back until he felt her relax and pull back a little.
“How did you know where to find me?” she asked shakily.
“I didn’t,” George admitted. “I was only guessing you’d be here. The pitch at Snidget’s Haven wasn’t occupied when I dropped by, so this seemed to be the only other logical place. Besides, we both know there’s nothing better than the feeling of sending a ball zinging towards a target, no matter whether it’s human or hoop-shaped.”
Ginny stepped back, hugging herself. “I’m glad you came,” she murmured.
George asked, “Are you ready to go back?”
“No, not yet.” Her voice sounded wounded and lost.
“All right, let me get my stuff,” he said. When she nodded, he pointed his wand at his hiding place, cancelling his charms. The folding chair disappeared as the box of Canary Creams, his old broom and his Mantle sailed into his outstretched hand. Turning to Ginny, he asked, “Is that Muggle pub, the Stanley something-or-other, still in business? I don’t know about you, but I could use something to drink that doesn’t have spiced Satsumas floating in it.”
“Stanley Arms,” Ginny corrected shakily. “I think it is. Do you want to go there or the Hideout? They’re both close.”
George remembered the Hideout was the Wizarding pub most frequented by the Harpies players. “Which one has the darkest corners?” he asked. When Ginny didn’t respond to his joke, he said, “We need a private room, sis. Or at least a secluded table, preferably in the dark corner.”
“Either one, I suspect,” Ginny said as they began walking in the direction of the town. “But the Hideout won’t be filled with Muggles, so I guess we should go there. It’s just a stone’s throw from here.”
“Lead the way,” George responded, slinging his arm lightly around his sister’s shoulders and pulling her into a one-armed hug. She put her head briefly on his shoulder and then steered the two of them toward the pub.
Ten minutes later, with two large glasses of warm Butterbeer in hand, he led the way up the stairs and into a corridor lined with doors. Handing one of the glasses to Ginny, he retrieved the key he’d been given and opened the door to room three. Ginny followed him inside and shut the door behind them, sealing it and casting a few more spells around the room. Only then did she take a long gulp of her drink.
“Did your Chaser practice help?” George asked softly. “And... are you all right?”
Ginny’s hand trembled so much that she set her glass on the bureau. A fat tear trickled down her cheek and she answered tremulously, “No, George, I’m not. Hold me, please?”
He opened his arms and invited her into his embrace. She came, tears now streaming down her face, and he caught her as her body sagged against his. She clung to him like she had when they were little when it had been Ron who had been mean to her and Bill wasn’t home to soothe away the hurt feelings.
George closed his eyes as he held his sister. Memories, long suppressed, floated through his mind, reminding him of a time some twenty-two years before when it had been Ginny doing the holding and him finally releasing his pent-up emotions.
Ginny had come to find him one night in late July 1998 after he’d blown up at their parents, just two months after Fred’s funeral. He’d yelled at them that their deferential treatment was not appreciated because Fred would have hated it. He’d then Disapparated to the shop and begun frantically throwing anything that reminded him of Fred into boxes with the idea of purging the shop of everything that reminded him of his brother. The trouble was, his late brother’s fingers seemed to have touched every product, every display case, and everything in the office save George’s personal items. Ginny had found him crumpled on the office floor crying into a magenta shirt bearing the shop’s logo Fred had given him only a week before the Battle of Hogwarts to commemorate the second anniversary of their shop’s opening. She had held him for hours until he’d finally exhausted the torrent of tears and could string his words into coherent sentences again.
Ginny had then Apparated them to the Leaky Cauldron where Hannah Abbott had given her a key and two bottomless butterbeer glasses. They had spent the rest of the night talking and reminiscing about Fred and talking of his plans for the future.
Now, it seemed, he was at last able to return the favour his sister had done for him so long ago.
“Ginny, love, let’s go to the sofa. Or would you rather sit on the rug?” he asked, indicating the thick hearth rug in front of the fireplace. He pointed his wand at the logs and the next instant had a merry fire crackling in the grate.
Ginny pointed to the rug and George guided her downward until they were sitting facing each other, close enough for him to pull her into his lap as if she were five years old again. Then he held her, waiting patiently until her flood of tears subsided into shudders and the occasional whimper.
“Are you all right now?” he finally asked as he Summoned a pouf and leaned back against it.
Ginny nodded and groped in her pocket for something. George smiled and conjured a handful of handkerchiefs. He laid them on her lap and was rewarded with a watery half-smile.
“Want to tell me about it?”
Ginny blew her nose.
“Oh, George, you’re going to think me completely silly for running away like I did,” she moaned.
“No, I won’t. Remember, I’m the one who turned Ron’s teddy bear into a spider all those years ago,” he said with a chuckle, “now that’s something silly to run away and hide about.”
“I never blamed Ron for hiding in the chicken house because you and Fred did that,” Ginny reminded him. When George raised an eyebrow at her she added, “I blamed the two of you for making me spend the hottest afternoon of the summer sitting on the bank looking at the pond when we could have been swimming in it!”
“But that’s only because you were the one to nick Mum’s wand since Fred wouldn’t let go–“
“–at your suggestion since I didn’t want my dolls changed into spiders either!”
“Got you to stop trying to tell Mum what we were up to, you little spy!”
“I wasn’t spying! Merlin, I’ve told you a thousand times that Mum sent me upstairs to tell you breakfast was ready. It wasn’t my fault that one of you had left the door open a crack and that I saw you and Fred playing with Uncle Gideon’s old wand, turning everything in your room into something horrible!” Ginny said indignantly.
“All right, I give up!” George said as Ginny smiled triumphantly at him. “You’ve proven me wrong... you can smile, Sis. And I haven’t seen you smile in ages.”
“That’s because I haven’t had much to smile about, George,” Ginny sniffed. She moved off his lap to lean against the front of one of the wing chairs facing the fire.
“But now you do,” he said, “because Harry’s getting better.”
To his surprise, Ginny burst into tears again. “That’s just it, George! Harry’s getting better, but not by much!” she wailed and dove for the pile of handkerchiefs which now lay between them.
George stayed where he was, waiting for his sister to elaborate on her statement.
“Do you know how frustrating it is to not feel needed?” she finally asked. “I mean, my children are all at Hogwarts. They don’t need me except as a scullery maid when they come home, and at first the feeling of freedom was wonderful because I could finally say ‘yes’ to the longer assignments my boss wanted me to go on for the Prophet. And then Harry was hurt and all of a sudden I was doing everything, and I mean everything for him, George! It was like I suddenly needed to Harry-proof the house so he could live there without getting hurt! It was like living with a two-year-old all over again, or thinking like that was going to happen.” Ginny blew her nose hard and then continued, “George, at one point I thought I was bringing Harry home to die! ”
“I know you did, Ginny. But that was before Healer Stilwell told you he’d arranged for Harry to go to The Groves, wasn’t it?” George asked.
“It was,” Ginny sniffed. “I’ve missed him, George... more than you can imagine.”
George sighed. He did know about missing someone so badly it hurt to think about them... and it wasn’t just Fred he missed, either. There had been a time after he’d broken up with Alicia that he’d ached, physically ached, for her whenever he’d thought of her. “I can, Ginny, I know what that’s like,” he murmured.
She looked at him, startled. “So you don’t think I’m being silly for feeling guilty for trying to do everything for everyone even though they don’t need me to any more?” she asked. “That the harder I try to stop the bigger the urge is to turn into a house-elf?”
He shook his head.
“And... and you don’t think I’m being irrational when I’m feeling guilty for being afraid that Harry and I will never be... close... again?”
Again, George shook his head.
She lunged at him and he caught her up in his arms as a fresh torrent of tears soaked a huge wet spot in his shirt. “Oh George, I’m so glad you don’t! It’s such a relief!” she sobbed.
George held her until she was calmer. Then he nearly whispered, “I think there’s more to it than just wanting to be your family’s house-elf.”
Ginny raised her head. “You’ll think I’m being unreasonable,” she said flatly.
“Try me.”
“I’m scared because I’ve actually contemplated going to live at Grimmauld Place without Harry. I love him so much, but if we can’t behave like a married couple any more, I’ve wondered whether we’d just be better off living separate lives. Merlin knows I still get enough love letters and marriage proposals at the Prophet to wonder whether I should consider taking one of those wizards up on his offer. But every time I think I’m ready to broach the subject with Harry, he does something miraculous like learning to swim, and I know I could never be happy in someone else’s arms. I know I would always be comparing the new wizard to Harry and that wouldn’t be fair, you know?”
George nodded, trying not to bang his chin on the top of his sister’s head. Ginny hugged him back. They sat together, staring at the fire until Ginny took a deep breath, signalling that there was more.
“I’m also worried that Harry’s lost the will and the ability to do his job,” she whispered.
“Why do you think that?”
“Being an Auror is so physical! In order to be one, you have to have all your senses, be able to run a certain distance, stay qualified at duelling with a variety of weaponry as well as with Muggle techniques, and a whole host of other things. Harry can’t walk, he can’t run, his vision is severely limited and he’s back to being the equivalent of a first year magically. George, what if the Ministry says that because Harry can’t meet the physical requirements he can’t be Head of the Auror Department? If that happens, it would kill him! You know his identity hinges on his ability to do his job!”
George thought a moment. “No, I think you’re wrong on that, Ginny. Harry’s job isn’t the only thing he defines himself with. Even if his job were to go away, Harry is proud to be your husband and the father of your children. Having a family and being part of our family is what’s most important to Harry. You know how loveless his life was until he met Ron on the Express. Harry’s told me many times that his life would be meaningless if it weren’t for our family and the fact that Mum and Dad opened their house and their arms and accepted him as one of their own. I also know for a fact that Harry will willingly die if it means you and the children would be safe.”
At this, Ginny burst into tears for a fourth time.
“Thank you, George,” she wailed through her tears. “You have no idea how much better that makes me feel.”
George hugged her and rubbed soothing circles on Ginny’s back. “Have you taken some time for yourself in the last couple of weeks?” he asked. “You know, what Angelina calls ‘me-time’.”
Ginny shook her head. “It hasn’t crossed my mind to take some me-time, George. I’ve been so worried and upset and busy with Christmas and preparing for Harry’s homecoming and picking up the van and getting the house ready for the children...” She stopped only when George put a finger to his lips and whispered, “Shhhhh!
“Stop, you’re making me tired, sis. No wonder you look tired and overworked! It’s because you are!” he said a bit louder. “When we go back to the Burrow, the only thing you’re to do the rest of the time you’re here is to talk to that wonderful husband of yours and make sure he knows why you left and then come up with a plan.”
“What plan?”
“Actually, two plans,” George said, grinning, as an idea began bouncing around in his head. “The first is what Harry and the children can do to help you get some of that me-time. I think they might even want to be in on that one because it seems to me that you took some of their jobs away from them when you turned yourself into a house-elf.”
Ginny laughed ruefully. “I know I did. And I think Mum and Dad would be happy to let us have the sitting room for a little while to discuss it,” she said. “What’s the second plan?”
“Something just for you and Harry,” George said. “Does James still have Harry’s Invisibility Cloak? The last time I checked was last summer and he was happily pranking his siblings and cousins then.”
“James lost the privilege of possessing the Invisibility Cloak on Percy’s birthday for one of his pranks, and Harry didn’t give it back when James went to Hogwarts this year,” Ginny said, looking interested. “What do you have in mind?”
George whispered something in her ear and Ginny’s eyes widened at the idea. “You really think we could get away with that?” she asked.
“Anything’s possible when you have enough nerve,” George quoted sagely, causing Ginny to burst into giggles.
They laughed together until Ginny started yawning. “I’m ready to go home now, George,” she said as she levitated their forgotten butterbeers over to the rug. “I’m ready to face my family.”
George took a long pull on his glass. “They’ll be glad to have you back,” he said.
Ginny slid off his lap and stood up, walking to the window. “I think... I think I’m ready to be me again,” she said as he joined her.
“Good to hear that,” he said.
Ten minutes later, they Disapparated back to the Burrow.
*
A/N: Many thanks to my friend for making me rewrite Ginny’s section until we were both satisfied with it. I’ve enjoyed our talks over tea more than you know and I thank you for sharing your struggles with me. Thank you too to my pre-betas for their comments and for catching typing and grammatical errors I didn’t catch myself. Finally, thank you to Aggiebell for reminding me Tuesday night that I hadn’t sent this chapter to her yet. I hope you have a great time at your get-together. To my readers, thank you for reading. I look forward to discussing the chapter with you.
Chapter 20: 20: Alone
Author's Notes: I give you... Harry’s side of the catharsis. Both spouses seem to have a knack, at the moment, for slipping into self-torturous thoughts when all they really need is another talk together. That will come in a future chapter, for those who were wondering...
Many thanks to Jedi34, Mutt n Feathers, RebeccaRipple, Rosina Ferguson, and RSS for their time and input into this chapter. You have made it better with your comments and suggestions. I thank Aggiebell, my beta, for patiently going through the chapter twice just to make sure it I put my commas in all the right places. On final thank you goes to you, my readers, for reading my story. Your comments are greatly appreciated and I’m always excited when I see a new review.
Chapter 20: Alone
1520 hours, 25 December 2020
With Ginny missing and George gone to find her, all the festivity seemed to have leached out of the occupants of The Burrow. Ron had been declared the winner of the chess match by default; he was clearly still the best player participating, but this year he silently accepted the other men’s congratulations and didn’t gloat until Hermione scolded him, as was tradition. Instead, he’d tried to engage Harry in conversation, but Harry wasn’t having any of it. He wanted to be alone, so he wheeled himself into the scullery.
After a while, though, the smells of detergent, dirty socks and wet wood began making his nose itch, and Harry feared he would begin sneezing. He fingered the wand he’d taken to putting in his trousers pocket after the debacle over the front steps of Snidget’s Haven. The wood warmed as his hand closed around the handle and before he could stop himself, he’d cast an unfastening charm on the seatbelt of his chair and twisted his upper body as if to Apparate. Nothing happened the first two times he tried, but his desire to be anywhere but the scullery was so strong that he finally closed his eyes and concentrated on the bed in Ginny’s old bedroom. He twisted a third time and successfully left his chair behind as he Apparated with a pop that was much louder than his usual exit or entrance to a new location.
A feminine squeal told him he had arrived in the right place much quicker than did the comprehension of finding himself sitting on a pile of Lily’s clothes, which she’d spread out on the bed.
“Daddy, you’re squashing my pink blouse!” Lily wailed as Harry raised himself up enough for her to pull the bit of pink material out from under him.
“Sorry, Sweet Pea, I’m a little clumsy,” Harry said, yawning suddenly.
“That’s all right, Dad. You’re forgiven,” Lily said, smiling at him. Then she asked, “I’m still your Sweat Pea?”
Harry nodded. She seemed happy enough until she asked, “Has Mum come home yet?”
Harry shook his head. “No, Lily, Uncle George hasn’t convinced her to come home,” he admitted glumly. “She’s still missing.”
Lily haphazardly pushed the rest of her clothes into her overnight bag and sat next to him, throwing her arms around his waist. “I hope she’ll come home soon. I miss her,” she said.
“I miss her, too, Lily.”
“Maybe if we wish really, really hard she’ll come back soon?”
Harry hugged his daughter. “We can try, Sweet Pea, but I think your mum will come home only when she’s ready.”
Lily sighed and gave him another squeeze before wriggling out from under his arm. “You look tired, Daddy. I’ll get my stuff off the bed so you can take a nap,” she said and stood up. In a matter of moments she’d swept the remainder of her clothes into her bag and had exited the room with a little wave of her fingers.
After she left, Harry sat where he was as he assessed what he was really feeling. Emotionally, he felt drained from the roller coaster of feelings he’d experienced throughout the day. Physically, he was feeling very light-headed and sleepy, and he realized he probably should not have tried Apparating somewhere to get away from the numerous family members still downstairs. Dumb, Harry, really dumb, he berated himself.
He had Apparated onto the bed with his feet touching the floor, so he took off his boots and then pulled his legs up onto the bed one at a time before throwing a colourful afghan over himself and lying down.
He didn’t close his eyes. Instead, he lay there staring at the faded posters. He let his mind wander and he began thinking about the drastic changes in his life and his horribly mixed-up feelings concerning his relationship with his wife.
He thought he’d come to terms with the rapid twists and turns his life had taken in the last few months. Not in a million years had he ever dreamed he’d ever be hurt on the job to the point where he would have to take a medical leave of absence as he was doing now. For the average Auror, there was always a possibility of getting hurt badly enough that a medical leave was a reality, and Harry, because of how volatile the years after the war had been, had counted himself lucky it had taken him this long to have been struck down. However, he had been, and now he was going to survive, but in a different form from the one he’d always lived with... and he was still getting used to it.
Harry was proud of the things he’d learned that would allow him to live an independent life with his family and even go back to work if he chose. Silvia was beginning to hint that the more he learned, the bigger the possibility was that he could resume working; she’d been planting the seeds of desire in his mind with her off-hand remarks about something being important to know about the lifts in the Atrium of the Ministry or what to do with the custom-charmed desk chair Ginny had given him several years ago when he had begun complaining of severe backaches because he spent so much time hunched over his desk. That was all well and good, but he now realized that he didn’t know what he wanted to do. As independently wealthy as he was, he could easily retire to a life of leisure, but he loved being active and where the action was, and the Auror Office was never a dull place to work. He felt the pull of going back to work, knowing that before his accident, the role of Auror was how he defined himself.
The more he thought about it, the more he realized he hadn’t solved his problems or answered his personal questions as he should, because it was infinitely easier to just pretend things were hunky-dory or suppress them to the point of thinking he’d resolved everything he needed to. The fact was, he was still angry, still terrified, still uncertain about a lot of things in his life. If he had to admit one thing to himself, it was how frightened he became when he thought about the changes in his body and how they were affecting everything in his life. What had once been a powerful, agile body, a body able to run a half marathon or build a set of steps using Muggle building and masonry techniques, could now be reduced to a sweating, panting heap after only a few blocks’ trek.
Since he was being truthful with himself, having his sons run interference for him last weekend at King’s Cross had brought home just how far he had to go before he would be confident enough to venture out into the busy London streets by himself. More than once, he’d been brought up short because he still couldn’t see anything to his left. That one limitation worried him most: his job required full peripheral vision. Would the Ministry allow him to go back to his position as Head of the Auror Department if he couldn’t make the requirements? Would he be like Mad-eye Moody, a powerful and knowledgeable wizard–even with his physical limitations–who was forced into retirement because of those limitations? He didn’t want to be, he was still too young! He knew his days of going out on missions were gone completely now, that his fall had sealed his promise to Ginny that he would never go out on missions again. That would make her happy, but could he be happy staying away from the field as he watched the comings and goings of the other Aurors? He couldn’t answer that question and it made him angry that he couldn’t, mostly because he realized that he very much defined who he was by his ability to do his job.
As the anger rose in his chest, Harry forced himself to think about another question that seemed to be answering itself, one with a much more pleasant answer, that of his magic. He’d told Ginny the other night that he’d begun doing accidental magic and that he was learning to control it again. She’d seemed pleased and relieved when he’d told her and at least that had taken some of the uncertainty from his mind on the subject. That he had achieved Apparition today just because he was deliberately determined to get away from the noise and crowding downstairs was a good thing, he decided, but realizing how tired the spell had made him had given him something else to worry about. Would his magic ever attain the level it had been at on the night of the raid? Again, not knowing the answer left him sad and scared and wondering if he should accept the fact that he was probably just as limited magically as he was physically.
The subject of his physical situation was something else he was concerned about. Although he had resigned himself to never walking again, he wondered whether he would ever feel certain sensations again. He and Ginny hadn’t tried becoming intimate since he’d been home this week, they’d been so upset with each other, but last night he’d sworn he heard her crying as they lay in bed together in the sitting room. He’d made the effort to turn over, but found he was too late; Ginny had stopped crying and had fallen asleep. Would he, could he, ever make his wife happy again in bed as well as out? And if he couldn’t, would the touches, kisses, and hugs they shared be enough to keep their love going? Did he have the courage to tell his wife that if she needed more, he would understand if she sought solace in another’s arms?
This thought brought tears to Harry’s eyes because he knew the answer already: even if he understood why Ginny would need to leave him, he would never, ever be able to do the same. He would remain celibate and single the rest of his life because no witch would ever be Ginny.
A gut-wrenching sob escaped him and he hastily stuffed a fist into his mouth to stifle the sound. Since his wife had just up and left this afternoon, he now wondered if the time had come for this discussion. Was Ginny so discouraged with their lack of intimacy that she’d finally just left for good?
Oh, Ginny, please come home! Harry wailed in his mind. I need you more than you know and I’m afraid I’ve become so inadequate that you want to replace me with another!
The sobs were becoming uncontrollable now and much noisier than he liked. Swearing quietly, he grabbed one of the pillows under his head, turned his body towards the wall and buried his face in the pillow, not caring that his tears were soaking into the feathery softness.
Finally, physically tired by the effort to stay as quiet as possible, Harry flopped back onto his back, this time with his eyes closed. Nothing had been solved, but at least he’d given in and released the anger and disappointment he’d been carrying inside all these weeks. Was releasing these emotions what was needed to accept his limitations once and for all? Harry had no idea and as he began drifting off into an uneasy doze, he knew he would just have to be patient.
*
1612 hours
Teddy Lupin paused outside the closed door on the first landing. He could have sworn he’d just heard someone sob on the other side of the door. Hand on the knob, he paused as he heard footsteps on the stairs below him. He turned to see his beloved Victoire coming towards him and he smiled sadly at her.
“Mon Cher, what is wrong?” Victoire asked as she came to stand beside him. “Why are you going into Aunt Ginny’s old room?”
Startled at her question, Teddy yanked his hand off the knob. “I... I thought I heard someone crying in there,” he said. “It sounded like Harry.”
Victoire sighed. “I think it is,” she said quietly. “Papa found Uncle Harry’s wheelchair down in the scullery and when Uncle Ron cast a Revealing Spell, there was evidence of recently-done magic surrounding the chair and not just on the chair itself. You know, when Uncle Harry has someone shrink it for him.”
Teddy chuckled. “The Aurors have a spell for discovering everything.”
Victoire nodded. “And now you’re being nosy because...?”
“If it is Harry, he may have hurt himself, and with Ginny gone it’s going to be tricky helping him if he’s in real physical pain.”
Another muffled sob reached them through the closed door, making them both turn towards it.
“I don’t think he is in pain other than of his own making, Ted,” Victoire said. “That is the sound of a breaking heart.”
Teddy raised an eyebrow at her. “How do you know?” he asked somewhat suspiciously.
“Girls tend to share their grief over a break-up more than boys do, and if I am correct, Uncle Harry is suffering because he thinks Aunt Ginny doesn’t love him any more,” Victoire said. She reached for Teddy’s hand, giving it a little tug. “Come, darling, let us leave him in peace.”
“But... but...” Teddy sputtered.
“He will be all right, I think,” Victoire said calmly. “If he needs someone, I think Uncle Harry will know who to call and if, for some reason, no one responds, the house will shake if he falls.”
“If you say so...” Reluctantly, Teddy followed Victoire down the stairs and into the kitchen. His sadness over Harry’s mental anguish disappeared when he realized what Bill, Charlie, Albus, James and several of their cousins had decided to entertain themselves with.
*
1628 hours
A great commotion on the stairs followed by Molly’s shrill “You come back with that!” dragged Harry from the nap that had followed his melancholy thoughts. He opened his eyes just as his nephews Hugo, Louis and Fred as well as his two sons burst into the room. The five of them crowded together just passed the door as if hiding something.
“Dad! Dad! Do you want to fly?” Albus asked excitedly.
“You know I can’t,” Harry said sadly.
“Yes, you can,” Albus insisted. “Look!” And he and Louis stepped aside, pushing James and Hugo out of the way.
Harry’s mouth dropped open and he nearly laughed, for there in front of him was his wheelchair, minus its wheels, but sporting four brooms as its means of propulsion.
“Do you like it, Uncle Harry?” Hugo asked. “We all did something to make it fly. Albus found the old brooms in the shed. James helped Louis and Fred take the wheels off and we all convinced Uncle Bill to do the really complicated spell work.”
“Erm, where are the wheels? I’ll need them after we finish our flight,” Harry said before he could stop himself.
Fred’s head tilted downward in the direction of the kitchen. “Down stairs. Under the Christmas tree. Now are you getting on or not?”
“Erm...” Harry hesitated.
A chorus of “Come on, Uncle Harrys” followed by “it’ll be funs” and “you’ll do greats” erupted from the assembled boys in the doorway. They all looked so eager for him to try their invention that he thought that if he refused, they’d mutiny on him and not give him back his wheels.
“All right, bring it here,” he relented as a smile twitched at the corners of his mouth.
Fred steered the chair over to the bed and pulled out the miniaturized slide board Harry always kept with him. “I’m not sure what you use this for, Uncle Harry, but since you had it in your bag I thought it might be important,” he said.
Harry smiled gratefully at his nephew. “I do need it, Fred. Could you please cancel the Shrinking Charm on it? I need it to slide between the bed and the chair.”
Fred obliged and soon Harry was sitting in the chair, securely strapping himself in. The chair bobbed a bit, not an unpleasant sensation, but definitely a different one from what he was used to. When Fred had re-shrunk the slide board and stowed it away properly, Harry asked, “All right... how do I make this thing go?”
“You do remember how to fly, right Dad?” James teased. “I know you do.”
Harry eyed his son suspiciously. “Not on four brooms at once, I don’t,” he replied. However, he took hold of the two top brooms and leaned forward a little in his seat. Much to his delight, the chair wobbled forward towards the door, causing the boys to cheer enthusiastically.
Slowly, his confidence mounting, Harry flew through the doorway and out onto the landing where he met Bill, Percy and Ron, who were all standing on the stairs with their wands out.
“The boys were afraid you’d crash and hurt yourself on the stairs, mate, and ruin their project,” Ron said, explaining their presence. “We’re here to catch you, just in case.”
Harry smiled for the first time in hours. “Thanks, Ron,” he said, touched by the boys’ concern. Here goes nothing... he thought as he urged the chair forwards and over the edge of the top step. He’d never been very good at slow dives so he was grateful for the back-up. However, none was needed and another cheer went up when Harry successfully arrived on the ground floor.
“I see the boys’ idea actually worked,” Angelina remarked as Harry entered the kitchen. “How does it feel to be flying again?”
Harry accepted the cloak she handed to him, knowing that the next stage was to go flying in the paddock. “The jury’s still out,” he replied, “since I’ve never flown in this particular fashion. It’s a very different sensation.”
“Good to see you have an open mind,” Angelina said, sounding like she approved of his attitude. Harry’s sons and nephews had all reached the ground floor by now and were eagerly filtering towards the kitchen door and the pile of brooms scattered haphazardly on the floor next to it. Angelina inclined her head towards the door. “Care to try your wings outside?”
“Lead the way, Angelina,” Harry said. “I think I’d disappoint the boys if I didn’t try flying with them.”
Angelina grabbed the last broom next to the door and stepped back to allow Harry to exit the kitchen. The cold air felt good to him and as he and Angelina flew slowly down the steps, Hermione came round the corner of the house and joined them.
“The boys are excited you’ve accepted their challenge to fly and assure me the spellwork is solid,” Hermione said, making Harry chuckle.
“The only wobbly part of this strange craft is me,” Harry admitted. “You coming? I’m much slower than the boys are and having you walk beside me will help with the tag-along feeling.”
“Of course I’ll come,” Hermione said as she fell in beside him. Together, they set out for the paddock with Angelina flying in circles around them.
Chapter 21: 21: Reparations
Author's Notes: I hope all of you who were anticipating Ginny’s homecoming are smiling once again. Her talk with George seems to have helped her immensely and she is now ready to let the rest of her family take back the responsibilities she took away. I hope you’ve enjoyed the chapter enough to give me your opinion on it as much as my pre-betas did.
Speaking of my pre-beta team, I thank Rosina Ferguson, RSS, RebeccaRipple, and Mutt n Feathers for their encouragement and comments regarding this chapter. I also thank my beta, Aggiebell, for being patient with me because I didn’t send her the chapter until late Tuesday evening and she made the effort to get it back to me in time for posting. Aggie, you’re a real trooper to put up with my tardiness.
1940 hours, 25 December 2020
Except for the distant murmur of voices from the kitchen, The Burrow was quiet when Ginny and George Apparated into the sitting room. Ginny could hear the soft sounds of cauldrons bubbling and the wonderful aromas issuing from the kitchen told her her mother was determined to continue her traditional holiday meal in spite of the fact that two of her family members were missing.
“Mum, we’re back,” Ginny called as she and George followed the sounds. They shrugged off their cloaks and went to hang them to dry by the fireplace. Curiously, the pegs were almost empty, signalling that many of their family must be outside again and for a moment, she wondered why.
Her mother looked up with a smile and exchanged a look with Hermione, who was helping her. Mum bustled over to them, first squeezing George and then engulfing Ginny in one of her patented hugs.
“Oh honey, I’m so glad you’re back,” she murmured. “How are you, really?”
“Much better now, Mum,” Ginny said. “I think I’m ready to be myself again.”
Hermione came over and hugged her, too, whispering in her ear, “Welcome home, Ginny.”
Ginny nodded her thanks, looking around. “The house is awfully quiet. Where is everybody?”
Her mother smiled and glanced at the kitchen door. “They’re all out at the pitch, even Harry,” she said, sounding a bit amused.
Ginny looked at George who shrugged. Then fighting the urge to offer to help, she said, “I’d better get out there, then, let them all know I’m home in one piece. Come on, George. I think something’s afoot.”
“Go on, you two. Hermione and I have everything under control. Dinner won’t be until half past eight, you have plenty of play time,” their mother chuckled. She walked over to the cooker and peered into the oven before poking something inside with her wand. Ginny and George left the two to their cooking.
The sound of happy laughter reached them long before the two emerged from the trees surrounding the torch-lit paddock. Whatever her family was doing, it wasn’t Quidditch. The game had a much different sound than this did. Then, as they emerged from the wood, George pointed to something in the air, making Ginny stop in her tracks: Harry was flying in slow laps about ten feet off the ground in what looked like his wheel-less wheelchair. She stood rooted to the spot, greatly conflicted by her emotions as the urge to scream at Harry to get down and the elation that he was actually flying fought for dominance. Her happiness that Harry was once again enjoying the thrill of flight finally won and before George could stop her, Ginny had pulled out her miniaturized broom and enlarged it.
As she swung her leg over the tail of her broom, she said to George, “Well, are you coming or not?” and with a whoop of joy that echoed round the paddock, Ginny leapt into the air and joined the group surrounding the crazy contraption her husband was flying.
As George joined the group, Ginny flew to a position to Harry’s right. “Having a good time?” she asked Harry, but including everyone else, too.
She was answered by a chorus of enthusiastic responses.
“Aunt Ginny! Yeah, great!”
“Look at Uncle Harry fly!”
“Hey, Mum! Glad you’re back!”
“You’re riding your Quidditch broom, Mum, sweet!”
But it was Harry’s surprised and pleased “Ginny!” that made her heart sing and she slowed just a little so that she could fall back and watch her husband pilot his chair.
“When did you get back?” he asked.
“Just a few minutes ago. Mum told George and me you were out here, but not what you were doing,” she answered.
“Erm... am I in trouble?” he asked, sounding apprehensive.
“Why, should you be? Are you having fun?”
A wide grin spread across Harry’s face. “I am now,” he said, and leaning forward a little, he surged ahead, scattering the members of his phalanx with a war whoop and eliciting laughter and “Go, Uncle Harrys!” from the now-disorganized fliers.
They flew several more laps before Harry indicated that he wanted to land. Her motherly instincts kicking in, Ginny agreed, and she and Lily left the air with him, leaving Albus and James to race a few more times around the paddock with their cousins. When they reached the ground, Ginny dismounted and handed her broom to Lily, who flew off with it back towards the house.
“Ginny, I’m sor–” Harry began, but stopped when she threw her arms around him in an awkward hug and kissed him tenderly on the lips.
“Please, Harry, no apologies, not from you... never from you. I’m the one who needs to apologize,” she whispered. She kissed his cheek and then pulled away. “We’ll talk later... together and... as a family. Right now, I’m enjoying looking you in the eye without having to stoop over.” She kissed him again and he responded eagerly.
“I could get used to this,” Harry said, sounding dazed when they broke apart.
“So could I,” she agreed happily. She studied him for a few seconds. “You look tired. Do you want to stay out here or go in?”
“Both,” he said, making her chuckle, “but I’d rather stroll over to the pond with you instead. Is it... is it too much to ask?”
Ginny shook her head. “No, it isn’t, as long as we can hold hands like we used to. Can you pilot that thing with one hand?”
Harry answered, “Most likely. I’ve had enough practice, I think.”
He reached for her hand and they entered the wood, following a different path than the one from the house. They travelled in silence for a bit, Ginny enjoying the feel of Harry’s calloused fingers in hers. As they emerged from the wood, Harry cleared his throat and began telling her about being coerced into trying the flying chair.
The story lasted until they reached the pond, the sound of Ginny’s amused laughter echoing off the surrounding woods. They settled in their favourite spot, Ginny sighing contentedly after she conjured a long-legged stool the right height for Harry’s broom-chair. She climbed up and leaned over to kiss his cheek. Harry turned his head and their lips met hungrily, but no matter how hard she tried, Ginny couldn’t keep the tears at bay.
“I’m... I’m so s-s-sorry, Harry,” she whimpered. “I’ve completely ruined Christmas for you and the children. You must be awfully angry with me.”
Harry’s hand caressed her cheek. He shook his head as he said, “No, Ginny, not angry. Confused and hurt, yes, but never angry. Why did you leave?”
Ginny pulled away, but still clutched the hand she held. “I needed some time to... to... decompress... I suppose that would be the right word. I suddenly realized this afternoon that even though we’d had than talk the other night, I was still expecting to be the family house-elf rather than your wife and the mother of three nearly-grown children. I’ve... I’ve programmed my thinking for so many months to centre on the needs of my family that I haven’t taken any time to relax, to be me, since you were hurt.”
In the moonlight, what little colour there was in Harry’s face seemed to drain away. “I... we... we talked about that,” he sputtered. “I thought we’d cleared all that up the other night.”
“I thought we had, too,” Ginny admitted. “But it hit me as I sat in the kitchen that I suddenly didn’t have anything I needed to do and... with nothing to do I felt superfluous, useless, and restless. The feeling was so overwhelming I just had to leave. I needed to let those emotions out or I’d scream.”
Harry squeezed her fingers. “I’m sorry you felt that way, my love,” he said. “Could you... could you not have found me to have another talk?”
Ginny closed her eyes and shook her head. A tear leaked from her right eye as she asked, “Where in that crowded house would we have found the privacy we needed for such a talk?”
Harry smiled lopsidedly at her. “The chicken coop?”
The ridiculous answer made her smile, too. “My father’s shed probably would have been a little better.”
Harry was silent for a bit and Ginny allowed her gaze to wander over the wind-swept pond. Finally he asked, “Where did you go?”
“I Disapparated home to get my Quidditch kit and then went to Holyhead where I spent a couple of hours flying drills and zinging Quaffles past an enchanted mechanical Keeper,” she answered. “That’s where George found me.”
“Did Quidditch practice help?” Harry asked.
Ginny nodded. “It did. I... I... wish I’d taken the time to practice like that before this,” she admitted. “I know you’ve talked about working over the punching bags at The Groves, but I never thought I’d need something like that.”
Harry pulled her towards him and kissed her forehead. “Ginny, love, I’d like to help you in any way I can. Do you need more time to yourself while the children are home?”
“Yes, I do, but I also want some time alone with you; time like this, time without children or healers or extended family where we can talk or just hold each other like we used to before you were hurt,” she said.
“Then we’ll find that time. The children are old enough to look after themselves for a few hours, I imagine,” Harry said with a wicked grin on his face. “I have a few ideas of what we can do already.”
Liking his idea very much, Ginny said, “Care to share?”
“Not yet,” he said. “Now come here. Let’s see if this broom-chair will support both of us.”
Giggling happily, Ginny crawled onto his lap. The chair sank in the air under her added weight, but the jury-rigged brooms kept them in the air. They stayed that way until Hermione’s otter Patronus bounded across the pond to announce that dinner would be ready in ten minutes.
*
2109 hours
Albus set his plate on a nearby table and leaned back in his chair feeling full from his grandmother’s excellent meal and happy that his family was whole again. He was still a bit worried that Mum might still be upset and that he and his siblings had been the cause of her disappearance that afternoon. Despite his misgivings, he realized his parents were sitting quite close to each other on the sofa with their hands clasped between them so that his mother was forced to eat her dinner with her left hand.
He was satisfied, too, with her promise of a full explanation for her disappearance following dinner, so he looked about, impatiently willing everyone in the sitting room to finish. As if on cue, Uncle George and Aunt Angelina stood up, motioning to Fred and Roxanne to leave, too. They were followed by Grandmum and PopPop who shooed the rest of Albus’ cousins out from under the Christmas tree, leaving only the Potter family where they sat.
As the door closed behind Louis, his mum pulled out her wand and sealed it.
“I owe you an explanation,” she said as Albus and his brother and sister moved their chairs closer to their parents.
“Why did you leave?” Albus asked before he could help himself. “We were worried when you went missing.”
James elbowed him in the ribs hissing, “Way to go, Al. Make her feel bad before she even has a chance to say anything.”
Mum turned to them. “Boys, I deserved that. It’s all right to let me know how you feel about my running away without telling anyone because your dad and I would have wanted an explanation if any of you had run away.”
Albus levelled an I-told-you-so look at James who shrugged and turned his attention back to their mother.
Mum sighed, looking sad for a moment. Dad tightened his grip on their clasped hands as if to give her some encouragement. Finally, she said, “James, Albus, Lily, I left because I suddenly felt overwhelmed by the realization that you and your father didn’t need me as much as I thought you all did. I felt restless and useless and overwhelmed by the fact that I didn’t know what to do with myself because the four of you were entertaining yourselves.”
“Why did you feel like that?” Lily asked.
“I’d become so used to doing everything for your father after he was hurt that I’d transferred the idea to you three when you came home from Hogwarts. Even after your father and I talked last week, the feelings remained bottled up inside me and this afternoon when I was watching you have fun with your cousins, I wasn’t having fun. I needed to get away, to release the tension inside me or I felt...” She stopped as if fishing for the right way to say what she felt.
“... like you were going to explode,” James finished for her.
Mum’s eyes widened. “When... how come...” she sputtered.
James’ gaze shifted from one parent to another and Albus caught his dad’s nod. “The first day Kendra and I visited Brian, I felt like I was going to explode with all the stuff I was feeling. Dad showed me a positive way to take out my anger on a punching bag to let it all out,” he said as his eyes again found their mother.
Mum leaned over and patted James’ knee. “I’m glad you understand, James, and I’m sorry your head was so full of emotions and thoughts that you needed that kind of an outlet,” she said.
“But Mum, I’m glad I felt those things,” James protested. “They made me want to help Brian more, to really be his friend even though he’s in a different house than I am and we were once Quidditch rivals.”
That made Mum smile. “Then something good came out of it,” she said. She cleared her throat and spent a few moments just looking at Albus and his brother and sister. At length, she spoke. “I owe you three a huge apology. Not only for disappearing, but for assuming that I needed to do everything for you once we were all back at Snidget’s Haven. It wasn’t fair of me to think of you as being little children who needed constant supervision or couldn’t shoulder your portions of the household chores. It made me crazy and all of you angry.”
“We were angry at you because you were making Dad feel useless!” Albus exclaimed. “The two of you were arguing so much all we wanted was to go round the house with our hands over our ears!”
Lily’s head bobbed as she tried unsuccessfully to stifle a giggled, “We did!”
“James,” Dad said, speaking for the first time since the family meeting had begun, “you were the one to make your mum and me realize what our arguments were doing to our family. We never thanked you for being so grown-up in that instance, for making us face the truth.” He held up the hand in which he clasped their mother’s. Al couldn’t help grinning as Dad continued, “You helped us start to find what it means to work together as husband and wife again.”
Al couldn’t help it. He groaned as Lily giggled, “They’re getting all mushy on us!”
James sat where he was, his face a nice shade of Weasley red.
After a moment, Mum cleared her throat. “We do need to talk about us as a family, though,” she said. “Getting away today helped me realize that none of you are helpless, any more than your father is.” Dad’s startled and pleased expression told Albus that this was the first he’d heard those words coming from Mum’s mouth. She continued, “Uncle George told me when we talked today that our family needs to agree on how you’re going to help me as much as how I’m going to mother you.” She brandished her wand, conjuring a huge piece of parchment. “So... here’s what I’m willing to do.”
She tapped the parchment; on it appeared a list of everything Albus recognized as things he counted on his mother doing daily. Even before Mum had a chance to say another word, Lily had her hand in the air. “Mum, I can help with meals,” she said, her eyes dancing. “So can Al and James. If you want us to take over getting lunch once we get home I want to do it.”
Mum nodded, looking at them expectantly.
James spoke up, “I didn’t like it when you didn’t let me keep track of where all my stuff was last week. I’m used to knowing where I’ve left my books and bag and Quidditch kit in Gryffindor Tower. When you cleaned up after us, I didn’t know where anything was. Would you let us leave things about the house, even if we’re required to clean up each night?”
Again Mum nodded, this time tapping the parchment with her wand. Both Lily’s and James’ suggestions appeared.
Not to be outdone, Albus volunteered, “I’ll try to keep my room cleaner and put my laundry in the chute each night so you don’t have to come looking for it.” He skewered James with a glare. “And we will be neater in our bathroom.”
Lily heaved a sigh of relief, making the whole family chuckle.
Mum cocked her head to the side. “Albus, you bring up a very important point. All three of you make an awful lot of laundry when you’re home. I don’t mind doing it, but it seems to me that it’s time we had some lessons in self-sufficiency, that is, how to wash your own clothes,” she said, making Albus and his siblings groan.
“Why?” James asked.
Dad answered quickly, “So that you’re not reliant on someone else to clean your clothes all the time. When I moved into my own flat after the Second War, I had no idea what to do with my dirty clothes except take them to a Muggle cleaner’s because my aunt and then Grandmum and the Hogwarts house-elves had always done them. That’s a very expensive–and a rather embarrassing–thing to have to do. Besides, you’d be helping your mother...” He let the sentence dangle as he levelled his gaze at all three of them.
“I’m not sure I’d like having someone I didn’t know going through my under things,” Lily admitted. She looked at Albus and then at James; the two shook their heads, agreeing with her.
“All right, then, I’ll let you give me lessons,” James said with a long-suffering sigh that caused more giggles and Albus and Lily to agree, too.
“I think that takes care of us,” Albus said, looking at the list, “but what will Dad do?”
“I’ll help out wherever I can, Al,” he said. “Your mother and I have talked about what my limitations are now that I’m beginning to do magic again and how I feel when she does everything for me: like you, she made me feel useless and dependent when she didn’t let me do the things I’m capable of doing, things I’ve re-learned to do while sitting in my wheelchair.” He was quiet for a moment. “Would it bother you if I helped you three with your tasks sometimes?”
“Not as long as it means Mum can have some time to herself,” James said, giving Al and Lily his big-brother look. Lily giggled again. “We like working with you, Dad.” He glanced at their mother and added hastily, “And with you, too, Mum.”
A smile caused their mother’s wrinkles to appear around her eyes. “Good, because I realized this afternoon that what I was missing most were the moments I spend with each of you doing something together. I also realized that if we work together as a family, we’ll all have the time to do things together like we used to last summer.” She cleared her throat as her smile morphed into the wicked grin Al hadn’t seen in months. “I think,” she added, “I think I missed out on a pretty brilliant planning session when you three were designing the flying broom-chair.”
Al felt his eyes widen. “You... you would have wanted to help?” he asked incredulously.
“Absolutely, Al,” she said, looking fondly at their father. “I would have helped because it would have meant your father and I could see eye-to-eye without sitting on a sofa.”
As she finished, Dad leaned over and kissed her on the mouth. Al couldn’t help it, he whispered, “Eewww! Disgusting!”
Chuckling, Mum pulled back to face him and said, “James can tell you, Al, it’s not going to be too much longer before you’ll change your mind on how disgusting kissing a girl is.”
“If you say so,” Al muttered.
Dad looked at Mum. “You reckon we’re done here?” he asked with a yawn.
Mum smiled. “I think we are,” she said. “All right, you three, let’s seal this agreement with a family hug.”
Al was the first one out of his seat, grabbing the coveted spot next to Mum. He didn’t know why, but he needed the hug and as James and Lily joined them to form the family huddle, a sense of peace settled over Al and he knew things really were going to be better once they went home again.
*
2045 hours, Saturday, 26 December 2020, Boxing Day
Harry sat at the bottom of The Burrow’s stairs in his wheelchair waiting for his wife to come down. His sons and nephews had reluctantly put the wheels back on the chair that morning after one last fly around the paddock, but only after extracting a promise from Harry that he would seriously look into purchasing two hover chairs once he was back at The Groves. When he had asked the reason for purchasing two–because they were rather expensive pieces of equipment–the boys had answered with much hemming and hawing that they wanted one to experiment on before they made the final adjustments to Harry’s permanent “Quidditch” model.
Now, as he remembered how excited the boys had been, Harry realized that he was nervous about tonight’s outing. He wasn’t nervous about who his dinner companion would be, he was nervous because he had no idea what to expect from the little village of Ottery-St Catchpole’s only sit-down restaurant that wasn’t a pub. Arthur had not recommended he wear the jacket and tie Harry had wanted to wear, so he had settled on his Christmas jumper (an intricately-knit Irish pattern that looked as if it had taken hours to complete), a button-down shirt and a pair of dark blue wool trousers. Ginny, he knew, was still upstairs with Hermione, Fleur and Angelina conferring over what she should wear.
“It’s a nice little restaurant,” Arthur had told him. “The atmosphere gives you privacy and the food’s plain and simple. You get plenty of it, too. Oh, be sure to leave room for pudding. The treacle tart is almost as good as Molly’s.”
That had made Harry smile, and he smiled again just as footsteps on the stairs signalled that Ginny had finally emerged from her childhood bedroom.
“Merlin, you’re beautiful!” he exclaimed as his wife came into view. She blushed prettily, causing her sisters-in-law to giggle behind her.
“I’m presentable?” Ginny asked as she came to stand in front of him.
“More than presentable,” Harry said appreciatively as his eyes feasted on the off-the-shoulder fuzzy white sweater and pencil-slim skirt that hugged her body in all the right places. “You ready?”
“I am,” she replied. She pointed her wand at the flimsy sandals she wore and whispered, “Impervius. ”
Someone handed each of them a Muggle coat and a few minutes later, the two of them were driving down the lane that led to the main road to the village.
The Lute and Madeline Restaurant proved to be a pleasant surprise. It was modern enough to have a wheelchair ramp and the atmosphere was rustically romantic with plain white cloths and candles in holders on the tables. The manager himself escorted Harry and Ginny to a booth, suggesting that the two slide in together; Harry’s wheelchair could be concealed beneath the table under the cloth, if he wished.
Sitting on the bench beside his wife, Harry smiled at the manager’s retreating back. He was grateful to the man who had made it possible for him to pretend, at least for a little while, that he had walked into the restaurant and had sat down with ease next to Ginny.
“You look happy,” Ginny remarked as they studied the menu.
“I am,” Harry replied. “I’m sitting next to the most beautiful woman in the room.”
Ginny blushed in the dim light. “Harry, I’m the only woman in the room,” she giggled.
It was true. Harry and Ginny were the only diners in the restaurant at the moment. The streets of Ottery-St Catchpole had been nearly deserted, Harry reckoned, because of the holiday and the tendency of the Muggles living in the village to want to stay indoors because of the cold weather.
Harry ordered a bottle of wine to go with their meal and they lingered over their shared pudding–a slice of triple chocolate raspberry-filled gateau slathered in dark chocolate ganache–until their waiter suggested they continue their conversation next door at the pub which would be staying open until midnight.
They took the hint and Harry quickly paid their bill, adding a very generous gratuity along with a note of thanks to the manager and his staff for staying open when they had only one paying customer.
“Do you think your parents will have waited up for us?” Harry asked as Ginny pulled into the lane leading to The Burrow.
“Most likely,” she grinned. “But I imagine they’ll leave us alone if we ask them to. After all, we are adults.”
Her remark caused Harry to grin hugely as he said, “Well, if they are, how about asking them to share a cup of tea with us instead? I happen to have some rather fond memories of tea and talk on the few special occasions I managed to take you out right after the war.”
Ginny turned off the engine. “That’s what won Mum over, Harry. She’d always loved you like one of her own, but the fact that you so willingly spent time with her and Dad showed her how much family meant to you, even when what I really wanted to do was take you out into the moonlit back garden and snog your brains out.”
Harry reached over and captured his wife’s hand. When she looked over at him, he said, “The only opportunity I ever had to talk freely with adults as a teenager–you know, no agenda to be covered–was with your parents. I still get that old feeling of being the most important person in the world when I’m one-on-one with either of them. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of it, either.”
“Then let’s go see if they’re still up,” Ginny said, sounding happy, and taking her wand from her handbag, she released the restraints holding Harry’s wheelchair in place.
Molly and Arthur were still up when Harry and Ginny entered the kitchen. Molly immediately jumped up with a pleased “I’ll put the kettle on” and busied herself with preparing tea for four.
“Did you have an enjoyable evening?” Arthur enquired.
Harry smiled. “Thank you for the recommendation, Arthur. We did have an enjoyable evening.”
“Good, good,” Arthur replied as Harry and Ginny found places at the table.
Molly brought over the tea a few minutes later. As Harry sipped his tea, he watched his wife talk with her mother about the latest sale at the wool shop down in the village. Ginny looked relaxed and happy and he could feel that happiness radiating outward towards him.
“Tonight’s dinner seems to have been good for both of you,” Arthur observed, bringing Harry from his thoughts.
Harry looked at his father-in-law and felt his mouth curve into a smile. “It was,” he said, nodding. “It was.”
Not long afterwards, the four retired for the night. While Ginny extinguished the lights on the Christmas tree, Harry slid onto their bed, choosing to lie on his back. He was rewarded with an expression of surprise from his wife when she turned round, but when he opened his arms to her, she snuggled against his side. Harry fell asleep with his arms around Ginny for the first time in a long time.
Chapter 22: 22: Troubles
Author's Notes: So here it is... the Auror action some of you have been asking about. I hope it meets your expectations.
Many thanks to my awesome pre-beta team of Jedi34, Mutt n Feathers, RebeccaRipple, Rosina Ferguson and RSS. Without you I’d wallowing in Americanisms, tripping over commas, and writing confusing sentences. You all keep me on my toes so that Aggiebell, my beta, has an easy time of it each week. Thanks Aggie for all of your help and comments this chapter. I also thank you, my readers, for letting me know how you feel about my story with your reviews. I appreciate your opinions more than you know. Thanks for reading.
1026 hours, Sunday, 27 December 2020
The warehouse and office of Importations Magique, Inc. were draped in shadow on this cold, overcast December day. As a precaution against prying eyes, Draco had chosen to Apparate directly into his office instead of appearing in the Apparation point he and his magical employees usually used to get to work. It seemed important to Draco that he not call attention to the fact that he was alone in the massive building, save the watchman who would be coming past the stairs to the office on his rounds in just a few minutes.
Taking off his cloak, he hung it on a hat stand, which was next to the door to the outer office, before unlocking the door and going to find the files he needed to prepare for the next week’s business. It was such a pain to have to work at home when everything he needed was here. However, Asteria was right about using caution, since the Aurors had not yet captured the criminals using the warehouse across the street. He hoped that the matter would be resolved soon, for while it was good policy to keep erratic hours, it was also very inconvenient for his workers whose schedules he had been interrupting for over a week.
Sighing, he walked through the gloom past his secretary’s desk to the filing cabinets that stood in a row along one wall and unlocked the one he wanted. It took a few moments to find and extract the files he wanted by wandlight, but he thought it would call attention to his presence if he were to turn on the lights. Finished with his search, he murmured, “Nox,” plunging the outer office once again into deep shadow, before relocking the cabinet and turning to go back to his office.
“Hello, Mr Malfoy. I was hoping you would drop by today. You business blokes are such a predictable lot.”
Draco jumped and dropped his pile of files, scattering parchments of various sizes over the floor in front of him. He hadn’t known anyone was in the outer office, much less sitting in his secretary’s chair behind the desk.
“Who are you and what do you want?” Draco demanded. He brought his wand up in a defensive position, choosing not to strike a combative pose just in case the intruder was one of his employees. However, instinct told him the other man was up to no good.
“It matters little who I am,” the intruder drawled. “I’m here to deliver a message.” There was a rustle of clothing as the intruder stood up.
“And what would that be?”
“Keep your opinions to yourself!” barked the intruder. “I will be watching you, I have been watching you, and if you contact Harry Potter or the Aurors again, you will be stopped. Do I make myself clear?” He vaulted over the desk so fast that Draco had no time to defend himself.
As he pinned Draco against the filing cabinets and lifted him several inches off the floor by his shirt, the intruder demanded, “Did I make myself clear?”
“Yes! Quite... clear,” Draco squeaked around the hand full of shirt that was cutting off his ability to breathe.
“Good,” the intruder snarled, bringing his wand up to Draco’s eye level, causing him to go cross-eyed when he focused on the point that was no more than an inch from his nose.
It had been a long time since Draco had needed to defend himself, but he still had his wand in hand and as he flicked his gaze from the wand point back to his attacker’s face, he pushed his magic into his wand and cast the strongest Shield Spell he could between them.
The spell expanded, instantly pushing the two apart and making Draco’s attacker drop him as he stumbled backwards and skidded on the fallen files. Draco landed on his feet, gulping air, just as the green light of a Killing Curse whizzed past his head. It struck one of the office oil lamps, which erupted into flames. Alarmed enough to momentarily take his attention off his opponent, Draco cast several protective spells on the cabinets before facing him again: his caution had given the man enough time to stand back up again and he was now waving his wand wildly about, pointing it at various pieces of furniture.
“I’ll blow this place to smithereens,” cried the intruder. “You can’t protect it all!” He pointed his wand at the secretary’s desk and fired off a spell. The desk exploded, forcing Draco to retreat across the room toward the door to the warehouse. The intruder laughed maliciously and blasted several framed paintings and a chair on the other side of the room as Draco slammed the door to his office shut with a spell and sealed it.
The sound of the sealing door distracted the intruder long enough for Draco to unlock the warehouse door. He opened it, thinking that if he could entice the wanker down to the warehouse floor, he’d have a better chance of defeating his opponent without blowing the office sky high.
“Come and get me, you wanker!” Draco taunted and he raced down the stairs to the first landing where he Disapparated and materialized a second later on the ground floor. “I’m down here now!” Looking up, he saw his attacker fire off another spell, and as the man Disapparated, another of the office oil lamps burst into flames. Draco groaned as the man joined him on the warehouse floor.
“You have no right to do that!” Draco yelled, casting a Stunning Spell at the man, who dodged it easily.
“This is payback for sending the Aurors to investigate our warehouse!” the man yelled. “And paybacks are hell!”
Draco dodged a Stunning Spell, a Bludgeoning Spell and the Cruciatus Curse in rapid succession. “I know about paybacks, so take this!” he responded, his wand moving in a blur. He was encouraged when the intruder backed up a few steps.
This wanker doesn’t duel much, Draco thought. He advanced on the intruder, firing combat spells he hadn’t used in over twenty years. The man was able to dodge or shield himself from most of what Draco sent his way, but his own spells, though deadly, were delivered much slower than Draco’s. They circled each other, firing spell after spell and with each circuit, Draco pressed the man back towards the warehouse wall, away from his inventory. Finally, Draco had the man backed against the giant steel door to the warehouse, cornered like an animal.
“Avada Kedavra! ” the man yelled, sending the bright green spell once again at Draco.
The two men were still far enough apart that Draco knew he could dodge the spell. He threw himself to the ground, his wand still pointed at his opponent, and attempted to tie him up as the Killing Curse sailed over his head.
The man dodged the ropes and Disapparated with a loud POP! When he didn’t reappear anywhere close by, as some of Draco’s former opponents and certain dead relatives would have, Draco knew he was truly gone.
Gasping for air from the exertion of the duel, Draco lay on the cold cement, glad to have defeated the intruder. Oh Merlin, that was close, he thought as he felt his body go limp with relief. I wonder where the security guard is?
The shriek of the warehouse’s fire alarm made him look up towards the office. “Damn!” Draco yelled, and he sprinted up the stairs towards the door, hoping against hope that there was still something left in the reception room after the Muggle sprinkler system, which he knew would activate as soon as smoke was detected, shut off.
He arrived just as the last of the flames was doused. Stepping inside, Draco surveyed the damage and was gratified to see that although it was completely drenched and scorched by the flames, the wall dividing his office from the reception room had not been breached, nor had the filing cabinets with their precious records been harmed. He picked his way through the soggy mess that had been his secretary’s desk and chair to his door and cancelled the spells holding it shut. His heart pounding in his ears, he entered the room and looked about. To his surprise, the room was dry, his desk was intact, and his cloak was still hanging exactly where he had hung it twenty minutes before.
“Thank Merlin,” he breathed as he sank onto the nearest sofa and buried his head in his hands.
Suddenly, the fireplace flared green and Ron Weasley’s face appeared in the flames.
“Mr Malfoy, are you all right?” he asked. “A fire alarm went off at the Ministry and I’ve been sent to investigate. Can I come through?”
Draco raised his head. “Sure,” he said weakly and removed the spell blocking entrance to his office.
“What happened?” the Auror demanded as he stepped out of the fireplace and stood sniffing the air like a dog.
“Intruder,” Draco said dully. “Fire.”
Auror Weasley raised an eyebrow. Then turning back to the fireplace, he stuck his head inside and made a Floo call. A moment later, a second Auror stepped through the fireplace and excused himself after receiving instructions to interview Draco’s night watchman and being introduced as Auror Carmichael.
The fact that the two Aurors knew so much about how Draco protected his business didn’t surprise him a bit. They’d probably known for years where he was employed, who was on his payroll and the sorts of goods he imported and sold to other businesses.
“Did you get a good look at the intruder?” Auror Weasley asked, catching Draco’s attention again.
Draco closed his eyes, trying to remember. Finally, he said, “Surprisingly, I think I did when we were duelling downstairs. I remember dark blond hair and dark eyes. Unshaven, possibly two days’ worth of beard. He was shorter than me and very thin.” He paused, feeling embarrassed to admit the rest. “Before we duelled up here, he easily picked me up by my shirt with one hand so that my feet dangled above the ground; he’s quite strong.”
Auror Weasley took out a small notebook and scribbled a few words on it with a Muggle pencil. “What was he wearing? Anything that stands out in your memory?”
“I didn’t give it a thought at the time, but I think he was wearing blue uniform robes of some sort,” Draco answered.
Auror Weasley raised an eyebrow. “Were there any distinguishing markings on the intruder’s robes?” he asked.
Closing his eyes, Draco thought hard. “I seem to remember there was something on the left breast,” he said slowly.
Auror Weasley smiled. “Describe it, please,” he requested.
“I was a bit preoccupied to see it properly,” Draco said guardedly, “but it looked liked an ‘X’.”
“Might it have been similar to this?” Auror Weasley asked, taking a slip of parchment from his pocket and handing it to Draco. On it was a drawing in the shape of an ‘X’.
Draco studied the drawing. “This is the St Mungo’s insignia,” he said. “I’m almost certain this was printed on the intruder’s robes.”
A grim expression spread across Auror Weasley’s face. “Thank you for confirming my suspicions, Mr Malfoy,” he said as he took back the drawing and put it back in his pocket.
Draco suddenly felt very uneasy by the Auror’s reaction. He waited silently for the next question.
“What did the intruder do after he made himself known to you?” Weasley asked, changing the subject.
“He threatened to blow up my warehouse,” Draco said warily.
“Any special reason?” Weasley asked as he came over and sat in an overstuffed leather wing chair, which was arranged perpendicular to the couch.
“Business.”
“I don’t believe that for an instant, Mr Malfoy,” Auror Weasley said stiffly, making Draco feel slightly defensive.
“Believe what you want, Weasley, but I didn’t invite the wanker into my office so he could accost me and then attempt to set the place on fire,” he said, feeling irritated.
“When we’re done, would you consent to giving me a copy of your memory as evidence in this investigation?” Auror Weasley asked, surprising Draco. He’d never heard of this sort of evidence-gathering technique.
“Why do you want the memory?” he demanded.
Auror Weasley explained, “In certain high-priority cases it is helpful to our office to have not only the verbal or written statements of the victims but an actual copy of the memory. You may have noticed something significant even when you were fighting for your life and business which might shed more light on the identity of the intruder than you are aware of.”
Draco considered this for a moment. “What do I do?” he asked.
Auror Weasley explained the process and Draco consented to give his memory. When they were done, Draco again waited for the interrogation to continue.
“Where were you when you discovered the intruder?”
Draco sighed and told the story as he remembered it. Then, at Weasley’s request, he showed him the damage done to the reception room and allowed him to collect evidence from what was left of the room.
When he was done, Weasley said, “Smart thinking to lure the perpetrator into an open area, Mr Malfoy. Not many people would have kept their head long enough to do such a thing.”
“There’s twenty-five years’ worth of records in those filing cabinets and I wasn’t about to sacrifice them,” Draco snapped.
“I’m sorry. I meant no offence,” Weasley said, surprising Draco. He’d never known Ron Weasley to apologize for anything.
Weasley stood up as the other Auror came back into the office. The two conferred in low voices for a few moments and then the second man left the way he’d come. Weasley turned back to face Draco.
“I’ll tell Harry his instinct was correct,” he said.
“Why should Harry Potter be involved with this?” Draco demanded, angrily jumping to his feet.
“You’re the informant who gave us the tip about someone using the warehouse across the street,” Weasley explained. He held up a hand to keep Draco from speaking. “Before you become angry at Harry for revealing your identity, let me tell you that I figured out you were his informant on my own.”
“But–” Draco protested.
“Let me finish,” Weasley requested. “My office knows of only two magical warehouses in this area: yours and the one across the street. You and the previous owner have been in business here for over thirty years while the other warehouse has stood empty for the last two. It didn’t take long for me to figure out you were the one Harry was protecting. I promise you that I’ve told no one who you are until a half hour ago. Auror Carmichael will not reveal your identity either.”
Draco couldn’t help the sigh of relief that escaped him. “Thanks for that.” He was silent for a moment. Then, he asked, “Why did the alarm go off at the Ministry? This is a private business.”
“Two days ago, Harry asked me to cast monitoring spells on your property. He was worried the people involved in the case we’re investigating might want to harm you or your business,” Weasley answered.
“Tell him I appreciate his concern,” Draco said as Weasley stuffed his notebook in his breast pocket.
“Will you be able to open for business tomorrow?”
“Most likely,” Draco answered. “I’ve only lost a few files and some office furniture. Hopefully my secretary will have located the duplicate copies of those files by morning and have them ready for me to use at the start of business.”
Weasley smiled. He sounded genuinely concerned as he said, “Good luck with the clean-up. Let me know if you need anything or feel threatened in any way.” He stuck out his had for Draco to shake.
It felt odd shaking Ron Weasley’s hand, but Draco managed to keep from jerking his hand away.
“I’ll keep in touch,” Weasley promised as he walked to the fireplace. He threw in some Floo powder, called out his destination and disappeared in a puff of green flame.
Draco resealed the fireplace and then walked into the outer office again. He couldn’t hold back a gigantic sigh as he surveyed the damage. He shook his head as he thought wryly, Asteria’s going to get her wish to redecorate this office faster than she knew...
*
The Auror office was quiet when Ron arrived and strode down the aisle to his cubicle. He waved to Auror Wentworth who sat in the Situation Room manning the communications fireplaces for any alerts which might come via the Floo Network as the one at Importations Magique, Inc. had. Wentworth waved back and Ron continued on, changing his mind and turning left towards Evidence rather than right towards his cubicle.
“I sent some evidence bags in about a half hour ago,” he told the witch sitting behind the glass partition. “Have they arrived yet?”
Looking peeved, the witch put down her copy of Witch Weekly, stood up, and sauntered over to a basket marked New Evidence and picked up several bags. She brought them back, cast a few spells and then shoved the lot plus a clipboard at Ron through the opening in the partition. “You know where to sign,” she said in a bored tone.
Ron signed for the bags and took them back to his cubicle where he opened his notebook and began reviewing his notes. What he’d collected wasn’t much, but it proved without a doubt that the intruder at the warehouse was indeed Tim Dawson, the St Mungo’s employee working for the Matron.
He felt a little bit of satisfaction in finally identifying this minor suspect. Surely, once caught and properly prosecuted, he would be spending some time in Azkaban for participating in the Matron’s twisted experiments...
In the tall cabinet behind his desk, Ron found the proper forms to enter his evidence into his files and when that was finished, he began converting his notes to report form. The thing was, no matter how hard he tried, this time he simply couldn’t be very objective. He simply couldn’t get Draco Malfoy out of his mind like he usually could.
When he had first responded to the alarm at Malfoy’s warehouse, he’d done so almost reluctantly and only because Auror regulations required him to respond. He had gone there expecting to find the Draco Malfoy of his teen years, an arrogant wizard who belittled those he thought inferior. Despite the things Harry had said over the last few years about the changes in Malfoy’s demeanour, Ron hadn’t been prepared to find a broken and defeated-looking man slumped on his office sofa.
The changes in his old rival had been very disconcerting; they had confused Ron enough that he had dropped much of his guard by the end of the interview. Sure, he’d maintained his professionalism, but it had actually seemed stiff and stilted in the face of the damage done to the office and, it seemed, to Draco Malfoy himself.
Could I have been more compassionate, less businesslike? he asked himself. Would it have been less professional if I had shown Malfoy how much the attack affected me?
Ron knew deep down that he still harboured a grudge towards Draco Malfoy for the things he’d visited upon the Weasley family all those years ago. That Ginny had been the victim of Draco’s father’s plan to discredit Arthur Weasley with the diary and that he himself had been Draco’s unintended victim due to the poisoned mead in Professor Slughorn’s office still made his blood warm dangerously when he thought about them. Ron remembered, too, that it had been Draco who had let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts the night Dumbledore died, and that Bill had become one of Fenrir Greyback’s snacks because of Draco’s actions. But after all these years, did things like this really matter? Was it worth holding the past against Malfoy when he obviously had spent the intervening years suffering the consequences of his actions as a teenager? Because if it was, Ron knew any further dealings with Draco Malfoy would forever be coloured with the stain of past transgressions.
On the other hand, if he forgave Draco because of what he had done the night he, Harry and Hermione had been captured by the Snatchers, how would he feel the next time he encountered him? Was he capable of forgiving Draco, of accepting him? If he was, Ron knew his future demeanour would be completely different than what it had been today for he would have phrased his words differently and dropped the business tone from his voice.
Letting out a long-suffering sigh, Ron leaned back in his chair, thinking. It was time to let go, time to follow Harry in accepting that Draco Malfoy was not in any way like his father, and had circumstances been different, Draco might have been a Ravenclaw or Gryffindor rather than a hated Slytherin and he and Ron might have become friends rather than rivals.
It wouldn’t be easy, but for Harry’s sake and the sake of the investigation, Ron let go of his grudge and began to accept Draco Malfoy as an acquaintance.
*
Monday, 28 December 2020
The kitchen of Weasel’s Keep was chilly and nearly dark when Hermione, Ron, Rose, and Hugo emerged from the kitchen fireplace. The children immediately headed for their rooms, their presents from their Grandparents Granger tucked under their arms.
“It’s good to be home,” Hermione said as she hung her cloak up on its peg by the fire. When Ron didn’t comment right away as he usually did, she turned to face him. He just stood where he’d stopped, holding his cloak in his hand and staring at nothing in particular. Puzzled, she walked over and took his cloak.
“Oh! Sorry, Hermione, what was it you were saying?” he asked, looking distracted.
“I just commented that it was good to be home,” she repeated. She hung up his cloak next to hers.
“Thanks,” he murmured and headed towards the stairs.
Hermione flicked her wand at their packages, levitating them in front of her as she followed Ron. She found him sitting in one of the overstuffed wing chairs in their room, his shoes off with his feet propped on a matching pouf, and staring at the fire he’d lit in the grate.
“Is what happened at Draco Malfoy’s warehouse still bothering you?” she asked as she sat down in the other wing chair.
Ron shook his head. “Hermione, I can’t keep this from you any longer,” he said, looking into the fire. “My team is planning a classified mission. It’s very, very dangerous, one where I could get badly hurt if something goes wrong. The big planning meeting is tomorrow. It’s my last opportunity to back out, but I know I won’t...” He trailed off, his face troubled.
Hermione gazed at the fire, too. “Would it help if I told you I have faith that the other Aurors will do their best to keep you safe when the mission is in progress?” she asked quietly. It seemed her trust was the only thing she could give him at the moment and she hoped it was enough. She glanced over at her husband and was startled to see a lone tear making its way down his cheek.
Ron swiped at the tear, looking greatly relieved. “It does, Hermione, it does,” he murmured.
Hermione rose to her feet and went to kneel by his chair. She put her arms around him and hugged him gently. He returned the hug more fiercely than she expected as he asked, “What did I ever do to deserve you?”
Pulling away just enough to look into his face, Hermione said, “You wanted to keep the house-elves safe during the final battle at Hogwarts. That’s what you did!”
Ron’s ears turned pink and he smiled at her. “Thanks for reminding me, Hermione. Tell me something... is it all right to be scared about a planning meeting?”
Hermione cocked her head to one side, thinking. “It depends on what’s going to happen at the meeting,” she said slowly, speaking as her thoughts formed. “If you’re scared because you’re ill-prepared for the meeting, then I’d say no. However... if what you’re committing to is the scary part, then I think it’s all right to be apprehensive. You said the mission was dangerous and you seem uncertain about its outcome, so I think you’re justified in being scared.”
Her husband pulled her into another hug and she felt him sigh as her arms tightened around him. “Thank you for understanding, Hermione,” he whispered. “I feel a little better about what we need to do.”
*
1200 hours, Tuesday, 29 December 2020
The cold blowing in off the North Sea penetrated the rooms of the cave containing the hideout. Tim shivered as he entered the main treatment room where the Matron was waiting for him.
“I have come as you requested,” he reported, bowing his head in shame.
“What have you to report?” she asked imperiously.
Tim quailed at her tone. “My only success was at the Malfoy warehouse.”
“Tell me what you have done!” she demanded. “Your orders were to watch the houses, to gain access to them and set my traps! How is it you were successful at a warehouse when you had specific orders?” The Matron levelled her wand at him, green sparks issuing from its tip.
Tim reported his activities, admitting his shame at failing to do her bidding but feeling good that at least he’d been able to damage the warehouse.
“You absolute imbecile!” screeched the Matron when he was done. “You’ve botched everything! ” She advanced a few steps towards him, her wand twitching in her anger.
“I did my best! The security enchantments around both estates are almost as unbreakable as those at Hogwarts! I spent days at The Burrow and before that at Malfoy Manor trying to get in or at least to follow those you wished me to follow,” Tim pleaded defensively.
The wand touched the tip of Tim’s nose and he couldn’t help staring cross-eyed at it. He jumped when a few sparks singed his face. “You FAILED in your instructions and to make matters worse, you broke into Malfoy’s business and nearly were caught! YOU DON’T THINK! YOUR ACTIONS HAVE JEOPARDIZED OUR ENTIRE OPERATION!” the Matron continued.
“I was successful at scaring Malfoy. He won’t be reporting to Potter or the Aurors any time soon,” Tim yelled back.
“You may have scared him, but you left evidence all over that warehouse, you let Malfoy see you, you duelled with him and he almost cornered you! He knows what you look like and if he goes to the Aurors they’ll know exactly who you are because you went to the warehouse IN YOUR HOSPITAL ROBES!!! Of all the stupid things to do, that takes the cake!” The Matron’s wand slashed through the air and Tim suddenly found himself dangling upside down by an ankle. “Crucio! ”
She screamed the spell with such venom that the word echoed through the cave. Tim was instantly engulfed in the worst pain he’d ever encountered in all the time he’d served the Matron. He tried to curl up in a ball as he usually did when she cast the spell on him, but hanging like this, it was impossible: the spell seemed to go on forever, burning away his nerves, turning his brain to mush. When his tormenter finally lifted her spell, he was barely conscious, gasping for breath and wishing for mercy.
“Matron, I’m... It won’t happen again,” he murmured in barely a whisper.
The Matron stared at him silently. Then, with a flick of her wand, she caused his body to follow her as she walked rapidly through the cave to the potions lab. She parked him, still dangling in mid-air, in front of a full-length mirror and then stripped him of his clothes from the waist up, exposing his torso. Tim waited in horror as she turned him to face the mirror.
“You will obey my orders or die, Tim Dawson,” she said, her tone a deadly hiss. “If you take it upon yourself to go against your instructions as you have this past week, I will not be merciful.”
Tim watched in the mirror as the Matron flicked her wand at a tiny cauldron sitting on the cooling shelves, extracting a small, irregularly-shaped piece of metal. She let it drip for a few seconds and then, without warning, she sent the shrapnel hurtling through the air like a deadly missile at him.
The fragment buried itself in the middle of his back and he nearly blacked out from the pain. As he fought to remain conscious, he felt his skin seal around the object and knew that he had been luckier than some of the Matron’s toadies to remain completely free-thinking up to this point in time.
The Matron’s heels clicked on the floor of the cave as she came nearer. When the clicking stopped, Tim felt himself being rotated to face her. The motion finally stopped and she hoisted him higher so they were nose to nose.
“Imperio,” she whispered.
Tim instantly felt more light-headed than he currently was and a strange sense of peace suffused through his battered body. Then the Matron’s voice echoed in his head, “You will follow my orders. If you are successful, I will remove the metal. If you fail, I will cast the spell to end your life.
“The metal fragment has been soaked in a potion which is now travelling through your body. The potion is designed to burn through every nerve in your body when a certain spell is cast. You will not know who casts the spell or when it will be cast, if you fail. Do you understand that you will die?”
“I do,” Tim intoned.
“Then here are your orders,” hissed the Matron.
When she was done speaking, Tim felt her withdraw from his mind. Instantly, his pain returned and he cried out. The sound echoed through the cavern as he was unceremoniously dropped to the floor. He lay there, trembling and frightened, until someone levitated him to another part of the cave.
Chapter 23: 23: Plans
Author's Notes: I owe a huge thank you to my friend, A-T, who answers all my questions about physical therapy. The scene with Harry and Silvia wouldn’t have come off as believable if I hadn’t had her guidance and patience. Thank you so much, A-T, for being willing to share your experiences and advice. Harry and I appreciate you more than you know!
My usual thank yous are as follows: To my pre-beta team of Jedi34, Rosina Ferguson, Mutt n Feathers, RebeccaRipple, and RSS, the five of you are priceless friends for sticking with this story and giving me the feed-back I need to make it the best it can be. To my beta, Aggiebell, thank you again for being there for me week in and week out. Thank you for telling me where the story was confusing, contradictive and not quite right. I was glad to add the new parts you recommended because the story is better for them.
0800 hours, Monday, 29 December 2020
“Are you sure you want to go through with this?” Healer Stilwell asked as he and Ron sat down in the consultation area of Healer Stilwell’s St Mungo’s office.
Ron gulped and nodded, petrified at the thought that if the mission he was about to commit to failed, he might end up as crippled as Harry. However, he was determined to carry out the plan, because it was time the Matron was stopped.
“I can see no other alternative,” he said quietly. “We have to catch the Matron in the act of deliberately hurting someone and I won’t ask another Auror to risk his or her health. It has to be me.”
“I don’t like the plan, Ron, but like you, I see no other way for you to get the evidence you need,” sighed the healer.
“I appreciate your willingness to participa–” Ron began, but Healer Stilwell cut him off.
“I’m only participating because you need a qualified healer on your team,” he said, skewering Ron with his eyes. “I know what the Matron is capable of doing: she’s trying to discredit the hospital and ruin my reputation because of something that happened twenty-odd years ago. I’ll not have it, not after how hard I’ve worked to help patients like Harry and Brian.” He shook his head. “I’m also thinking about how many patients will need my services in the future. If the Matron ruins my career...” Healer Stilwell looked troubled for a moment and seemed to be staring at the framed certificates on the wall behind Ron, as if the thought was too horrible to imagine. At length, he shook his head as if returning to the present. “Ron, if anything goes wrong, you’ll need immediate medical attention and none of your Aurors are qualified to help you,” he added, bringing the subject back to the mission.
Ron sighed. He knew Healer Stilwell was right on all accounts. Looking down at his clipboard, he waited for the healer to continue.
“How many Aurors are you stationing on the Injuries Floor?” he asked.
“There will be two Aurors disguised as my worried relatives outside in the corridor. The same goes for the three other members of my team who will be at my bedside,” Ron reported thinking about the newest Auror he’d added to the team, a witch named Mary Beth Prendergast.
“Might I suggest that at least one, possibly two, of your Aurors wear Assistant’s robes?” asked Healer Stilwell. “They can mingle freely with the regular staff in our restricted areas in order to report on the Matron’s activities and whereabouts if they’re dressed properly. They can be passed off as a couple of new trainees who were recently hired as part of the increase in staffing mandated by your sister’s request for better patient care.”
Ron smiled. Thank goodness for Ginny’s tirade, he thought, thinking of the bits and pieces of gossip that had been floating round the office in recent months. Aloud he said, “That makes more sense. Have you really hired extra assistants?”
A small smile made Healer Stilwell look less stressed for a moment. “We have and the patients seem happier for the extra attention. The ward workers are more relaxed, less overworked, I think. Your sister was right to raise the issue.”
“What about the healers in Emergency? Ron asked.
Again, Healer Stilwell smiled. “At our department heads’ meeting last week, the head of A and E reported that his staff actually cheered when the new-hires arrived for their first shifts.”
“Can I tell Ginny?” Ron asked, pleased with the changes he was hearing about.
“Of course. I imagine the Fundraising Chairwitch will be contacting your sister this week. Madam Nigel always wants preparations for the March Gala ball to begin as soon as New Years celebrations are over. There’s something about how the holiday, alcohol and magic never mix well...” Healer Stilwell shook his head and glanced down at his notes. “Now... back to business. The two Aurors out in the corridor should be the ones to bring you into the A and E via Portkey. Five minutes prior to the Portkey activating, you will take a potion which will simulate the injured and paralyzed condition in which you will arrive.”
Ron nodded and made a note on his agenda. “What will happen next?” he asked apprehensively without looking up.
“Your condition will be diagnosed and I will be called to consult on your treatment. It will be decided that you belong in the Non-Magical Injuries ward.”
“Healer Stilwell, the last time we talked about this you said it might be necessary to actually break my back,” Ron reminded the healer. “Is that what the first potion will do to me?”
“No. We will not be breaking your back, not with a potion nor with a spell. It’s too dangerous. Instead, the injuries will all be simulated. The first potion you’ll ingest prior to arriving at the hospital will create the pain you must experience with the sorts of injuries you’re arriving with; the pain will be real because the potion affects the nervous system the same way the Cruciatus Curse does. I must warn you that it’s not pleasant.
“Next, one of the Aurors with you will cast a Fracture Simulation Spell on your spine. This spell will make it look like you have broken your vertebrae. Again, there is some risk because if done incorrectly, the spell is powerful enough to actually cause the injuries it recreates. If the spell is done incorrectly the bones could be completely broken, you would be permanently disabled. Therefore, before I entrust you to their mercy, the Auror must practice the spell on livestock carcasses to learn the right inflection for simulating the fracturing of bones. Is there an Auror on your team whom you trust to administer the spell?”
“Yes, there are two, but I would like to speak with them first,” Ron replied.
“Very well... Now once I’m with you and I’ve healed your ‘fractures’, you will drink the antidote to the first potion along with several others to help you relax. I will then start casting the spells I usually use to activate certain components in the nerve regeneration potions you will have supposedly drunk. I will be including a spell that will continue your paralysis, but in a more easily reversible form. The spell will last several hours during which time I may need to come ‘examine’ you again to renew the charm, if the Matron hasn’t made her move yet.”
“How long do you think it will take for her to discover her latest victim?” Ron asked.
“That’s up to you and your Aurors because one of the disguised Aurors will need to perform the Imperius Curse on her to suggest she look in your file.”
Ron bristled at this suggestion. “Healer Stilwell, the Imperius Curse has not been performed by an Auror in over thirty years, not since the First War ended with Harry’s parents being killed and Tom Riddle’s disappearance. It is an illegal curse, which carries a penalty of life in Azkaban if its use is detected. No one on my team will be sanctioned to use the Curse.”
“Then how do you propose to entice the Matron to even consider you as a candidate for her experiments?” Healer Stilwell countered.
“My team has been trained to persuade suspects into doing their bidding without resorting to the Imperius Curse. Will you trust us to do our job while you do yours?” Ron asked.
Healer Stilwell nodded, not looking very convinced.
Ron scribbled a quick note on his parchment and then asked, “Getting back to my paralysis, you said the spell will be easier to reverse than the potion...”
“Yes, it is,” Healer Stilwell said, “Whoever is with you will be able to completely mobilize you with Finite Incantatem. Your wife or another Auror stationed in your cubicle under an Invisibility Cloak can easily do this for you during the apprehension of the Matron.”
“My wife will not be participating in this mission,” Ron said flatly. “She is not a trained Auror and as much as I would like her to be with me, I refuse to involve her.”
Healer Stilwell looked taken aback by Ron’s vehemence. “I understand your reluctance, but won’t it look strange if she doesn’t show up at St Mungo’s sometime during the mission?”
“No, it won’t. I confessed last night to being worried about our meeting this morning; she knows I’m planning a dangerous mission, but none of the details. It’s been this way since I joined the Auror Department: she accepts that I can’t tell her much about my job, especially if the information is classified. This is just another classified, high-priority mission,” Ron explained.
“But what about the fact that you will be seen in the A and E and then in the NMI ward? Someone with good intentions might try to get word to her that you’re in hospital and that she needs to be with you,” Healer Stilwell protested.
“Then I’ll just have to tell Hermione the location of the mission and about the possibility that someone may try to contact her about my being there. It’s happened before, but in other places.” Ron sighed. “Anyway, she will only come to St Mungo’s if the right phrase or password is given to her; it’ll be something we work out prior to the mission. She may leave as suggested, but she won’t show up at the hospital unless she responds correctly to the password. It’s safer for her that way,” he said grimly.
Healer Stilwell nodded, muttering, “I just don’t like all this cloak and dagger stuff we’re planning.”
“Neither do I, but it’s necessary,” Ron said. “Erm, will there be any side-effects or lingering paralysis with the spells and potions I’m going to endure?”
“None whatsoever. The potions and spells I will be casting on you are used regularly in teaching situations to simulate paralysis in potential patients. Healers-in-training are often made to experience the conditions their patients find themselves in so that they learn what their patients are going through.” He paused, then asked, “Would you feel more comfortable if I told the A and E healers working on you that you are part of a training exercise?”
Relief washed over Ron like a balm. “Yes, it would, but would that make any difference as to how I am treated?” he asked.
“No. A training exercise is a simulation of the real thing,” explained Healer Stilwell. “The Healers are usually briefed a day or two beforehand on the situation they will be practicing so that they can review hospital procedure. However, sometimes they are given no notice on the exact situation they will be facing; they only know they will be evaluated on how they conduct themselves during the exercise.”
“And the potions I will be given during the exercise...” Ron asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Will all be placebos except for the Paralysis Reversal Potion.”
“Pla-see-what?” Ron had never heard of this term.
“Placebo. A fake potion, most likely flavoured sugar water,” the healer explained with a smile.
“All right. Yeah, I want you to tell the healers in A and E I’m part of a training exercise,” Ron said. “That actually makes sense because my office does hostage simulations where we have to rescue the hostages and apprehend the suspects without hurting anyone.”
Healer Stilwell looked pleased as he said, “Very well. After that, all we do is wait for the Matron to attack you.”
“What if it gets back to her that I’m only part of the training exercise?”
Healer Stilwell ran a hand over his face. “Part of the briefing I’ll give the A and E healers is a reminder that in the case of Auror injuries there’s to be absolute secrecy as to the identity of the patient. St Mungo’s has a strict privacy policy in place, which dictates that only the patient’s family is to be notified when an Auror is brought into the hospital. I think you saw that the night you and Harry were brought in.”
Ron nodded, remembering that he’d seen only Ginny and Hermione that night. “Why is that?” he asked.
“In the past, reporters from the Daily Prophet have tried to interview the Auror’s family and friends before they’ve had a chance to talk to the healers about the patient’s injuries,” Healer Stilwell explained with a note of disgust in his voice. “It happened one too many times during the war, so hospital policy now decrees that any employee who leaks information to anyone not authorized to know a patient’s identity will be fired immediately.”
“That’s good to know,” Ron murmured. “So you’re sure the Matron will not find out my injuries are simulated and that she will consider me the victim she needs?”
“Yes, I’m sure she won’t find out. Also, I’ve studied both Harry’s and Brian’s files and their injuries were remarkably similar. That’s why she chose them. The potions and spells will make your injuries look just like theirs.”
Ron shuddered. He disagreed silently with this observation because of what he knew about the Matron’s experiments. He stood up to leave. “Let’s hope she decides I’m her man, then,” he said instead.
Healer Stilwell stood as well. “When do you want to carry out this mission?”
Ron ran a hand through his hair. “Not for a couple of weeks, not until the Auror I choose to learn the Fracture Simulation Spell has mastered it. I’ll let you know which Auror needs to practice so the two of you can get together.”
“I’ll wait for your owl, then.”
“Anything else before I go?” Ron asked.
“Not that I can think of. Good day, Ron.”
“Good day, Payton,” Ron said, and with a wave of his hand he exited the healer’s office and headed down the stairs to the hospital’s street exit.
*
1145 hours
She was desperate. Nothing was going right and everything seemed to be crumbling about her ankles. She realized that even though she was doing her part well enough, it was her hired help who was ruining her campaign of revenge against Healer Payton Stilwell. The name sat bitterly in her mind, festering like a sore as it had for twenty years. How she hated the man and what he’d done to her, stolen from her!
And now she had a new enemy. An insignificant little toady, a friend of Harry Potter’s, who was bent on ruining her life–by tattling to the Aurors the location of her last potions lab–just as much as Payton Stilwell had. Well, if that’s what Malfoy wanted, then he’d get what he deserved. Her decision made, she hastened towards the mirror in the potions lab, her wand in hand.
Quickly, she transfigured her facial features, elongating her nose, squaring her chin, altering her eye colour, and heightening her cheekbones. Her greying hair was next to go; with a flick of her wand, it became the mousey brown of her youth, shoulder-length, and allowed to freely fall about her face. The more it was allowed to hide her face, the better, she reasoned.
Finished with her disguise, she Summoned her cloak from its hook and Disapparated to the Edinburgh Wizarding district. As she strode along the crowded street, she made a mental note of what she would need: an owl, stationery, quills and ink.
Her first stop was a small stationery shop where she purchased several rolls of letter-sized parchment and an assortment of inexpensive quills. The shop had a number of novelty Muggle items, including a writing implement identified by a sign as a ‘biro’; she bought two of those, one blue, one black. A bottle of ink completed her purchase and as soon as she had her package, she left the shop without talking to anybody.
The Owl Emporium was two streets over and the Matron hurried through the cold towards the shop. She was thinking hard about how big and strong an owl she would need because it would need to fly a round trip of several hundred miles to deliver her letter to the Hogwarts Express and come back to her in a timely manner. She would need a big, powerful owl...
The tiny shop was dimly lit, and even when the bell tinkled as it opened, the feathery occupants didn’t pull their heads from beneath their wings. The Matron made her way to the back of the shop where a tiny little man sat reading by wandlight.
“I want to purchase an owl,” the Matron said. “Preferably one that can fly long distances.”
“Eagle owl, then. Thirty Galleons. You’ll need a cage at five and a supply of owl nuts, two Galleons. You’ll need to go down the street to the Menagerie for fresh rats. Pay here for rats, two Galleons verses five there. Total thirty-nine Galleons,” the man told her, ticking off the items on his fingers.
The Matron paid without a word.
“Call your owl. His temporary name is Nelson.”
The Matron felt silly calling the owl, but she did so and Nelson woke up with a start, gave a great “HOO-uh!” that woke all the owls in the shop and glided down to the Matron’s outstretched arm. It landed heavily and sat there staring with unblinking eyes at her.
“You’ll do,” she told the owl. She stuffed Nelson into his cage and left the shop, stopping only to purchase five fresh rats before she Disapparated back to the cave.
While Nelson explored his new home, the Matron carefully composed her letter. When she was done, she carefully rolled the parchment tightly, used the parchment to create a Portkey and cast a spell that would activate it only when the letter was unrolled by her victim.
As she heard the tell-tale pops of her two paid assistants Apparating into the cave, she decided not to name the victim until the very last minute.
*
1400 hours, 30 December 2020
Harry looked up from his unpacking to find Silvia leaning against the doorframe of his room.
“Good afternoon, Harry,” she greeted him with a smile. “How was your visit home?”
Harry Banished the last of his clothes to his bureau before answering. “Eventful to say the least,” he answered truthfully, thinking of all that had transpired over the last two weeks. “Would you believe I’m actually relieved to be coming back here?”
Silvia smiled. “Yes, Harry, I would,” she replied. “Going home for the first time, venturing out into the real world, as opposed to the sheltered environment you have here, can be a rude awakening.”
Harry stared at her briefly, trying to decide how much to admit. “Yeah, definitely rude...” he said and left it at that.
Silvia seemed to understand he didn’t want to elaborate on his comment because she changed the subject, saying, “Do you have a moment? I’d like to discuss something with you and this seems like a good time.”
Her words making him uneasy, Harry replied, “Sure, have a seat,” and gestured to one of the wing chairs under the window. He remained in his wheelchair as Silvia sat down. “What did you want to discuss?” he asked.
“I’ll be direct, Harry,” Silvia said. “Healer Stilwell and I think it’s time to start your leg strengthening exercises. We think it’s time you learned to walk again.”
Harry could only gape at his therapist. “What? I thought... Why? When?” he managed to sputter.
Silvia chuckled. “You heard me. I’m going to teach you the skills to enable you to learn to walk again. I’m sure at some point in the near future you’re going to think I’m completely sadistic and unthinking and gleefully torturous as the exercises become harder, but if you continue to work as hard at walking as you have on all your other skills, I believe you’ll be walking out of here using crutches when you’re released.” She paused, then asked, “Would you like to start in twenty minutes or tomorrow morning?”
Feeling as if he’d been given a gift, Harry answered hurriedly, “Twenty minutes. Let me get changed. Where do I meet you?”
Silvia stood up. “Come to the PT Room when you’re ready. I have a few things to set up before we can begin.” She walked to the door and turned to face him. “Oh, please bring your swim equipment. I think you’ll want a soak in the whirlpool after we’re done.”
“All right. I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Harry said, and began collecting the clothes and equipment he’d need.
Twenty minutes later, he rolled into the PT Room wearing a sweat suit and a t-shirt bearing George’s Las Vegas shop’s logo, “Weasley’s Magical Wheezes.” The family had laughed at the change in the name of the franchise, but since half of that shop was to be Muggle, the name change made sense to Harry. Silvia looked up from the pile of therapy objects she was working with, and pointing to the shirt, asked, “Advertising for your brother-in-law’s shop?”
Harry chuckled. “I suppose I am.”
Silvia smiled and patted a wide, padded bench beside her equipment pile, indicating that he was to slide onto the bench.
“What will I be doing?” he asked as he took his place.
“I’ll be doing a range of motion evaluation,” Silvia replied. “I want to see how far you can move your legs so I can plan the rest of your week.”
Harry waited patiently while Silvia bent down and removed his shoes and socks, telling him she wanted him to try to feel the equipment this first time. Then, she put a small skateboard under his right foot with the wheels parallel to his left foot.
“Harry, scoot forward a bit and then do your best to straighten your right knee by rolling the skateboard towards me,” she instructed.
Pushing himself forward a little on the bench, Harry gripped the edge and tried to push his foot forward as Silvia cast a spell and watched it carefully. It was hard work because the movement needed all his concentration to carry out. Slowly, very slowly, the skateboard inched forward until his foot left the board and hovered above it for a second before he had to let it drop to the floor, pain shooting through his leg. There was a time when that small movement was instantaneous, he thought, feeling greatly discouraged. And it never hurt like that!
“That’s all the farther I can go,” he said, trying to hide the pain in his voice. Silvia pushed the board back under his foot–the momentum had caused it to roll into her knees. He looked up to see her smiling at him.
“Harry, that’s far better than I hoped for,” she said. “Try it again, but this time, don’t lift your foot from the board. I know by the look on your face that you’re in pain. This isn’t meant to hurt so much. Don’t push yourself beyond what feels comfortable.”
Harry looked at her as the pain subsided a little. “If I don’t push myself, I’ll never walk,” he said.
Silvia frowned. “Haven’t you listened to me every time we’ve started something new? Don’t I always tell you that if you’re hurting you should stop?”
“I want this so badly I have to push myself,” Harry muttered, not meeting Silvia’s eyes.
“Hippogriff scales!” Silvia scoffed, making Harry look up at the strange expression. She grinned at him. “All right. Here’s the exercise: with your foot on the board, roll it forward only to the point where it begins to hurt, then bring it back towards you.”
Again, Harry concentrated. The skateboard inched forward until the pain in his leg signalled he could go no farther, so he rolled it back towards the bench. “Is that what I’m supposed to do?” he asked.
“Yes. You’re doing very well, Harry,” she said as she taped a pencil to the floor in front of the wheels. “I’m now going to limit how far you roll the skateboard forward so you won’t go past the point of pain. You’ll be working the same sets of muscles needed for the higher lift, but it won’t hurt as much. Try it three more times.”
Harry did as he was told. The smaller movement was indeed easier and he completed the last three repetitions faster than he anticipated. When he was done, Silvia repeated the evaluation and exercise with his left leg.
“Now for some side-to-side movement,” she directed. She pried up the pencil before turning the skateboard perpendicular to Harry’s body and placing his right foot on it. “Without shifting your body weight, roll the board from side-to-side as wide as you can.” She cast her spell again and watched it carefully.
When Harry had completed the task once on both legs, she again limited how far the skateboard travelled. This activity was followed by an ankle-movement evaluation and two new exercises and a set of stretches for his ankles. By the time Silvia asked him to lie fully extended on the bench, he was drenched in sweat. Harry was allowed to rest for a few minutes while she made some notations on her clipboard.
When she was finished writing, Harry commented, “You weren’t kidding about my being tired and ready for a soak. Are we doing anything else before I can get wet?”
“Yes, several things. I’ll tell you about them as we get to them,” she answered.
“All right,” Harry said and waited for her to continue.
“We’ve worked the knee and the ankle,” she said. “Now I need to assess your hip movement. You’ve done leg raises before as part of your physical training for your job?”
Harry grumbled, “I have,” thinking of all the physical training he’d gone through as a trainee and then as a full Auror.
“Good. We’ll do only one in each position–to the front, to the side and to the back–before I have you do the actual exercises. Are you ready to start?”
“I am,” Harry replied, wondering how much height he was actually going to attain. Lying on his back as he was, he couldn’t see his feet at all.
Silvia walked to the foot of the bench. “All right, Harry, give it a go with your right leg,” she instructed. He heard the faint swish of her wand through the air and knew she was casting another diagnostic spell.
Concentrating hard on lifting his entire leg, Harry felt his body shift on the bench. His eyes drifted shut as he concentrated on ignoring the pain in order to reach maximum height.
“Harry, STOP! Put your leg down now,” Silvia commanded, jolting Harry from his thoughts. “I told you not to push yourself until you can’t stand the pain. You’re not doing yourself any good.” She paused, sighing as he let his leg drop, and then continued in a much quieter tone, “Other leg, please.”
Hating the mostly dry, emotionless tone Silvia was using today, Harry switched legs, raising his left as high as he could manage, this time still pushing past his comfort level by a little. The scratching of Silvia’s pen told him it was time to put his leg down before she gave him the actual verbal direction. She seemed pleased as she helped him turn onto his side. He could see how much he was moving his leg in this position and he was actually surprised at how high he lifted his foot before he had to stop. He dropped the leg gratefully, only to find himself on his stomach lifting first one and then the other leg to the back. This was hard because he wasn’t allowed to bend his knee–Silvia cast a modified Leg-Locker Curse on his knee, which helped–and Harry wasn’t at all sure his leg had even left the bench. Then, with one final position shift, Harry was made to raise his left leg to the side.
Silvia allowed him to roll onto his back and sit up before she said, “I’m pleased with this, Harry. You’ve earned a soak in the whirlpool, but not before we do one more thing. You need to change first. I’ll unlock the changing room for you now. Please come back here when you’re ready.”
Puzzled as to what they were going to be doing, Harry changed to his swimming costume as quickly as he could. When he emerged from the changing room, he found Silvia waiting at the bench holding a small plastic box from which dangled what looked like Muggle electrodes.
“What’s this?” he asked.
Silvia held out the device and Harry took it. The size of one of Ginny’s romance novels, it looked like a small handheld wireless with a compartment on one side. Harry lifted the cover, revealing two dials and a rectangular battery. “Will this work in the magical section of the facility?” he asked.
Silvia shook her head. “No, it won’t. It hasn’t been modified magically, so you’ll have to use it in here,” she explained. “I picked this particular unit because it can stimulate two areas at once and also because I want to be around when you’re using it.”
“So what is it?” Harry repeated.
“Oh, sorry. It’s a TENS Unit, short for transcutaneous electrical nerve stimulator. Just by the way you’re moving I know you’re in pain, Harry. We’ll use this device to help the muscles relax so you won’t be in pain from your leg exercises later on. You’ll need to use it before you go into the whirlpool each day,” she explained.
“How does it work?”
Silvia explained that the device delivered electrical impulses to the muscles and how Harry was to use it. When she was done, she had him lay down on the bench he’d used previously and attached the electrodes in two places on Harry’s lower body, showing him how to work the dials which controlled the electrical pulses going to his muscles.
“Now just lay there and relax, Harry. I’m going to start your whirlpool,” she said after she seemed satisfied with how he was responding. She stood up and headed towards the door to the pool room.
Harry lay where he was. He wasn’t enjoying this experience at all. The TENS unit was making his muscles quiver strangely and he hurt in places he hadn’t hurt in weeks. No matter what he did to make himself comfortable, he found no relief. He closed his eyes, willing his body to relax as the TENS unit continued to send pulses to his muscles.
A gentle hand on his shoulder caused him to open his eyes. Silvia was standing over him, holding several small bags of ice. “This should help,” she said, laying the bags over his hips and disconnecting the TENS unit. After she put it with the other equipment he’d used, she came back, pointed her wand at the ice bags and enlarged them magically so they encased his body from his hips to his ankles.
“Thanks,” he murmured.
The cold felt good. As it penetrated his sore muscles, Harry was finally able to relax. “Will I feel like this every day?” he asked after a while, already knowing that Silvia was going to say yes.
She smiled. “It depends on whether or not you behave and don’t push yourself like you did today. I know you’re determined to walk out of here, but you also need to listen to me. Will you let me be the judge of what’s too much?” she asked.
“Yeah, I will,” Harry answered. “I don’t want to feel this bad every day.”
“Smart decision, Harry,” she said, chuckling quietly. “So... tomorrow you’ll find a new list of additional exercises attached to your clipboard. You’re to do them in addition to the ones you already do. I’ll have Mandy walk you through them tomorrow, Saturday and Sunday and then you’ll be doing most of them on your own for the rest of next week.”
Harry raised an eyebrow as he asked, “You won’t be with me the whole session?”
“No,” Silvia answered. “These additional exercises will overlap your therapy time with that of another of my patients. You’ll be in different parts of the room, so that shouldn’t be a problem and I’ll be nearby should you run into trouble.”
Reassured, Harry agreed to the additional therapy time and then gratefully followed Silvia into the pool room for his soak in the whirl pool. As the warm water began working wonders on his tired body, Harry laid his head back and allowed himself a small smile.
I’m going to walk again! he thought, excitedly. I need to tell Ginny.
*
1600 hours
Healer Stilwell stowed his wand in its pocket in his robes and smiled at his favourite patient. He knew he shouldn’t favour one above the others in his care, but over the last nine weeks he’d grown distinctly fond of the courageous wizard sitting patiently in the wheelchair before him.
“Well, Healer Stilwell, what’s the verdict?” Harry Potter asked, sounding distinctly uneasy.
“I’ve good news and bad news, Harry,” Healer Stilwell replied. “Which do you want first?”
“Just tell me,” Harry said. “I’m either seeing things or I’m seeing things.”
That made the Healer chuckle. “Harry, the bad news is I’m still detecting traces of blood and some swelling of the occipital lobe. The good news is the swelling has gone down significantly enough to stop most of the pressure on the blood vessels and you’re down to a very slow leak,” he said. “Your peripheral vision to the left is widening as you reported–you’ve gained eight degrees peripheral vision since you left on your holiday–so yes, you are seeing things much better than you did less than a month ago.”
Mr Potter returned the smile. “I’m glad to know I’m seeing things, then,” he said, making Healer Stilwell nod in agreement. Then he asked, “How long before we know if the damage is permanent?”
This question gave Healer Stilwell pause. He didn’t want to make any promises, but he also didn’t want to be completely disparaging either. Finally, he settled on the truth. “I really have no idea, Harry,” he admitted. “You’ve come a long way in the last month, but healing the brain takes time. I can’t cast charms on the brain like I can other parts of the body and I certainly can’t target one specific lobe or area of the brain with potions without affecting the others. Healing the brain has to be done on the body’s natural timetable, it can’t be hurried along. What I can and have been doing is remove the results of the injury, the blood I’ve been extracting, in an attempt to speed up that timetable, but it’s best not to be too invasive. Does that make any sense?”
“Yeah, it does,” Mr Potter said with a sigh. “I’m just going to have to be patient because I trust you; everything you’ve done for me has helped me improve physically towards what will eventually be my normal.”
“'Your' normal,” Healer Stilwell echoed slowly. “You choose your words well.” He glanced at the clock on the examining area wall. “Do you have any questions before I send you downstairs?” he asked.
Mr Potter shook his head. “No, you’ve answered the ones I needed answers to,” he said. “Thanks for seeing me without an appointment.”
“My pleasure, Harry, my pleasure,” Healer Stilwell replied as Mr Potter nodded, rolled out of the office and turned left. A moment later the lift doors at the end of the corridor rumbled open, making the walls of the office shake slightly. The Healer let out a sigh, feeling pleased with his patient’s progress and strode over to his desk to make note of his examination findings.
*
Chapter 24: 24: Mischief
Author's Notes: I hope all of you like this chapter. The idea for this bit of mischief came from RSS, one of my pre-betas, so she get all the credit: I just assigned roles to Harry and Ginny. I know many of you have been wondering about this aspect of their lives because you’ve mentioned it in your reviews and while Harry may certainly not be completely “normal” he and Ginny are now headed in the right direction. So RSS, thank you sooooo much for the idea that only took me about an hour to write because once I started writing to your prompt, I just couldn’t stop until it was finished.
Other thank yous go to Jedi34, Mutt n Feathers, RebeccaRipple and Rosina Ferguson for looking over the first draft and encouraging me to make it even better than it was. And to Aggiebell, thank you so much for approving the final draft. Oh, I finally figured out how to type an ellipsis instead of just three periods!
2245 hours, 30 December 2020
Visiting hours were nearly over at The Groves. Ginny sat quietly in one of the wing chairs in Harry’s room, thumbing through a magazine and waiting for him to return from the bathroom so they could say good-night. At least that’s what Harry thought would happen, because she had promised to stay tonight until the very last minute. However, she had other plans Harry wasn’t privy to yet, even though her parents knew, since they’d agreed to keep the children overnight.
The bathroom door opened just as she was pulling at her rather unconventional undergarments; she’d been doing so all day, much to Harry’s amusement. He’d commented on her squirming several times, but she’d declined to answer his inquiries with anything more than a vague answer. Ginny watched as her husband slid from chair to bed with practiced ease, making her smile at him. Pride in his accomplishments bubbled inside her, and she rose from her chair to perch on the right side of his bed where he could see her easily. Lovingly, she reached up and gently removed his glasses, setting them aside on the bedside table.
“You won’t have to choose which side of the bed you sit on much longer, I think,” Harry said as they joined hands.
“Healer Stilwell confirmed your increased vision to the left, then?” Ginny asked.
Harry nodded. “Yes. We even joked about my seeing things, but he couldn’t tell me how long it would be before we’ll know if there’s any permanent damage,” he added.
“Well, I’ll be happy with whatever your ‘normal’ will end up being,” she said, reaching up to caress his cheek, “because it means I have my man back and I love him any way I can have him.”
“That’s good to know,” he said as Ginny bent down to kiss him. The kiss started off rather chastely, but Harry soon deepened it, his tongue seeking hers. Ginny eagerly returned his passion, knowing this would just be a rehearsal to her plans for the evening.
Finally, they broke apart, gasping slightly, and smiling at each other. “Good night, my love,” she murmured.
Harry reached up and clasped her hands with his. “Good night to you, my darling,” he said, completing the verbal part of the nightly exchange they’d started on Boxing Day.
Ginny kissed Harry lightly on the lips one more time and turned off the lights with a flick of her wand. Then she rose, walked around the bed and stopped before her chair, standing quietly, listening to Harry’s breathing. It had become her habit back in November to stay in his room until he fell asleep–even if he didn’t want her there–and now those extra minutes together had become the second part of their custom on those nights when she stayed until he closed his eyes.
As his respirations slowed, Ginny bent down and silently pulled Harry’s Invisibility Cloak from her handbag. She threw it over herself and then settled down in her chair again as Harry began to snore quietly. Then she, too, laid her head back and closed her eyes for a few minutes’ rest while the hospital slowly shut itself down for the night. If her plan was to work it would be at least an hour before she could wake her husband.
Two hours later, Ginny felt her wand vibrate and woke with a small start. It was time.
Before she stood up, she cast a Silencing Charm on the room, hoping the spell wouldn’t register on the hospital’s magic metre. The guard outside thankfully stayed where he was, so tiptoeing to Harry's bedside, Ginny sat down where he could see her easily when he opened his eyes. The bed’s movement made him stir, and when she simulated an Auror Alert to his wand–causing it to vibrate loudly on his bedside table–his eyes flew open and he was instantly alert.
“What’s wrong?” he demanded as she removed the Cloak from the upper half of her body. “Who’s calling? Why are you still here?”
Ginny smiled at him. “Nothing’s wrong, my love,” she whispered, “nobody called, although I’m not in the least sorry I woke you up.”
“Huh?”
Ginny chuckled softly at his brilliant answer. “Harry,” she began, making her voice as romantic as possible, “how would you like to make a little mischief?”
In the dim light coming through his window, she watched his eyebrows shoot upward and his expression become curious. “What kind of mischief?” he asked, his voice responding to the sultry tone of hers.
In response, Ginny guided his hand under her blouse to the top of her string bikini.
“Here? In my room?” he squeaked, making her giggle.
“No, silly boy, I have another venue in mind. Will you trust me?” she asked.
“Erm, Ginny, I’m not wearing my bathers,” he protested.
“That can easily be arranged. So… are you interested?”
“My swimming floats are locked in the storage cupboard.”
“You won’t need them.”
“I won’t?”
“No. Do you trust me?”
Harry nodded, making her smile. “Good,” she said. “Shall we go under the Cloak, then?”
“What about the guard? And the Anti-Apparition Spell?”
“We won’t be leaving The Groves, Harry.”
“Oh.”
Ginny chuckled again and tugged the Invisibility Cloak out from under her legs. Then, throwing back the covers of Harry’s bed, she threw the Cloak over both of them and cradled her husband in her arms as best she could before she Disapparated with the tiniest of pops.
They reappeared a bit awkwardly in another room of the facility, one with several video cameras mounted high on the walls. Harry had landed on top of her, pinning her arms beneath his body. She struggled out from under him and extracted her wand as quickly as she could so she could cast her All-Is-Well Charms on the cameras. It definitely wouldn't do for them to pick up anything not quite right, such as a foot laying somewhere it shouldn’t be.
“All clear,” Ginny whispered, barely holding in her giggles. “Let the mischief begin.”
Harry pulled off the Invisibility Cloak and threw it aside. He smirked at her, seeming to catch on to her mood. “Yes, let’s,” he agreed. “I think I like what you have in mind.”
He scooted closer and lifted his legs over hers so that he was essentially sitting on her lap. Then, he took her in his arms and kissed her thoroughly.
Ginny pulled away. “One more charm,” she said, her whisper bouncing around the room. She cast a Silencing Charm on the room as well as a few other privacy spells–including a Muggle-Repelling Charm. “That ought to do it. Now where were we?”
“I think right… about… here…” Harry murmured into her lips. His fingers began fumbling with the buttons on her blouse, making her skin tingle as the cloth fell away. She returned to favour and soon their clothes were strewn in a semi-circle around them.
Harry stopped kissing her. “Ginny, love, how I’ve missed you,” he murmured, gathering her into a fierce hug.
Taken by surprise, Ginny return his embrace, realizing she felt the same way. “I’ve missed you, too, Harry.”
They remained holding each other like this until Ginny’s back began to hurt from the strain of holding them both upright. “Shall we slip into the water?” she suggested.
Harry looked down at his pyjama trousers, which he had declined to shed. “I’m not going swimming in these,” he growled, “and we left my wand in my room.”
Ginny grinned at him in the darkness. “That can easily be fixed,” she said and with a flick of her wand, she transfigured his pyjamas into something suitable for getting wet; the tiny trunks just barely covered Harry’s modesty. “Oh, Harry,” she cooed, “you look simply stunning.”
“Get me into the pool, you wench!” he chuckled.
“Your wish is my command,” Ginny giggled. She slowly rose to her feet so Harry would have ample time to admire the view. He gave a low, appreciative whistle, one she hadn’t heard him do since before they’d had children. It sent ripples of happiness up her spine as she levitated him into the water, settling him gently on the steps. She joined him and they sat for a while with their arms around each other.
Then, Ginny asked, “Shall we go deeper?”
Harry furrowed his brow. “You know I can’t stand up.”
“Trust me?”
“Implicitly.”
“Come with me, then. Just let yourself float.”
She stood up and offered him her hand. He took it and allowed her to pull him off the steps. Without the floats his legs sank immediately, but Ginny quickly shifted to support him. When they were deep enough, she changed her hold so that Harry’s feet were touching the bottom. He clung to her, breathing deeply.
“Oh, Ginny, I love you,” he murmured.
“I love you, too, Harry.”
He let go with one arm and gently tugged at the tie to her bikini top at the back of her neck. “May I?”
“Oh, so polite! Of course you can!” A moment later, the tiny triangles of cloth floated away and Harry’s hand was skimming across her exposed skin. Ginny’s knees suddenly felt rubbery. It had been far too long since Harry had made her feel this way and every caress sent her body into ecstasies of passion. When Harry switched arms, she guided his hand lower on her body as she walked them over to the side of the pool where she propped him up. She had a little exploring of her own to do.
They took their time rediscovering each other, touching here, kissing there, fondling this, running fingers through that. Ginny lost track of time, she was enjoying herself so much.
“Ginny, what would you like me to do to you?” Harry suddenly asked.
Caught by surprise at the question her husband had often asked her in the past, she could only request one thing, “Can we be naughty?”
Harry grinned at her request, making her chuckle; apparently, he had his own idea of what “naughty” meant and apparently, she’d just given him permission to try something. “Your wish is my command,” he murmured huskily in her ear. She gasped when he added, “Now Mrs Potter, I think this particular naughty bit will require us to switch positions.”
They switched and Harry took a deep breath before submerging. A moment later, Ginny felt his lips graze her shoulder followed by the flick of his tongue as he moved slowly down her body. Tension mounted inside her as he found all her sensitive spots with his lips, his tongue and on occasion, his teeth. Each time he came up for air, his hands were busy exploring, keeping up her level of sensation. When at last he reached his goal Ginny let her head lull back against the side of the pool and unable to contain her ecstasy, she let out a low moan of pure satisfaction.
Harry surfaced, his expression mischievous. “Shall I do that again?” he asked as he fondled her.
All Ginny could do was nod. Harry submerged again and Ginny let go of the side of the pool. They floated together until Harry needed air and she moaned with the pleasure of his ministrations. Then she tested the strength of her knees and finding them able to hold them up, she brought them back to the side of the pool.
“My turn now,” she said and before he could protest that he wouldn’t be able to feel anything, she took a deep breath and began testing his nerves with kisses and caresses that moved ever lower down his body. She surfaced and gazed up at her husband. The smile on his face told her she was making him a happy man. She moved lower, paying attention to every scar, every bump, every bruise, every sensitive place she remembered, always following the faint line of black hair that divided Harry’s stomach and eventually disappeared into his trunks. Whenever she came up to get a breath, she was greeted with a look of distinct pleasure mixed with awe and she suspected that Harry was not only enjoying what she was doing to him, but was also discovering that his body had indeed recovered more than he thought.
She went back under water. Using the fingers of the hand that wasn’t helping to keep Harry against the wall, she began caressing him intimately through the cloth at his hips. A grin spread across her face as he responded to her and when she couldn’t hold her breath any longer, she surfaced, wondering what Harry’s expression would be.
She was rewarded richly when he grabbed her shoulders and hugged her to him. “I felt you, Ginny, I felt you!” he sobbed over and over and suddenly she was crying, too, huge, happy tears of relief that seemed to release the tension of some unanswered question.
Eventually, Ginny floated Harry back to the steps and they sat holding each other and talking quietly. Then Harry began to yawn and Ginny realized just how late, or early, it was.
“We need to go back,” she said and Harry agreed reluctantly.
Ginny levitated Harry back to their clothing. She then cancelled her spell on his pyjama pants, dried them both off with a flick of her wand, found her bikini top in the deep end of the pool, Vanished their wet spots on the pool deck and finally covered the two of them with Harry’s cloak. Just before she Disapparated, she pointed her wand at the security cameras, whispering, “Finite Incantatem.”
They landed on Harry’s bed a moment later. “Will you stay the rest of the night, my love?” he asked as they disentangled themselves from the cloak.
“As long as you promise to distract your guard long enough for me to escape under the cloak in the morning,” Ginny answered.
“I can think of something,” Harry yawned as Ginny slid under the covers and snuggled at his side.
“Good. Good night, Harry. Mischief Managed.”
Harry’s contented chuckle was the last thing Ginny heard.
*
0132 hours, 31 December 2020
A yawn escaped Healer Stilwell before he could stifle it, making his companion chuckle.
“Sorry,” the tired healer said from behind his hand. “I appreciate you calling me in, Roger.”
“First time any of our residents have tried anything like this,” the guard snickered, looking back at the screen where a lone couple was embracing in the middle of the therapy pool.
“This is the first time any of the residents have owned an Invisibility Cloak,” Healer Stilwell said, joining in. He yawned again. “This is actually a very good development in this patient’s recovery. I was beginning to wonder whether the Potters could become a normal married couple again. This is very good news indeed.”
“What do you recommend I write in the log?” Nigel asked, bringing a log page up on the security office’s computer.
Healer Stilwell tilted his head to the side as he considered the options. Finally, he said, “Write something like ‘authorized private use of facility pool’ and then email me with the pertinent details, CC-ing Director Webber, please. I’ll fill out the necessary paperwork and backdate it to the thirtieth. If he asks me about it, I’ll tell him the truth.”
Roger typed a note in the appropriate space and punched a couple of keys. The screen changed and he typed a short memo into the message space. “All done, Healer Stilwell,” he said with a smile.
The healer stifled another yawn. “Thank you. Have a quiet rest of the night. Call me when the Potters have vacated the room,” he said.
Roger tapped a box on his desk. “I will. The spell sensor you activated in the room will warn me when they leave. I’ve already shut off that third camera,” he said.
Healer Stilwell glanced up at the monitor labelled “Therapy Pool Room” and smiled when he saw only two of the three cameras showing an empty room. Happy New Year a little early, Harry and Ginny, he thought. He walked to the door. “Good night, then, Roger,” he said and left the security office, headed for the Transportation room to Apparate home. If this was an indication that Harry Potter was regaining sensation in his lower body, he predicted the new year would be a happy and memorable one for his patient, indeed.
*
0845 hours
Harry stared at his PT clipboard, gobsmacked at the additions Silvia had made to his exercise schedule. In addition to the twenty-odd exercises he always did in the mornings, she had added a new mat component of five exercises and designated an area of the PT room as his for the hour after his normal therapy time.
There was a note as well.
Harry,
On the following pages you will find the list of and directions for the additional exercises we talked about yesterday. I have reserved the mat area and adjacent equipment box (#HP10), bench and pulley system for your use during the hour after your normal morning session with me. I will be working with another patient during that time, so if you run into trouble or have questions, I’ll be around. You can also ask Mandy. She’ll be with you today, tomorrow and Sunday as we discussed.
In addition, if you wish to continue your therapy on your own in the afternoons and on weekends, you can repeat most of the exercises in your room–I’ve made notations on your list of the ones you won’t be able to do there because they require the pulley system. If you wish, we can talk about the proper way to do those exercises without it. When working by yourself, just Summon and Banish the equipment from your equipment box using the specialized spells below. The objects will not zoom through the facility as they would with normal Summoning and Banishing charms, but will appear in front of you as if they have Apparated.
I will caution you now: when working alone, please do not push yourself as hard as you did yesterday. You will only end up hurting yourself and I don’t think you want that.
Silvia
P.S. Your TENS unit is in your equipment box as well. Use it only in the PT room after you’ve finished your tasks. You’ll need to have me or one of the assistants hook it up for you: facility rules. If you feel it is helping you relax we can talk about modifying one for you to use in your room.
Harry turned the page and found the list of spells he could use from his room. He grinned when he discovered that Silvia had included a spell for conjuring ice bags and another for enlarging them to fit his lower body. The thought occurred to him that he might use the enlargement spell with other objects like heating pads. He’d have to ask.
Harry then read his list of exercises and had to smile because Silvia had listed exercises that used large marbles (to be picked up with his toes), small rubber rings and the skateboard in addition to the pulley system. Some of them actually sounded like fun! He decided he’d do everything in order, beginning with the mat exercises. Those completed, Harry slid onto the bench and then bent down to remove his trainers.
“How are you getting along?” a familiar voice asked. “Do you want any help?”
Harry looked up and smiled at his physiotherapist. “Thanks, Silvia, but no. I’m getting along quite well,” he answered.
“Good. I’ll come back to help you with the TENS unit when you’re done, then,” she said, turning to leave.
“Thanks,” he murmured. He opened his equipment box and took out a box of large marbles and two thin rubber rings. As instructed, he scattered five marbles inside the first ring he’d put on the floor and picked one up using the toes of his left foot. Smiling to himself when he managed to transfer it to the second ring, he went back for another. The movement was small, the marbles were slippery, but he knew he was on his way to helping himself walk out of The Groves when Healer Stilwell finally said he was ready.
*
0956 hours
An elegant long-eared owl flew through the window of The Burrow and landed next to Ginny’s plate. It held out the leg to which a tightly-rolled scroll of pale blue parchment was tied. She stifled a yawn as she untied it and handed the bird a piece of sausage before it flew away, not waiting for a reply.
“What is that you have there?” her mother asked as she brought over the kettle to refill the teapot.
Ginny scanned the parchment. “It’s the letter from the St Mungo’s Fundraising Chairwitch, Madam Offerman, acknowledging my agreement with Madam Nigel to help her organize the March fundraiser ball,” she answered.
“When did you agree to help St Mungo’s?” Mum asked. “I didn’t think you were interested in such charities.”
“I wasn’t until Harry was hurt,” Ginny admitted. “When he was attacked in the A and E, everything changed. I wrote an article for the Prophet, which Mr Dixon never published, outlining the unacceptable working conditions at the hospital. The morning after Harry’s operation, I called a meeting of the powers that be at St Mungo’s, the Auror Department, and The Groves because of my concern for Harry and the other patients at both facilities. Madam Nigel, the Director of the hospital, extracted the promise from me to help with this year’s fundraising activities in order to solicit the additional funds needed to cover all my demands for better staffing and working conditions.”
“And your letter from the chairwitch…”
“Contains the dates and times for the usual two balls plus the third gala to be held during the summer months. Would you like to read it?” Ginny asked.
Her mother held out her hand and Ginny passed the letter across the table to her. It took her only a moment to scan it. “Looks like you’ve committed yourself to some pretty serious speech-making,” she said, handing it back.
Ginny nodded. “It’s the least I can do to help the hospital,” she said. “I had a letter from the Accident and Emergency Department Head before Christmas thanking me for pressing the administration to reduce the length of the workday as well as providing some additional staff to relieve his staffing problems.”
She glanced at the letter. “I’m actually looking forward to helping out. I’ve been studying the advertising techniques the Harpies use to promote the team and I think some of them might work for the hospital. I’m also going to contact my former teammates to ask that they come and mingle with the patrons at the gala, maybe sign a few autographs, that sort of thing. It might even be good if I could get a few of the other owners or head coaches to make an appearance…” She trailed off, searching the kitchen with her eyes for a quill. Her mother reached into a drawer and came up with a battered self-inking one, which she handed to Ginny.
“Here you go.”
“Thanks,” Ginny said absently as she rehearsed her list of ideas. She quickly wrote everything down and then looked back up at her mother. “What do you think of inviting people to an auction?” she asked. “I was thinking that for the summer event maybe I could solicit some themed gift baskets, maybe some jewellery items, possibly some spa treatments and a three-day holiday for two somewhere exotic and then have people write down their bids for items. The highest bidder would win the item.”
“I think that would be an interesting thing to go to,” her mother said. “I’ve never heard of such a thing, but it sounds like fun. Would your father and I get an invitation?”
Ginny raised an eyebrow. “You’d be expected to pledge a certain amount at the end of the evening to sponsor the hospital,” she said warningly.
Her mother smiled. “One doesn’t get invited to such occasions without being expected to give generously at the end of the evening, Ginny. It just so happens that your father and I are looking for a worthy cause to sponsor and we’ve talked about how much we should give once we found the right charity. I only just realized that the right charity has been helping our family since the end of October.”
Ginny’s eyes widened as she understood where her mother was going with this. “You’re serious about this, aren’t you?” she asked incredulously.
“Ginny, your family witnessed what the St Mungo’s healers did for Harry. He would probably be dead if there hadn’t been qualified healers on staff to keep him alive the night he was brought in. While we waited in the corridors we watched the staff trying to cope with all sorts of patients, and right then and there, your father and I decided that if we were ever invited to or contacted about giving to St Mungo’s, we would. I reckon that’s my round-about way of telling you that we have set aside a generous gift for when we’re asked to give.”
Ginny sat where she was, feeling somewhat stunned. At last she found her voice. “Mum, thank you. I will see that you received invitations to all three events,” she said as she made several more notes at the bottom of her letter. She looked up, her brow furrowed. “Mum, why can you give now when you couldn’t twenty years ago?”
Her mother smiled. “It’s a little thing called children, Ginny. They seem to want shoes and clothes and toys and an education for an awfully long time.” She sounded a bit embarrassed as she added, “Now we don’t need to worry about those things and our vault at Gringotts isn’t as empty as it used to be. Does that make sense?”
Ginny smiled. “It does now.” She changed the subject. “Is the stationery still where it always was?” When her mother nodded, she stood and walked to drawer where it was kept and took out a few sheets. “I’ll let the chairwitch know I’m willing to meet her at her convenience and that I already have some suggestions,” she said as she began composing her note.
A few minutes later, Ginny stood up, calling, “Bats! Bats! I have a letter for you!”
There was a flurry of wings as Albus’ short-eared owl soared into the kitchen via the stairwell. The medium-sized owl came to rest on Ginny’s out-stretched arm. She tied her letter to his leg saying, “Take this to Madam Offerman at St Mungo’s, please, Bats. Wait for her to reply and come back directly.”
The brown and white owl gave a loud “Voo-hoo-hoo” hoot and sailed out the open kitchen window, its wings carrying it swiftly away from The Burrow. Ginny stood watching it until she could no longer see it.
“I never get tired of watching the owls,” she said wistfully.
Her mother came to stand next to her. “Neither do I, Ginny, neither do I.”
*
1642 hours
Harry tiredly pushed his chair down the corridor past the Transportation Room on his way back to his room to take his afternoon shower. His legs, back and hips ached from the additional torment Silvia had put him through, but despite the pain, he was feeling quite chipper, considering he’d only had half the amount of sleep last night that he usually had. The fact that Ginny had spent most of the wee hours of the morning snuggled against his side in his bed had a lot to do with his good mood. That, and the bit of intimate mischief the two of them had participated in…
“Hello, Harry,” a voice called, bringing Harry back from his ruminations. “You’re looking happy this afternoon. Looking forward to the New Year’s Eve celebrations in the dining room this evening?”
“Oh, hello, Healer Stilwell,” Harry said, hoping he didn’t sound as tired as he felt. “Yes, I am. Are you celebrating tonight, too?”
“No, not tonight, Harry,” the healer said, smiling. “I have nothing mischievous to celebrate, I’m afraid, even if it’s New Year’s Eve.”
Harry braked his chair hard enough to make it skid across the polished tile floor. “Wh-wh-what do you m-mean by that?” he stammered, suddenly feeling cornered.
Healer Stilwell inspected his stethoscope. “There are three security cameras in the therapy pool area,” he said without looking up. “Next time you and the missus are in there alone, please enchant all three. There’s a huge stack of paperwork to be completed every time the cameras detect something worth calling the physicians for in the middle of the night.”
Harry felt his cheeks and ears heat up and he knew his face was a spectacular shade of red. “You… you kn-know about l-last n-night?” he barely managed to ask.
“And I approved your use of the room, as well,” Healer Stilwell said, finally looking up. “I assume things went well for the two of you. I can’t think of any other explanation for your good mood. Even Silvia has mentioned it to me.”
Harry blinked. Had he been that transparent? “Are we in trouble?” he asked softly.
Healer Stilwell shook his head. “No, not this time, Harry. However, the next time you two decide you need to play after midnight, I request that you inform me so I can smooth the way for you. Is that too much to ask?” he asked.
Harry smiled, relieved that he and Ginny weren’t in much trouble. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said.
“Then enjoy the festivities tonight in the dining room, Harry. I’ll see you on Monday,” Healer Stilwell said. He patted Harry’s shoulder on his way past, leaving Harry to continue on his way while he marvelled at the fact that he had just been given permission to be intimate with Ginny again in the therapy pool!
Chapter 25: 25: Execution
Author's Notes: A/N: I must apologize for how messed up the timeline is in this chapter. Because of the multiple points of view needed to show what’s happening to all of the characters involved I needed to show linearly what was happening simultaneously within a period of one or two hours’ time. I hope you can forgive me for all the moving forward and backing up I did.
As always, I have some thank you wishes to express. First, to my pre-beta team of Jedi34, Mutt n Feathers, RebeccaRipple, Rosina Ferguson, and RSS, thank you for your comments and help with turning American railroading terms into their British equivalents. I also appreciate those of you who scolded me because I’d forgotten the children always put their trunks in their compartments rather than in a baggage car as Americans do. We (Rosina and I) finally came to an agreement that the Express most likely carried supplies and live animals which wouldn’t fare well through the Floo Network or by being translocated magically. Second, to my beta, Aggiebell, thank you for all you do to help me get my chapters ready for publication. You’re the best. Finally, to you, my readers, thank you for the many wonderful comments about the last chapter. I look forward to responding to your reviews of this chapter.
1115 hours, Sunday, 3 January 2021
Scorpius Malfoy leaned back in his seat and watched the scenery slide by as the Hogwarts Express chugged steadily northward out of London. At the moment, he was alone in his compartment, and for now that was fine with him; he needed the time alone to come to terms with the events of the last week. For the first time in his life, he was glad to be going back to school. The beginning of the holidays had been fun enough, but the attack on his father’s warehouse had so seriously spooked his parents that the atmosphere at Malfoy Manor had been tense and silent since the break-in had occurred. They had cancelled every appointment and activity–including their annual New Years celebration and Scorpius’ trip to Diagon Alley with his mates–and sealed the fireplaces and estate gates with maximum-security enchantments. His father had even conducted most of his business from the library while the repairs to the outer office were being made.
Scorpius sighed, letting the tension escape from his body and feeling sorry for himself to a certain extent; all that caution had taken its toll on him since he’d been forced to endure the last week alone in the mansion. It would be good to step back into the familiarity of Hogwarts and the established daily routine of lessons, homework and Quidditch.
The door to the compartment banged open as five other fourth year boys–two Ravenclaws, a Gryffindor, a Hufflepuff and one of Scorpius’ Slytherin roommates–came in, talking and joking amongst themselves. They fell haphazardly onto the benches, each greeting Scorpius in their own way.
“Hey there,” Scorpius managed to say. It was nice to have the company, he decided, even though he didn’t feel very talkative at the moment.
“How were your holidays?” a boy named Ben asked.
“Alright. Yours?” he answered.
“Pretty good, if you like being cooped up in a sick room most of the time,” Ben answered. “My little sister and brother both had Dragon Pox over Christmas and Mum wouldn’t let me go anywhere for fear I’d give it to someone.”
“You weren’t sick, were you?” Scorpius asked, edging away from Ben a few inches.
“Naw, I had the pox when I was ten. Mum was just being cautious.”
“Tough luck,” Scorpius responded and looked out the window again.
The other boys had settled in while the two were talking and now a boy named Evan asked, “Anyone up for Exploding Snap?” He had taken three packs of cards out of his bag and was waving them about.
“I’m in,” Ben and Scott said together, making the others laugh.
Evan looked at Scorpius. “You playing, mate?”
Shrugging, Scorpius slid down onto the floor with the others as he answered, “Sure.” Any distraction would be better than thinking about the week just passed.
“Sweet. You playing with me or Neal?”
“Neal. He’s not as annoying as you,” Scorpius joked half-heartedly as Evan gave him a look.
Evan handed out the cards and soon all six boys were competing to see whose eyebrows would be singed first.
Scorpius had just ignited his for the third time when the door to the compartment opened and a tiny Hufflepuff girl walked in.
“Erm, I’m looking for Scorpius Malfoy,” she squeaked as Ben’s cards exploded.
Scorpius raised his hand. “I’m him,” he said. “What’s up?”
“I have a note for you,” the girl said, holding out a small, tightly-rolled scroll.
Scorpius took it and set it on the floor beside his bag. He felt slightly suspicious about it and didn’t want to open it. “Thanks,” he said.
The girl eyed the scroll. “Erm, the man who gave that to me said to tell you to open it straight away and not to forget,” she said.
He picked up the scroll again. It made his fingers tingle a little. “All right, I’ll read it in a minute. Anything else?” he asked, setting it down again.
The girl shook her head as she glanced between Scorpius and the rest of his friends. Then, without further reply, she turned and scurried away, blushing furiously because Neal had smiled at her.
Scorpius picked up the scroll and turned it over in his fingers. He was almost afraid to open it, especially when he thought about what the girl had said, the man who gave it to me…
“What’s it say?” Scott asked, leaning over to inspect the scroll.
Shrugging off his apprehension as a by-product of the week just past, Scorpius broke the seal and began unrolling the parchment. As he did, the train seemed to lurch, the Exploding Snap cards all exploded at once and without warning, he felt the yank to his middle that signalled the activation of a Portkey. His surprised yelp was cut short as the Portkey wrenched him away from the train.
*
1129 hours
The distress signal from the Hogwarts Express arrived in the Situation Room just as Garrett Carmichael was thinking about going to lunch. The Auror Office had been very quiet all morning, so Garrett had been able to get the bulk of his parchment work caught up while he sat monitoring the specialized fireplaces. Sunday duty was a monotonous responsibility every Auror had to endure once a month, and this particular Sunday, that duty had fallen to Garret and a witch, Auror Mary Beth Pendergast.
Auror Pendergast looked up from the report she was writing as a bright silver polar bear bounded into the office. “That’s the Hogwarts Express driver’s Patronus!” she exclaimed, causing Garrett to turn around.
The bear opened its mouth and a deep bass voice said, “Hogwarts Express Distress Alert: A student has been kidnapped. Train will delay in Retford. Headmaster has been notified.”
Garrett and Auror Pendergast stared at the polar bear as it dissolved into mist. Then Garrett grabbed a clipboard from its place on the wall between the fireplaces and began reading aloud the procedures listed on a bright yellow piece of parchment.
“‘Contact Head Auror. Assemble Auror team(s) necessary for emergency.’” He stopped there and looked up at Auror Pendergast. “Which team is on call this weekend?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
Auror Pendergast consulted another clipboard. “Ron Weasley’s team of Bones, Boot, Carmichael, and Chambers,” she answered. She eyed him enviously. “Looks like you get to escape this monotony, Carmichael. Better call the team and have them meet you here.”
Garrett shook his head. “No, I want to meet the Express as soon as possible. I’ll have them meet me in the freight car of the train. That train is filled with children. We can’t take any chances. I’m calling Baker’s team as back-up. If anything, the extra Aurors can help the prefects maintain order,” he said, thinking out loud.
“Very well,” sighed Auror Pendergast. “I’ll stay here and contact Robards to see if he wants to meet you there or let Weasley handle the coordination.”
“Thanks,” Garrett said, and turning his back to her, he quickly composed a message for his Patronus to deliver to the ten other Aurors. A moment later, multiple eagle Patronuses left the office on their urgent mission.
It took only fifteen minutes for all the Aurors to assemble in the freight car of the Hogwarts Express. Garrett had arrived first and was pleased to see that both Baker and Weasley arrived within seconds of each other. Garrett briefed them and Weasley immediate Apparated to the front of the train to talk to the driver.
He returned a few minutes later looking grim. “Scorpius Malfoy is the student who was taken,” Ron reported. “Susan, would you go to the Prefects’ compartment, please? The Head Boy and Girl are with the student who delivered the Portkey to Master Malfoy. Apparently, the girl is so distraught they can’t understand a thing she’s saying. Get her calmed down enough to take her statement.
“Garrett, you and Brodie go to the last compartment in the first carriage. Interview the five fourth years who were riding with Scorpius Malfoy. It’s a mixed-house group of friends in that compartment. Terry, see if you can locate Mr and Mrs Malfoy. They must be notified of their son’s disappearance. If they ask you if their son’s disappearance has anything to do with the other matter, be honest with them and confirm the possibility. Answer any questions they have truthfully. The rest of you, fan out and see if anyone saw anything suspicious on the platform before the train left at eleven o’clock. Report back to me as soon as you have something. I’ll tell the driver he can resume the journey.”
The Aurors scattered. Garrett and Brodie followed Susan nearly all the way up the train, which had stopped on a siding at the back of the Retford goodsyard. When they reached the proper compartment, Garrett knocked on the door. It was opened by a scared-looking boy of about fifteen years of age.
“Hello, I’m Auror Carmichael and this is Auror Chambers. May we come in and have a word with you?” Garrett asked as he and Brodie held up their Auror badges.
The boy stepped aside to let them in and then closed and locked the door with a spell. Garrett smiled at him. “I understand you and your mates are scared and that’s perfectly understandable. Auror Chambers and I need your help to find Scorpius. What can you tell us about the moments leading up to the Portkey activating?”
The story was quickly told with the boys interrupting each other when one left out a detail another remembered. Finally, Garrett and Brodie closed their notebooks. “Thank you very much,” Brodie said. “You’ve been quite helpful.”
“How will our statements help you find Scorpius?” the boy called Neal asked.
“It gives us a place to start,” Brodie answered.
Garrett added, “Every statement helps us piece together exactly what occurred. You boys have been very helpful. We’ll let the headmaster know how cooperative you have been.” He and Brodie then bid the boys good-bye and returned to the freight car.
“What happened?” Ron asked as they walked in.
“It’s pretty straight-forward,” Garrett answered. “The Hufflepuff girl entered the compartment, interrupting the boys at their game of Exploding Snap. She asked for Scorpius by name and then gave him the parchment when he identified himself. When he didn’t open it right away, she insisted he do so. After she left, a boy named Neal reported that Scorpius unrolled the parchment enough for a boy named Scott to read a few words of the message inside.”
“What did it say?” Ron asked.
“Scott said it was something like, ‘your father has been warned.’” Garrett quoted, reading from his notebook.
“Apparently there was more,” Brodie added, “but Scott didn’t get the chance to read the rest because the Portkey activated. Neal said he and Scott tried to grab Scorpius’ robes, but his friend was taken too quickly.”
Ron ran a hand through his hair. “I’m glad he disappeared too fast for his friends to hold him back. Otherwise, we’d probably be notifying three sets of parents instead of only one.” He started pacing down the narrow aisle between the neatly-stacked boxes and animal cages. At length he stopped and looked at Garrett and the other Aurors. “I’m nearly convinced this is connected with that other investigation we’re conducting,” he said. “If Susan gets a good description of the person who gave the girl the scroll, I’m willing to bet it matches the perpetrator from the warehouse break-in and some of the other occurrences we’ve been looking into.”
“I never thought I’d say this, but poor Draco,” Susan said, shaking her head as she joined them. “I finally was able to get a good description from the first year Hufflepuff girl. Her name is Hattie Ross.”
Garrett and the others looked at her expectantly.
“She told me the man was with a woman dressed in black robes and a tall witch’s hat with a huge floppy brim. Hattie couldn’t see the witch’s face,” Susan said as she read through her notes.
“Did the witch say anything?” Ron asked.
“No, but Hattie thinks she saw the witch pointing her wand at the man,” Susan said.
“Imperius?” Brodie asked.
“That’s my guess. Hattie said his voice sounded funny, like he was being told what to say.”
“Go on,” Ron said, “What else did Hattie say?”
“Her description of the man was fairly good. She told me he had dirty blond hair, brown eyes and very scruffy beard. She remembered that he wore stained blue robes that smelled like old people and that she didn’t want to get too near him. She also told me that he was rather short and very thin.”
While she had been speaking, a slow grin had spread across Ron’s face. When she finished he said excitedly, “We know what the male suspect looks like now. That’s the same description Draco Malfoy gave me of the bloke who broke into his warehouse. I think if we check with the data we’ve gleaned from the memories we’ve been viewing, the two descriptions will match the individual we’re seeking.”
“You think the three cases are related?” Garrett asked.
“I do. Let’s get back to the office,” Ron said. He looked at the other Aurors who had been filtering in. “We’ll meet in the big conference room in fifteen minutes.”
*
1345 hours
In the Potter-Weasley compartment of the Hogwarts Express, Lily sat holding Rose as the older girl sniffled. Her brother Al stood at the window staring at the goodsyard the train had pulled into. Rose’s brother, Hugo, had taken to wearing a circle in the floor near the door with his pacing, and James had gone to find Kendra and some of the other students from their year. Lily was glad he'd left, because he was just as restless as Hugo and his fidgeting had been really annoying.
“I’m being silly,” Rose hiccupped. “Scorpius doesn’t even know I exist, and here I am crying my eyes out because he’s been kidnapped.”
Lily fumbled for her handkerchief and handed it to her cousin. “I’m scared for him, too, Rose,” she murmured.
“Yeah, but you aren’t blubbering like a baby like I am,” Rose said. She blew her nose and mopped at her eyes again. “Who do you think took him?”
“I don’t know. I just hope whoever it is doesn’t hurt him,” Albus said without turning around and Rose burst into fresh tears. The two girls huddled together until the train started moving again.
*
1430 hours
A break in the case! Ron thought as he waited for the rest of the Aurors to assemble in the big conference room. Just a few minutes ago he’d sent a Patronus message to Healer Stilwell. The Healer had sent one back agreeing to the abandonment of the plan to capture the Matron with Ron as bait. If he had to admit it, Ron was rather relieved at the turn of events.
Ron looked at his watch. Seven minutes… Enough time to message Hermione, he thought as he grabbed a quill, some ink and a blank piece of parchment.
Hermione,
The plan to capture the suspect–the one I told you about the other day–has been scrapped. Scorpius Malfoy has been kidnapped from the Hogwarts Express and the team thinks that we will capture the prime suspect when we rescue Draco’s son. I repeat… the other plan has been cancelled.
Ron
He rolled up the parchment, sealed it and strode over to the communications fireplace in one corner of the room. Strictly speaking, individual Aurors were not supposed to use the fireplace for personal business, but at one time or another everyone in the office made quick Floo calls home. This was one of those times, and the only thing Ron was going to do was hand Hermione the scroll.
He lit the fire, threw in a pinch of Floo Powder and stuck the scroll in his teeth. “Her-ione?” he called around the parchment once his head had been transported to Weasel’s Keep.
“Coming, Ron.” His wife knelt before him and took the scroll with a laugh. “You’re silly, you know that?”
Ron smiled. “You know me,” he said, letting his affection for his wife colour his voice. “Hey, I have no idea when I’ll get home. I’m waiting for the others to get here. Don’t wait up for me.”
Hermione sighed. “Be careful, dear. I love you,” she said.
“I love you, too. I’ll send word when I can,” he promised. He felt someone tap his shoulder. “Gotta go.” Abruptly, he pulled his head from the fireplace and turned to greet the other Aurors.
*
1437 hours
Hermione watched the green flames die away before she opened Ron’s message. As she read what he’d written, her body relaxed until she felt almost normal; she hadn’t realized how worried she was over Ron’s mission until the anxiety was removed. Sighing with relief, she sank onto a pouf and reread the note.
Oh, that poor boy! Asteria must be devastated, she thought. I do hope they find him quickly and that he’s not been harmed…
*
1624 hours
James stood with Kendra in the corridor outside her compartment. They’d been there for over an hour just holding each other and not saying much. It didn’t feel right to engage in the passionate snog they’d started on the platform; it didn’t seem right under the circumstances. Besides, there would be ample time and more than enough broom cupboards to explore once they reached Hogwarts. They were content to wait because the pall of uncertainty, which had fallen over the train when Scorpius Malfoy’s kidnapping had been discovered, certainly hadn’t lifted.
James had chosen to sit with his family rather than Kendra at the beginning of the journey because it was the polite thing to do, but as soon as the train had slowed and finally stopped, he’d gone in search of his girlfriend. Not wanting to share the same space with her sister and her friends, the two had left Kendra’s compartment in the middle of the train to study the view on that side of the carriage. It was a good place to watch the drama unfold, too, as the journey to Hogwarts resumed. James knew something serious, other than engine trouble, was going on when he recognized several Aurors from his dad’s team going from compartment to compartment. One of them had confirmed just a few minutes ago that it was Scorpius Malfoy who was missing.
Kendra looked up at him. “Who would do such a thing? Why would they do it in the first place?” she asked.
James didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, heaving a frightened sigh, he replied, “Last summer my dad told me about some of the things that went on during the Second War. He said I was old enough to know because we’d cover that period in History of Magic this year.”
“What did he tell you?” Kendra asked.
“One of the things the Death Eaters did to silence out-spoken parents was to kidnap their children from the Express when they went home for holidays,” James answered.
“That’s barbaric!” Kendra exclaimed indignantly.
“Yeah, it is, but I know it’s true. I know one of the people who was taken and why.”
“You do?”
“I think you might know of her, too. She’s Luna Scamander, that naturalist who came to speak to our Care of Magical Creatures class last spring. Remember?”
Kendra chuckled. “I do remember. I thought she was brilliant,” she said. “So many of our classmates didn’t, but she has that spacey Ravenclaw aura about her that my Aunt Mary gets sometimes.”
“O-K,” James said elongating the letters. He glanced down at Kendra and then back at the scenery slipping past. “Anyway, she was in my mum’s year and her father was a staunch supporter of my dad’s cause, writing pro-Harry Potter articles in the magazine he printed.”
“The Quibbler? I remember reading about that before Christmas in our history book.”
“Yeah, well, the Death Eaters didn’t like him printing that stuff, so they took his daughter to teach him a lesson…” James let his sentence trail off, not really wanting to finish it.
Kendra finished it for him. “And you think that whoever kidnapped Scorpius did it to silence or scare his parents?”
James nodded. “I do.”
“Why?”
“I think it has something to do with the people who hurt my dad. I heard him and my Uncle Ron talking over the hols. You know how adults talk when they don’t think you’re listening but you really are.”
Kendra nodded knowingly. “So what did they say?”
“They were talking very quietly, but I think Scorpius’ dad is involved somehow. It made my dad angry when Uncle Ron mentioned Mr Malfoy. Dad made Uncle Ron swear that he’d not reveal something and my uncle agreed. Made me wonder…” James shook himself. “Then, last Sunday morning, Uncle Ron had to leave abruptly to investigate a fire in a warehouse that turned out to belong to Mr Malfoy.”
“That’s not good.”
“It wasn’t. He came back several hours later and immediately took my dad out to my grandfather’s shed. Albus and I tried to eavesdrop on their conversation, but there were enough privacy charms on the building for an army,” James said, remembering how curious he’d been.
Kendra pushed her hair away from her face with the hand that wasn’t around James’ waist. “I never thought I’d say this, but I really don’t want anything to happen to Scorpius,” she said with a sigh.
James smiled. “He may be a rival Chaser, and we may joke about wanting something bad to happen to the Slytherins before a Quidditch match, but lots of people like Scorpius–my brother included–so I sort of feel scared for him,” he admitted.
“Me, too, James,” called a voice from their left.
James and Kendra turned towards the voice to find Rose Weasley standing just inside the door leading to the next car back. She advanced up the corridor and came to stand with them at the window.
“We’re about an hour out of Hogsmeade. You’d better come back and put on your school robes, James,” she said.
James hugged Kendra one more time, stealing a quick kiss on the lips as he pulled away, making her giggle. “I’d better go. I’ll wait for you on the platform and we’ll get a carriage together,” he promised.
Kendra smiled as she turned towards the door to her compartment. “All right. See you in a bit,” she said, and with a little wave, disappeared behind the door.
James sighed and followed Rose back to where their families were waiting for them.
*
Earlier, 1314 hours at Malfoy Manor
“Draco, there’s someone at the front gate,” Asteria called as a soft, melodious chime echoed through the rooms of Malfoy Manor. “Shall I send Mabel to see who it is?”
“No, I’ll go down. I still have my coat on,” he answered, getting up from his desk chair where he’d been perusing a stack of mail after returning from seeing Scorpius off to school.
He was surprised that someone was at the front gates. For years now, the only visitors the Malfoy family had were those who came via the Floo, and then only when invited. Quickly buttoning his coat and donning a Muggle fedora, Draco exited the house by the front door and slogged his way through the ankle-deep snow down the lane to the gate.
“Mr Malfoy?” a voice called out when Draco was within earshot. It seemed vaguely familiar, perhaps belonging to someone from Draco’s past. “Draco Malfoy?”
“Yes, it is I,” Draco answered stiffly. He came to a stop several feet from his side of the gate and stared warily at the lone figure standing on the other side. “Whom may I ask is calling?”
“Terrence Boot, Auror Terrence Boot,” the man answered. “I would like to speak to you and your wife on a matter of importance.”
The word “Auror” was like a cold fist slamming into Draco’s middle. He inhaled sharply, but managed to keep his composure. “I have done nothing wrong. My house arrest was lifted fifteen years ago. Why should I let you in?” he asked suspiciously. “And how do I know you’re not a reporter? We still get a few of those trying to dredge up ancient history.”
“I’m here on official Auror business, Mr Malfoy,” the man answered. A hand holding a wallet slid through the bars of the gate. It flipped the wallet open to reveal a shiny shield-shaped metal object on one side and a piece of heavy parchment on the other. “Will this help?” the man asked.
Draco put on his reading glasses and stepped forward enough to read the writing on the parchment and the badge. “Thank you,” he said, straightening up, satisfied that the man on the other side of the gate was who he said he was–a Ravenclaw from Draco’s own year. He’d seen enough of these badges over the years to recognize a real one… and this one was genuine. “Now what can I do for you, Auror Boot?” he asked as he put his glasses away.
“If you’ll let me in, I’ll tell you,” Auror Boot replied.
Knowing he wasn’t likely to get more information than this, Draco raised his wand and opened the small door in the left side of the main gate, allowing Auror Boot to step through. The door sealed itself with a soft clang as Draco asked the Auror to follow him up to the house.
Asteria was standing on the front steps when the two approached the house. “Welcome to Malfoy Manor,” she said graciously. “Please, come inside where it’s warm.”
“Thank you, Mrs Malfoy,” Auror Boot said and they went inside.
Once Mabel had taken Auror Boot’s cloak, Draco performed the introduction. “This is Auror Terrance Boot, Asteria.”
Asteria suddenly looked uncomfortable. “I am sorry to be rude, Auror Boot, but whatever business you have with us must be conducted here in the entrance hall. We do not use the drawing room, which is where we would ordinarily receive visitors.”
The Auror shuffled his feet, looking ill at ease. “Is there somewhere we can sit down, madam? I’m afraid the news I bring is somewhat upsetting,” he said quietly.
Asteria threw a startled glance at Draco and he stepped forward and put an arm around his wife’s waist. “If you don’t mind, there’s a table in the kitchen we can use,” he said, and his wife nodded, suddenly looking quite afraid.
“That will be fine,” Auror Boot said. “Which way?”
Draco led his wife and the Auror towards the kitchen where two of their house-elves had started preparations for dinner. “Leave us, please,” he ordered softly. The elves obeyed, quickly going to their quarters through a door on the opposite side of the room. Asteria immediately went to the cooker and picked up the kettle, taking it to the sink to fill it with water.
“Now what is so pressing that you came in person to tell us?” Draco asked the Auror as they sat at a table the family usually reserved for informal family breakfasts.
Auror Boot sighed. “At approximately a quarter past twelve this afternoon, your son, Scorpius, was kidnapped via Portkey from the Hogwarts Express,” he said as Asteria took the chair next to Draco.
Asteria let out a strangled wail and collapsed against Draco. He held her as she sobbed and a rage he hadn’t felt in years began to fester within him.
“What do you know?” he asked Auror Boot through clenched teeth.
The Auror told them about a charmed note and what little was known about the wizard who had coerced a first year into delivering it to Scorpius. At the end of the recitation, Auror Boot asked, “Do you know of anyone who might have wanted to scare you for any reason?”
Draco closed his eyes, pictures of the burning office at the warehouse flashing across his eyelids. “There is at least one, maybe two,” he said slowly.
“What would be the reason these people would want to scare you?” Auror Boot asked.
“A few weeks ago I gave Harry Potter the address of a warehouse that might be connected to a case he and Ronald Weasley are investigating,” Draco said softly.
At this, Asteria raised her head from his shoulder and asked, “Is that why you think the warehouse was broken into and you were attacked?”
Keeping his eyes on Auror Boot, whose eyes were alert but his posture relaxed in his chair, Draco answered her, “Yes, Asteria. I’m sure of it.”
“Why does every nice thing you try to do blow up in your face?” she asked, pulling away. “You were only trying to help.” The kettle whistled and she walked over to the cupboard where they kept their everyday tea set and busied herself making tea as Draco answered her.
“I suppose it’s my fate, Asteria. I spent so many years being an obnoxious git that now that I’m trying to atone for my misdeeds it’s all coming back to haunt me,” he said wearily.
“That doesn’t make sense,” Auror Boot said, “at least not with the group of criminals we think are behind your son’s kidnapping. They’re led by a particularly vicious witch who will stop at nothing and think nothing of getting rid of those who impede her goals.”
“And you think that because Draco gave your office the address, they’re trying to send him a message of some sort?” Asteria asked as she set the tea tray on the table and poured tea into three cups.
Auror Boot nodded as he accepted his cup. “Auror Weasley is nearly positive, and he’s sent me to stay with you if you’d like the company. If the kidnappers follow the typical pattern, you’ll hear from them within twenty-four hours. Would you like me to remain in the house with you?”
Draco looked at his wife. She shrugged. “What form of communication would they use?” he asked.
“Most likely an owl, but some Banish their messages so they’re untraceable,” Auror Boot replied.
“And if you didn’t remain and we receive the kidnappers’ message, what would we need to do?”
“Just contact the Auror Office and tell the Auror on duty you’ve had a communication from the kidnappers.”
Draco glanced at Asteria again. She indicated the door with an almost imperceptible inclination of her head. He covered the hand that wasn’t holding her cup as he said, “I think we’ll be all right, Auror Boot.” He stood up and so did the Auror. “We’ll be in touch if we receive anything from the kidnappers.”
“Very well. We’ll keep you apprised if we hear anything,” Auror Boot said. Mabel brought his cloak into the kitchen. “I can see myself out,” he said as he took it with a small smile for the elf. She curtseyed and scurried away.
“I’m sorry, but I’ll need to escort you,” Draco said as Mabel brought their cloaks. “The protective enchantments prevent anyone entering or leaving the estate without Asteria or myself present.”
“Would you like to use the Floo Network?” Asteria asked, stopping the men. “It will be warmer than walking all the way to the gates.”
“Thank you, madam,” Auror Boot said. “Someone from my office will be in contact, then.”
They walked over to the kitchen fireplace and Asteria waved her wand at it, opening the Network for Auror Boot. He bowed to her and nodded stiffly to Draco. Then, in a burst of green flame, was gone. Asteria closed the connection before she turned her teary-eyed face to him.
“What are we going to do, Draco?” she asked tremulously.
“I don’t know, sweetheart.” He folded her into his embrace. “The only thing we can do, wait.”
*
1220 hours, 3 January 2021
The Portkey dropped Scorpius into darkness so complete he couldn’t have seen the tip of his nose if he tried to look at it. Disoriented, his feet slammed violently onto a rough, slippery surface, the impact causing his knees to buckle so that he immediately fell over. He skidded backwards, finally coming to rest in a puddle of water when his head hit a wall. To his horror, he was immediately yanked upwards by his ankles until he was suspended in mid-air. He hung there, slowly revolving in place, too scared to scream until the blood rushed to his head and he blacked out.
It was much lighter in his prison when he regained consciousness. Although everything was still upside down, Scorpius was able to see his surroundings and what he saw terrified him even more than the unexpected Portkey journey had.
The room he was in was tiny, its three walls, floor and ceiling all carved from roughly hewn rock and chained to the back wall was a man who was covered in blood and appeared to be dead. Scorpius clapped a hand over his mouth and bit back a scream of terror, twisting his body so that it spun just enough to move him away from the awful sight.
Oh Merlin! Where am I? he thought as he squeezed his eyes closed to shut out the awful sight. It didn’t work… the image seemed to be imprinted on the backs of his eyelids.
His body rotated a little more. When he felt brave enough, Scorpius opened his eyes and found himself looking at the fourth wall. It was open to a larger chamber, but blocked by bars like those of an animal cage. In one corner was an access door, also made of bars.
The man behind him suddenly bellowed. Scorpius jumped at the sound, which caused his body to rotate again. Now he could see both the bars and the back wall and as the man continued to scream a shadowy figure appeared at the bars and raised a wand.
“Shut it, you!” the figure yelled and without warning, flicked the wand. A spell shot from its tip, hitting the man in the chest. The victim let out a blood-curdling shriek. Scorpius put his hands over his ears.
“Take it out! Make it stop!” the man pleaded over and over while the figure at the bars laughed cruelly.
Scorpius’ movement must have caught the figure’s attention for the figure at the bars lifted the spell and walked towards the door to the cage. It opened the door and walked in, coming to stop in front of the revolving boy.
“I see you’re awake,” the cruel voice said, sounding amused. “I’ll make sure Matron knows. She’ll be delighted her latest guest is conscious. Crucio!”
The spell took Scorpius completely by surprise, causing him to scream as fire ripped through his every nerve. He tried to curl up in a ball, but he couldn’t; gravity prevented the movement so that the only thing he could do was twist about in agony.
After an interminable amount of time, the curse was lifted. Scorpius hung there, gasping and shaking and wondering why he was here in this cave instead of on the Hogwarts Express.
Help me! Scorpius pleaded silently. Help me, Father! I’m scared! I don’t know where I am! His next thought brought a fresh wave of sorrow and terror. Do Dad and Mum know I’m here?
And as the figure stowed its wand and walked over to the door, Scorpius gave into the stinging and burning behind his eyes and wept in silent despair.
Chapter 26: 26: Torment
Author's Notes: Just a quick note to say thank you to my pre-beta team of Jedi34, Mutt n Feathers, RebeccaRipple, Rosina Ferguson and RSS. They’re always willing to let me know what is needed to make this story its best. My other thank you goes to Aggiebell, my beta. She found lots of places to put commas where I decided I hadn’t needed them this time round! Thanks for that!
0720 hours, Monday, 4 January 2021
A long sigh escaped him as he leaned back in his chair, put his feet up on his desk and closed his eyes, momentarily giving in to the fatigue created by the tension in the Auror Office. He was beyond weary, almost bordering on exhaustion, but something kept him here. He felt completely discouraged and was beginning to doubt his ability to head this investigation, yet deep down he knew there was still hope…
Then guilt flooded his very being and he began second-guessing himself. Had he acted quickly enough after the distress alert came in? Had his Aurors missed any important clues when he’d finally sent them to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters four hours after the train had left the station? Had he and the others in the conference room who were reviewing the witnesses’ statements missed something important? Were the Aurors doing all they could to protect those involved? Apparently not.
So much was going wrong with this case, just because one crazy and dangerous woman wanted revenge for something that had happened nearly twenty years ago. The thing was, the prime suspect was making it bloody hard to close the case once and for all because she was such a slippery character. Three months ago, Harry had been so completely certain his raid would succeed in capturing the Matron that he’d gone on the mission himself. That had been such a grave mistake. The murders and the deliberate maiming of an innocent teenager that followed could have been prevented. True, the capture of one of the Matron’s pseudo-accomplices had given them the breakthrough they needed, but still, what had they accomplished with the information they’d gleaned from him and the two other suspects? Absolutely nothing! It had taken a tip from a civilian to find the location of the Matron’s next hideout and again, just when the Aurors were certain they would capture her, she slipped through their fingers only to hurt the informant’s family.
When will it all end? Ron wondered, not for the first time since he’d taken on the responsibility of heading the investigation.
He knew he had to tell Harry about the Scorpius Malfoy kidnapping, because he knew this was no coincidence; there were just too many fingers pointing to fact that the Matron was trying to impress upon Draco and the Aurors that she meant to hurt anyone who stood in the way of her goal and wouldn’t come quietly when and if the law ever caught up with her and her associates.
Ron opened his eyes and glanced at the clock. It was early, but he knew it wouldn’t be too hard to track down Harry at The Groves. He would tell his friend and then go home to Hermione and a few hours’ rest as Deputy Director Robards had suggested to him an hour ago.
A few minutes later, he stuck his head into Robards’ office. The Deputy Head Auror looked up from a parchment he was scanning, his ever-present cup of coffee poised halfway to his mouth. He raised an eyebrow at Ron’s intrusion. “Didn’t I tell you to go home an hour ago?” he asked.
Ron nodded tiredly. “Yeah, you did… erm, I’m leaving now to make a report to Harry and then go home for a few hours,” Ron said. “If you can’t find me at The Groves, send the message to Weasel’s Keep.”
“All right,” Robards agreed. “I’ll let you know if anything comes in. When will you be back?”
“Noon,” Ron replied, and receiving an approving nod, left the Auror Office for the Atrium.
He found Harry in the dining room of The Groves having an early breakfast with Brian Nelson. It wasn’t the ideal situation, but Ron knew that eventually, Brian would learn of the kidnapping. Ron decided the boy might as well know the details rather than read speculation and misquotes from certain factions still in the employ of The Daily Prophet.
“Hey there, Ron! What brings you out here so early?” Harry asked, sounding happily surprised. He gestured to the empty chair opposite Brian. “Sit down, sit down. You look like you could use a good meal.”
Ron sat down gratefully, greeting Brian as he did so. A waitress brought a plate identical to Harry and Brian’s meals: sausages, fried eggs, toast, and fried tomatoes. Ron eagerly tucked into his meal and the three ate in silence for a time before Harry said apprehensively, “You didn’t come all the way out here just to have breakfast with us, did you?”
Ron put down his fork and scrubbed a hand wearily over his face. “No, Harry, I didn’t,” he admitted. He sighed loudly before saying, “Blimey, there’s no good way to say this… Harry, Brian, yesterday afternoon, Scorpius Malfoy was kidnapped via Portkey from the Hogwarts Express.”
Brian’s fork clattered to the table. “How… how is that possible?” he asked, sounding shocked. “I’ve always thought the Express was safe.”
“Usually, it is, Brian,” Ron said, glancing at Harry who was nodding in agreement. “However, sometimes the people who go to the platform prior to the train’s departure don’t have the best of intentions and they coerce unsuspecting children into delivering messages they shouldn’t.”
“Is that what happened?” Harry asked.
“As far as I know, yes,” Ron replied and he gave his friends an abbreviated report of the investigation so far.
When he was done, Brian said, “As much as I don’t like Scorpius, I really hope he doesn’t become one of those people’s experiments.” He patted the large wheel of his chair. “I wouldn’t wish this on anybody.”
“None of us do,” Harry agreed as Brian’s therapist, Melissa, strode up to the table.
“Good morning, Brian! Why the long face?” she asked.
“We were discussing the Malfoy kidnapping,” Ron informed her as both Brian and Harry hastily finished their meals.
“I just read about that in the paper,” Melissa said quietly. “Horrible thing to do to a young person. I hope the people who did it get caught soon.” She eyed Brian carefully. “You all right?”
Brian sighed and scratched the back of his head. “Yeah, I am. It just makes me so angry those people keep hurting innocent people,” he said fervently.
Harry laid a hand on Brian’s wrist, making the young wizard look at him. “Brian, the police are doing all they can to find Scorpius. Investigations like this take time, just like missing person searches take time when the rescue workers don’t know where to look,” he said. He caught Ron’s eye, giving him a sympathetic glance. Ron was grateful that Harry understood.
“Yeah, I know,” Brian said as he pushed his chair away from the table. “I still don’t have to be happy about how long it’s taking.” Ron couldn’t have agreed more. “See you at lunch, Mr Potter.”
Both Ron and Harry bade him good-bye. Then Harry asked, “Is there someone with Draco and Asteria?”
“Terry was there yesterday for about an hour, but he said they wanted to be alone,” replied Ron. “There’s no one with them now that I know of.”
“Not even Narcissa?” Harry asked, frowning.
“No. Terry didn’t see anyone except a couple of house-elves,” Ron replied.
Harry’s expression became resolute. “I’m going to contact Ginny and see if she’ll take me to see Draco. No one should have to wait out something like this alone,” he said.
Ron couldn’t agree more. “That’s a good idea, Harry,” he said. He tried to suppress a yawn, but failed miserably.
“You going back on duty soon?” Harry asked.
“I told Robards I’d be back at noon,” Ron said, yawning again.
“Then go home,” Harry ordered with a smile.
Ron stood. “I will, Harry. I’ll walk you as far as the Transportation Room.”
Harry nodded and the two left the dining room.
*
0810 hours
“Ginny! Are you home still?” Harry’s voice carried to her across their bedroom.
Ginny walked out of their en-suite fastening a belt around her waist. “Harry? What on earth are you doing calling me at this hour?” she asked, coming to stand in front of the grate. “Aren’t you supposed to be getting ready for Silvia?”
“You look great, sweetheart,” Harry said with that endearingly lopsided smile she adored.
“Thanks,” she replied as she crouched before the fire. Her next thought was voiced aloud, “What do you want? You only give me that look when you want something.”
Harry chuckled. “You know me too well, Ginny.” His remark made her smirk. “Erm… what I want is for you to take the day off and drive me to Malfoy Manor.”
Ginny’s eyebrows shot towards her hairline. “Why? Oh!” she sputtered, remembering the broadcast on WWN this morning about the kidnapping. “Do you think they’ll let us in?”
“It’s worth a try,” Harry said. “Ron said Terry was with them the first hour or so, but no one is waiting with them now, not even Narcissa. I really don’t think they should be alone.”
Ginny nodded. “I agree. Give me a few minutes to call in a few favours and get someone else to interview Puddlemere’s head coach.” She stood up, but thought of something else so she knelt again. “Would it be a good idea to pack an overnight bag?”
“Wouldn’t hurt,” Harry replied. “I’m not expecting the Malfoys to invite us to stay, but I don’t think your parents would mind putting us up if we arrived on their doorstep late in the evening. I’ll wait here while you make your arrangements.”
“Thanks, dear,” Ginny said and left her bedroom with a pop!
It took only a quarter hour to cancel her appointments and find her friend Amy. The other Quidditch reporter gladly took on the opportunity to converse with Oliver Wood in the Puddlemere front offices. Finally, Ginny was ready and she quickly called Harry back.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can, Harry. This will be the first time I’ve tried flying the van any distance longer than a couple of miles,” she confessed. She couldn’t help smiling as she added, “Keep your fingers crossed George’s illegal Invisibility Booster works better than the one on the Anglia. I can only imagine the nest of Doxies we would stir up if it failed.”
Harry smiled at her. “I will. Come find me in the PT Room. I’ll be packed and ready to go, but I still want to get a few minutes in on the leg machines.”
Grateful that her husband was taking so well to his strengthening exercise routine, she bid him good-bye. Then, grabbing her bags and a short driving cape, she locked up the house and headed for the garage.
The flight to the lane leading to The Burrow went without incident and she made good time, although her landing was a bit wobbly because of the unevenness of the snow-covered ground. The van stayed upright, however, and in another ten minutes she was pulling up to the portico of The Groves.
Harry greeted her when she walked through the front doors. “I finished faster than I thought I would,” he said. “Healer Stilwell and Silvia have given me a list of exercises to do while I’m away.” He patted his bag, grinning widely. “I even have my skateboard, so I’ll have to promise Asteria that I won’t try to ride down her banisters.”
“I see you’ve been watching some of the extreme sport programs from America on the telly,” Ginny chuckled. “She’ll be relieved. Let me sign you out and we can be on our way,” she added.
“I signed myself out,” Harry smirked, “so let’s go.”
He seemed almost eager to be going, so she picked up his bag and followed him out to the van where he quickly secured his chair and they settled in for the hour’s drive to Malfoy Manor.
*
0909 hours
When the kitchen fireplace at Weasel’s Keep flared green and disgorged her husband, Hermione put down her teacup, briefly closed her eyes, and breathed a silent sigh of relief. He looked tired and a little bit startled to see her.
“I’m so glad you’re home, Ron,” she said, going to him and pulling him into a hug. “How long are you home for?”
“I go back at a quarter to twelve,” Ron mumbled. He yawned hugely. “I’m going straight to bed. Don’t bother with breakfast or lunch because I ate with Harry and Brian at The Groves.”
Hermione smiled. “Good. Ginny called to tell me she’s flying the van to Ottery St Catchpole to pick up Harry. They’re going over to Malfoy Manor to be with Draco and Asteria. I’m glad you told him,” she said as they trudged up the stairs to their bedroom.
“No one should be alone like that,” Ron said. They entered their bedroom and Hermione flicked her wand at the heavy drapes to close them as her husband continued, “You didn’t have to come up with me.”
“No one should be alone at a time like this,” Hermione said softly. She stepped over to where Ron was standing and began unbuttoning his shirt. “I’ve taken the day off. I could use the rest, too. I’ve been worried about you.”
Ron grabbed her wrists and guided her arms around his neck. “No one should be alone… ever,” he said. “What did I ever do to be lucky enough to have you for my wife?”
Hermione stood up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “You asked,” she said simply. “Now let’s get some rest.”
They lay down together and Hermione snuggled against her husband’s side. A moment later, the room was filled with the soft, familiar snores she’d grown to think of as music. Before she closed her own eyes, she set her wand to wake them at half-past eleven. Then, with a contented sigh, she, too, succumbed to sleep.
*
1145 hours
For the second time in two days, the Intruder Alert enchantment on the front gates announced someone’s arrival at Malfoy Manor. However, instead of chiming softly as it had when Auror Boot had brought the news of Scorpius’ kidnapping, the charm sounded like a gong through the silent house. It signalled the presence of something very large or a large number of people gathered at the gates. The sound reverberated through the rooms and corridors, making its occupants wonder what was waiting for them at the gate. Had the press caught wind of the kidnapping and come en-mass expecting a news conference? Draco wanted none of it and wished people would just leave him and Asteria alone.
Their house-elf, Mabel, appeared in the library where Draco and Asteria had taken refuge. Auror Boot had told them that, most likely, the kidnappers would send an owl with a ransom note within the first twenty-four hours rather than sending a messenger. It was now eighteen hours since the Portkey had activated, and as the minutes ticked by on the grandfather clock in the corner of the library, Draco and Asteria clung together.
“Master, there is an enormous metal box on wheels at the gate,” the house-elf squeaked. “Is yous wanting to let it in?”
Draco sighed. “Is anyone inside it?” he asked, suspecting that someone had borrowed a Muggle vehicle of some sort to smuggle in more than one reporter.
“Yes, Master!” the elf answered breathlessly. “It spoke when Mabel asked what it was doing here!”
“Did the people inside tell you who they were?” Draco asked with not a little trepidation.
Mabel’s eyes grew even wider than they usually were. “It’s Harry Potter, sir!” she squeaked in awe. “And, and Mrs Potter, too.”
Draco exchanged questioning glances with Asteria. What are the Potters doing here? he asked her silently. His wife lifted her shoulders in an elegant shrug and seemed to relax a little. Draco turned back to Mabel. “Very well. Please open the gates. The Potters can leave their machine in the drive in front of the house,” he directed, wondering why on earth they were using a Muggle vehicle… unless…
Ten minutes later, the front doors were opened wide to admit Harry and Ginny Potter. Draco and Asteria had discretely watched the van’s progress up the drive from the library window. They had seen Ginny Potter driving and were curious as to why she was driving and not Harry. Then they had watched in fascination as the side door opened and Harry had ridden the lift down to the snow-covered, gravelled drive. It was the first time Asteria had seen Harry in his wheelchair and she had shed a few silent tears when her friend’s husband had struggled to push himself up the front steps without help. Now she stood tightly grasping Draco by the hand, her face free of the signs of her recent weeping. Draco couldn’t help but be more than a little proud of her ability to pull herself together at moment’s notice.
Draco watched with interest as Harry balanced his chair perfectly on the two back wheels and rolled forward over the last step and into the entrance hall. He also noticed the many curious looks on the faces of the portraits hanging on the walls. He was certain the news of Harry’s wheelchair would race like wildfire through the house at the first possible notice and that later his great grandfather Malfoy would interrogate him on the reason for letting such an unsavoury Muggle device inside the Manor. Sighing quietly, he decided he’d deal with the portrait later.
The two couples were now facing each other in silent contemplation. Draco, aware that he was staring, cleared his throat nervously and averted his eyes to a point just over Ginny Potter’s shoulder. “Cold, isn’t it?” he asked politely.
Ginny answered, “Yes, it is, but I’m glad it isn’t snowing.”
Asteria asked, “The roads were clear, then?”
“Yes, they were, but there still were a few slippery patches,” Ginny replied.
The awkward silence descended on the four of them again and Draco found he was trying to look everywhere but at Harry’s chair. Asteria squeezed his hand and he looked over to see a single tear rolling down her cheek. As Draco reached up to put an arm around his wife’s shoulders, Harry spoke.
“Draco, when Ron told me about Scorpius’ kidnapping, Ginny and I came as soon as we could.” Draco turned as Harry asked, “How are you holding up, my friend?”
The question was so sincere that Draco answered truthfully before he thought to fall back on the in-grained “stiff upper lip” mannerism he’d been brought up to exhibit at times such as this. “I… just barely,” he said, allowing all the fear he felt into his voice. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Harry rolled forward and offered his hand to Draco. As they shook, Harry said, “Ginny and I are here as long as you want company.”
Relief swept through Draco as he watched his wife and Ginny embrace and then hold each other at arm’s length, talking quietly. “It has been hard, not knowing,” he admitted.
Asteria chose that moment to ask, “Sweetheart, are we going to stand here in the hall all afternoon?”
Draco shook his head. “I suppose not, but I’m not sure where we should go,” he admitted. He turned to the Potters. “We keep most of the rooms down here closed up.”
“We understand,” Harry said with a glance at the closed doors to the drawing room.
It had been years since Draco had been in the drawing room. He couldn’t bring himself to open the doors to that room, much less venture inside, because it was the room where, all those years ago, he had been forced to identify Harry, Ron and Hermione so that his deranged aunt could call Voldemort back to the Manor–amongst other things. After the war, Draco had had the room sealed, and no one had gone inside for more than five years. When he’d married Asteria she’d taken it upon herself to keep that part of the house from falling apart. To this day, only his wife and mother ever entered and then, only four times a year to perform cleaning charms because they had to.
Draco looked pleadingly at his wife. “I can’t open the drawing room, Asteria. You know how I feel about that room.”
Asteria nodded and looked at the Potters. “We could go to the library upstairs, but we don’t have a lift…” she began, looking apologetically at Harry.
Harry and Ginny seemed to understand. “Asteria, I can shrink Harry’s chair and then levitate him up the stairs to the bench on the first floor landing,” Ginny offered. “Will that solve your problem?”
Asteria looked relieved as she nodded and whispered, “Sorry” as Harry rolled over to the staircase and slid out of his chair and onto the third stair using the board Draco had seen him use during his visit to The Groves. Ginny quickly miniaturized Harry’s chair and within moments the four were entering the warmth of the library.
“This seems like old times,” Harry said as they took seats in front of the fireplace. He held up a small, familiar case; his travelling chess set. “Care for a game while we wait?”
Draco couldn’t help smiling. “I accept your challenge,” he said. They quickly set up the board as Asteria and Ginny poured the tea, which Mabel had brought in at her mistress’ request.
“Does Narcissa know?” Harry asked, causing Draco to look at him in surprise.
“No. We haven’t told her,” he said, shaking his head. “She wasn’t well when she visited Christmas Day and left the next morning. Asteria wants to know more before we tell her; the more facts the better. She becomes distraught so easily these days,” he added sadly. He moved a pawn.
“You’ll have to tell her sometime,” Harry said. “She does have a right to know.”
“I know. Maybe once we hear from the kidnappers we’ll tell her.”
“You haven't heard anything from the kidnappers?” Harry asked as Draco moved his pawn to counter Harry’s second move.
“Nothing. Auror Boot said we should expect some sort of contact during the first twenty-four hours, though,” Draco replied. He glanced over at his wife. “I’m worried about Asteria,” he admitted. “She seems to be taking the waiting better than she was now that she has Ginny to confide in.”
Harry sighed. “The waiting and wondering and worrying are always hard to take. Ginny thought someone to talk to would help Asteria with the uncertainty. I know it can’t be any easier on you.” He moved his rook.
Draco sighed. “Scorpius has a good head on his shoulders, Harry. He’s learned every lesson in defensive magic I’ve taught him and seems to think clearly in stressful situations,” he began confidently, but couldn’t keep the worry out of his voice as he added, “I just worry what will happen if they torture him.”
Harry’s eyes flicked his direction and held his gaze, but he remained silent as if waiting for further explanation.
“My son has never experienced the Cruciatus Curse, Harry,” Draco explained in a low voice, which he hoped would not carry to Asteria. The subject always upset her and now that she had calmed down, he didn’t want to sadden her again. “By the time I was his age, I’d had it turned on me at regular intervals for minor or perceived infractions by several members of my family. Auntie Bellatrix was particularly fond of that curse and used it often when I didn’t progress fast enough during her Occlumency lessons,” he finished with a sneer, just to his disdain for his crazy aunt.
“I can imagine,” Harry murmured. “You’re worried what the curse, or something similar, will do to your son mentally?”
Draco nodded. He couldn’t answer.
“I can understand your concern. The Aurors will move as quickly as they can to find Scorpius,” Harry said. He paused as if waging an internal debate. Then, he said, “I suspect that where we find him, we’ll find other evidence as well. Ron does, too. We must have faith that as deranged as the lead suspect is, she won’t hurt your son more than she already has by kidnapping him… unless–” He stopped, leaving his sentence unfinished.
“Unless what?” asked Draco suspiciously.
“Unless she thinks you’re still helping the Aurors in some way,” Harry finished in nearly a whisper.
Draco sighed as he moved another pawn. “I’m not sure that makes me feel any better, but I have to keep faith, as you say, that we’ll get him back.” He stood up, walked to the fireplace and even though it didn’t need one, he put another log on the fire, all to cover up the traitorous tear that had escaped his left eye.
The whisper of tyres rolling towards him signalled that Harry had joined him. “Draco,” Harry said quietly, “it’s all right to be scared and to let others see that you’re scared. It was a hard lesson for me to learn, but it’s easier in the long run to let others know how you feel.”
Draco turned towards Harry. “How… how do you do it? Survive in that thing?” he asked bleakly, knowing that what he was really asking was how he was to survive if his son was hurt or killed by the kidnappers.
Harry seemed to understand. “Honestly?” he asked. Draco nodded. “One day at a time and sometimes only hour by hour. It’s hard at first because of the anger and other negative emotions. Doing something physical without magic helps a little, but sometimes the urge to hit something is just too strong and I have to be careful not to hurt someone. Eventually, the intensity lessens, but it’s always there and never really goes away.”
Draco closed his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he muttered.
“I am, too,” Harry murmured back.
As if by mutual unspoken agreement, they went back to the chess board and played in silence, finishing the first game and starting a second. Draco had forgotten just how good a player Harry had become over the years; either that or they were just evenly matched. No matter, though, because concentrating on the game meant he didn’t have to think about how much his son’s disappearance hurt and worried him. The afternoon became early evening, the light in the library changing with the coming of night; the familiarity of the game soothed Draco’s raw nerves as did the quiet murmurs from the two witches sitting across the room from the chess board. When they were nearly finished with their third game, Mabel came in to announce dinner.
“Finish up after dinner?” Draco asked Harry as they walked to the sitting room where a small table for four had been set up.
“Absolutely,” Harry smiled, “can’t let you beat me two games to one, can I?”
Draco chuckled. He was about to answer when a flash of something white or tan flitting from window to window against the darkening sky outside caught his attention. He wondered if it was the expected owl.
Asteria pulled him aside once they were in the sitting room. “Did you see that?” she asked, her voice tense and frightened-sounding. “I think it’s an owl.”
Draco nodded. “I did, but I think we need to stay in one place for it to find us, darling,” he said. “If it is an owl it will find us eventually. The house isn’t that big.”
Asteria sighed and walked to her place at the table. Draco followed her and soon the four of them were enjoying the simple but delicious meal. They were nearly finished when the tell-tale tapping of an owl at a window interrupted them. Asteria’s fingers wrapped around Draco’s hand briefly in a vice-like grip and he noticed Harry and Ginny exchanging looks as well. Slowly, he stood up and went to the window. A light-coloured eagle owl was sitting on the windowsill, a scroll of parchment tied to its leg.
Draco opened the window. The owl stayed on its side of the sill and offered its leg to him. As soon as he’d taken the parchment, the bird took wing, flapping with powerful wing-strokes that took it rapidly across the snow-covered garden and up over the wood surrounding the property. Draco stood watching the bird, not wanting to read what was written on the message.
“Let me check it for spells, Draco,” Harry’s voice came from behind him.
Draco closed the window and then handed the parchment roll to Harry who waved his wand over it several times.
“It’s clean,” Harry said, handing it back. “Hold it by the edges as you open it. There might be fingerprints on the parchment we can use to identify the suspect.”
Draco lowered the parchment and began unrolling it. When it was nearly open, Harry tapped it with his wand and the parchment glowed magenta for a moment. “Damn!” he swore. “The writer wore gloves and used a Muggle biro, so there’s nothing to trace.”
“Very clever,” Draco murmured, feeling deflated. He’d been hoping there would be something on the parchment that would be a clue of some sort.
“What does it say, Draco?” Asteria asked. The fear was back in her voice.
Draco turned his attention to what was written on the parchment. “‘My Dear Mr Malfoy’,” he read aloud, “‘by now you should have learned of your son’s kidnapping. At the moment, he is alive.’” In the background, he vaguely heard Asteria’s relieved sob, but chose to ignore it as he finished reading the ransom note. “‘If you want to see your son alive, you will desist from helping the Aurors and leave the amount of 50,000 Galleons as per further instruction at a specified drop-off location. You have been warned.’” He looked up at the others. “It isn’t signed,” he said, letting the parchment fall from his hand.
“Didn’t think it would be,” Harry murmured.
Draco felt a chair gently bump the back of his knees and he gratefully sank into it. “Oh Merlin,” he breathed, looking up at Harry. “I don’t have fifty thousand Galleons. What am I to do?”
Harry reached over and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Leave it to me and the Auror Office. Now that we know what they want, we can construct a plan of action.” He glanced over to where their wives sat huddled together on a sofa. “Will Asteria be all right?”
Draco nodded grimly. “I think so. Having the two of you here with us makes a big difference,” he said. He picked up the parchment and handed it to Harry. “Here, you’ll probably need this.”
*
Harry immediately contacted Ron. Since he couldn’t kneel for very long without his legs giving out, he sent him a Patronus message asking him to call him at the Malfoys.
“What’s up, mate?” Ron asked, his head suspended magically in the green flames of the sitting room fireplace.
“The ransom note arrived. I scanned it for dark magic and Portkeys before Draco opened it and it’s clean, no dark magic. I made a copy, so you can have the original for the files,” Harry said. “Also, the writer wore gloves and used a Muggle biro, so there’s nothing for the forensics blokes to analyse.”
“I’m sorry, Harry,” Ron said. “I know you were probably hoping the note would hold a clue or two. If the writer had used a dicta-quill, forensics might have been able to pinpoint the area where the quill had been purchased.” Harry nodded gravely in agreement as Ron asked, “How are the Malfoys holding up?”
“All right, but they’re very worried,” Harry replied. “Ransom’s high, so Draco’s worrying about finances. Ginny’s with Asteria trying to calm her down. We’ll be fine. I’ll let you know if we get anything else.”
“Right-o. Thanks, Harry,” Ron said. “We’ll get on this right away.” He opened his mouth to accept the parchment and withdrew from the flames as soon as Harry placed it in his teeth.
“So now we wait some more,” Harry heard Draco mumble behind him.
“That’s all we can do at the moment,” Harry said glumly. He turned his chair to face Draco. “You want Ginny and me to stay a bit longer or do you and Asteria need the privacy?”
“I’d like them to stay the night, Draco,” Asteria said from her seat on the sofa.
“Will you?” he asked, looking first at Ginny and then Harry.
Asteria addressed Ginny and Harry together, looking hopeful. “We have plenty of room, so it won’t be an inconvenience,” she said.
Harry caught Ginny’s gaze. He’d been hoping they could drive back to The Burrow mostly because he was in the habit of rising very early to start his exercises, but one look at his wife and he knew they would stay. “We’ll stay,” he said, and was surprised when Draco looked relieved.
Asteria stood up. “I know our home doesn’t have all the amenities for Harry’s safety, but I’ve been considering adding them to one of the bedrooms,” she said, looking pointedly at Draco. “Narcissa isn’t getting any younger and installing the right equipment might make it easier for her when she stays with us.”
Draco looked troubled for a moment and then nodded almost imperceptibly. “Which suite were you thinking of, dear?” he asked.
“The yellow one across from ours, if that’s all right with you,” Asteria replied.
“It is.”
Asteria looked at Ginny. “Come show me what Harry will need,” she said, suddenly all business. “And do you have bags in your van?”
Ginny stood as well. “I can get those later, Asteria,” she said as she followed Draco’s wife out of the sitting room.
When the two women had gone, Draco turned to Harry. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a Firewhisky. Will you have one with me?” he asked.
Harry smiled at his friend. “Just a small one, please. I’m taking everything in moderation these days,” he said, thinking of the wine he’d already drunk with dinner. He’d only had one glass, but Healer Stilwell had cautioned him that imbibing too much would interfere with some of his potions.
“Understandable,” Draco said. He summoned his house-elf and requested that she bring four glasses, a bottle of Firewhisky and a small bottle of red current rum. “For the ladies,” he said with a smirk. “Asteria only drinks on occasion and then only a tiny bit of Rum. I hope Ginny won’t mind.”
Harry smiled back at his friend. “She won’t mind one bit,” he said.
*
The yellow suite was beautiful at first glance; the pale yellow walls and darker yellow fabrics were bright and airy and inviting against the dark mahogany of the old-fashioned furnishings. However, when Ginny looked closer, she noticed the thread-bare carpet, the moth holes in the curtains and the worn patches on the white-painted mouldings where many hands seemed to have brushed the wood of the door frames and windowsills over the years. Only the antique dresser, bedside tables and bed frame glistened in the light from the oil lamps. The other furniture (a small settee, two armchairs, a low table and a writing desk which were grouped at the other end of the room) all showed signs of wear.
“What a lovely room!” she exclaimed. Then she frowned. “Are you sure you want to change things in here? Anything we put on the walls has to be affixed with a Permanent Sticking Charm so it won’t come loose.”
“Yes, I’m sure. This is Narcissa’s room. Some years ago she insisted we add an en-suite bathroom, so it’s already been changed once,” Asteria replied as she lit a fire in the hearth to take the chill from the room. “Draco and I consider it hers because she’s requested this room the last five times she’s come to stay with us. You know she has her own little house closer to Andromeda’s, don’t you?” Ginny nodded and Asteria continued, “The other bedrooms give her nightmares, so she won’t sleep in them. Draco and I sleep in his boyhood bedroom across the corridor and don’t use the master suite. It’s been closed up as long as the drawing room has. After the war, Narcissa refused to sleep there when Lucius went to prison because Voldemort had commandeered the suite for his own. When he didn’t sleep here at the house, Bellatrix used it.”
“I’m sorry,” Ginny murmured.
“Don’t be,” Asteria said with a sigh. “It’s ancient history that’s not very nice. Ginny, I love my husband enough to understand that even though we own this mansion, it will never be restored to what it was when he was a boy because of what happened here during the war. He can’t bear to open up rooms that hold so many ghosts and bad memories.” She stopped talking long enough to run a hand over the bed coverings and Ginny could tell she was lost in thought. Finally, Asteria shook herself and said, “Now tell me, what height should the bed be for Harry to get into it safely? Any changes we make will benefit Narcissa’s rheumatism.”
Ginny told her and between the two of them and their wands, they slowly transformed the room into one Harry could safely use: they lowered the bed, added a seat and grab bars in the bath and more bars around the WC.
When they were done, Asteria drew Ginny into a hug. “Thank you for letting me do this, Ginny. It’s given me something to take my mind off of Scorpius for a little while,” she sniffed.
“I’m glad I could help,” Ginny said as they parted. “Would you like us to put a silencing charm on the door in the morning? Harry gets up with the sun to do his physiotherapy before breakfast and I don’t want to bother you.”
Asteria shook her head. “I’m not sure Draco and I will get much sleep tonight. We have a lot to talk about regarding the ransom and last night I only dozed between fits of weeping. I’m not sure tonight will be much better.”
“Come get me up if you need to talk,” Ginny said as they doused the lamps and walked back to the sitting room.
They found Harry and Draco deep in conversation, each with a small glass of Firewhisky in their hands. Ginny tried hard not to look at Harry when Asteria offered her a glass of red current rum for she knew they’d both break out into giggles; she much preferred what the men were drinking. However, in deference to Asteria, she accepted a dainty glass of the rum and went to sit next to her husband.
Chapter 27: 27: Preparation
Author's Notes: Some of you have been asking for more of the children, so I hope you like this chapter. I had fun writing it and need to thank two of my readers, Hedwig_edgwig and Rosina Ferguson for the ideas they gave me. There will be more of their ideas in a few chapters, so you’ll just have to wait to see how James and Lily put their ideas into action.
As always, I’m forever grateful to my pre-beta team of Jedi34, Rosina Ferguson, Mutt n Feathers, RebeccaRipple and RSS for the superb advice and comments which helped make this chapter its best. Thank you, Aggiebell, my beta, for all she does, too. I couldn’t write this story without any of you. Thanks for the support.
After dinner, Tuesday, 5 January 2021
James found Lily in the common room after dinner. She had her books spread out on one of the tables, but the only thing she’d written on her roll of parchment was the title of her Astronomy essay. Across the table from her sat a teary-eyed Rose, who, by the looks of her, was as distraught over Scorpius Malfoy’s kidnapping as Albus seemed to be. The two girls were deep in conversation. James sat down next to his sister.
“Hey, you two, what’s up?” he asked.
Rose answered somewhat evasively, “Just, you know, girl talk.”
“Doesn’t look like girl talk to me,” James said. “It looks like you two are worried sick over something or someone.”
“Scorpius,” Rose said at the same time Lily said, “Albus.”
James couldn’t help grinning. “Thought so,” he said. He looked directly at his sister. “Listen, Lily, I need your help with something. It looks like you’re not very busy, so you might as well pack up and come with me.” To Rose, he added, “Can’t do much about Scorpius other than hope the Aurors get a lead soon, ya know?”
“I know, but it’s hard being cheerful,” Rose moaned, mopping at her eyes with a handkerchief. “He’s my Potions partner and it was dead depressing in lessons today without his usual banter.”
“He’s missed other days, hasn’t he?” James asked as Lily finished shoving her things back into her school bag.
Rose sighed a long, shuddering sigh. “Yes, but he was always still in the castle. This is different; no one knows where he is this time, so we can’t go to visit him like we did when he was hurt in the Slytherin-Hufflepuff match last term.”
There was no arguing with Rose’s logic, so James just murmured agreeably, and after bidding her good-bye, led Lily out the portrait hole and down to the library. James deliberately found a secluded table in the ancillary spell section and dropped his book bag conclusively on the floor, indicating to Lily this was where he intended to be. She chose a chair and sat down, looking at him expectantly.
“Albus’ birthday is this Friday. He’s as distraught about Scorpius just as badly as Rose is. He needs cheering up if he’s going to even begin to enjoy the day,” James said without preamble, “and it needs to be us who do it.”
“What about a Cheering Charm?” Lily suggested half-heartedly.
“Won’t work. We can’t follow Al around his entire birthday waiting for the charms to wear off. Besides, he wouldn’t think the idea very inventive,” James said. “What we need are a couple of unique pranks that will involve not only Al but preferably all of Gryffindor or even the entire school.”
Lily cocked her head to the side. “You could fill his bed, trunk and book bag with pictures of Meredith Baxter, that Hufflepuff Chaser he’s so keen on,” Lily suggested.
James shook his head. “Nope. Won’t do, especially if the pictures are of a witch he likes. If I did do that, I’d have to duplicate pictures of an adult he particularly dislikes and as far as I know, Albus likes all his teachers.”
“I see your point,” Lily said half-heartedly. “I guess I’ll go see what the spell books suggest.” She pushed her chair back and stood up, but James put a hand on her arm, stopping her.
“Wait. Let’s brainstorm a bit more before we go looking for spells. All right?” he asked.
Lily sat down. “Do you have anything in mind?” she asked.
“Yeah. Listen to this… how about if we somehow figure out how to make the entire school burst out into song? Or maybe even just a portion of each table start singing?”
A giggle burst from Lily. “I can just see the likes of Auggie Bole, Audrey Pucey, and Gracie Goyle all singing nursery rhymes,” she said as the familiar click of the librarian’s heels sounded in the next aisle.
James grinned. His voice just above a whisper, he said excitedly, “The Hufflepuffs could sing songs from Mum’s favourite Muggle play, The Sound of Music. ”
“And the Ravenclaws could sing something from the Weird Sisters and maybe Dad’s favourite Muggle band the Beatles or even that Pink Floyd song, you know, the one that starts ‘We don’t need no education.’ That would sound funny coming from the Ravenclaw students,” Lily added, talking a mile a minute as she finally become enthusiastic about their project. “But what should we have the Gryffindors sing?”
James thought a moment and then said, “It’ll have to be Happy Birthday over and over and over and the only way any of the singing will stop is if Albus tells it to stop.”
Lily stuffed a fist in her mouth, she was laughing so hard. “That could take all day,” she said between chortles. When she finally stopped laughing, she asked, “So how do we get everyone to sing? A spell?”
“Partly,” James answered. “I think we’ll have to put a potion in everyone’s goblet or something like that.”
It was Lily’s turn to say, “Nope. Won’t work.” When James looked at her with a raised eyebrow she added thoughtfully, “We really don’t want every single person to sing, right? Just the ones who will make it funny.” She paused and then said, “What if we created a spell or made a potion to enchant the forks or spoons of those we want to sing? Do you think we’d have enough time?”
“I like your idea, Lily. Let’s see what we can find in books before we start mucking about trying to create new potions and spells on our own,” James said cautiously. “I’ll go to the Potions section and get a few books. You take the spells, all right?”
Lily nodded and disappeared around the corner of the nearest bookcase as James sauntered over to the Potions section, his eyes keeping a wary look-out for the librarian, Madam Shannon, who had replaced Madam Pince in James’ second year. He took down several promising-looking books and brought them back to their table where Lily was looking through an immense volume entitled, Charmed Objects; a Guide to Elementary Charms. He sat down and opened the top book in his stack.
“Practical Potions for Profit or Pranking,” Lily read aloud. “Find anything?”
James stuck a finger in the table of contents to keep his place. “Not yet. Just started. You?”
“Same here,” Lily said and they both went back to the books.
A half an hour later, Lily started giggling. James looked up to see what was so funny. His sister was reading a book called, 501 Ways to Prank Your Siblings. “What’s so funny?” he asked.
“I know where Rose found that spell for turning Andrea, Ramona and Ebba’s clothes to bricks,” she said, turning the book she was reading so James could see her page better. He’d heard about Lily and Rose’s prank over Christmas and was quite impressed by the fact that the three girls in question had actually offered to help Lily and her friends with their trunks when they’d boarded the Hogwarts Express the day they returned to school.
“That’s pretty cool,” he said. “Have you found anything else?”
Lily grinned and flipped some pages. “Look at this. It’s a spell that when cast on your sibling makes every object in a ten-foot radius dance a jig,” she said.
James studied the spell. It seemed easy enough and there were even ways to regulate the number of times the spell repeated as well as the duration of the dancing… depending on how batty you wanted your sibling to become. “Lily, this is perfect! It’s easily cast and I could sneak into Al’s dormitory and cast it on him when he’s sleeping and he’d be none the wiser,” he said.
“And we can check this book out of the library,” Lily added. She pointed to the other books in her stack. “These other books can’t be removed. They’re just for reference.”
“Well done, Lily. Go check it out and come back. I still haven’t found the other thing we’re looking for,” James said.
“Be right back,” Lily said, jumping up. She was gone less than five minutes. “Madam Shannon nearly didn’t let me have the book,” she grumbled as she stowed the book in her bag. “‘Miss Potter, you should be revising or writing your essays, not looking up pranks to play on your brothers’,” she mimicked.
“Sounds like Madam Shannon and Madam Pince, too,” James said as he shoved a rather large book towards his sister. “No sense of humour whatsoever. Hey, if you see anything, let me know.”
They agreed to stay until the library closed. If they hadn’t found anything by then they decided to meet tomorrow at lunch.
Nearly two hours later, Madam Shannon’s voice echoed through the library, “The Hogwarts Library will be closing in ten minutes time. Please levitate all unwanted books to the re-shelving area at the end of each bookshelf and then exit the library in an orderly fashion. If you have books to check out, come to the counter and form an orderly queue. The library will reopen at eight o’clock tomorrow morning.”
Lily shut her book noisily while complaining, “I’ve found a potion for everything but what we want to do. I’m going to put this stack back. Do you have any you want me to take?”
Without taking his eyes from the book he was scanning, James patted a stack of four huge books. “Thanks,” he murmured and turned his full attention back to his place in the table of contents. A moment later, he let out a yelp of surprise, his finger poised next to an entry: Tuning Fork Potion.
Lily came racing back. “What is it? What did you find?” she demanded.
James was shaking with excitement as he turned to the page the potion was printed on. “Listen to this: ‘Dip your victim’s utensils into this potion and watch him break into song. The effects of the Tuning Fork Potion will last up to an hour depending on how long the metal is submerged in the potion. This potion has no antidote and must be allowed to wear off naturally. A variation of this potion uses the spell at the bottom of the page which, when cast at the end of brewing, will effectively cancel any remaining singing time when someone tells the victim to stop singing.’ Lily, this is perfect!” James exclaimed. Then, he noticed a small, nearly infinitesimal notation near the binding of the book and his mouth dropped open.
“What is it, James?” she asked.
“Lily, this potion was used on the school in 1977 by Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs!” James whispered excitedly, pointing to the writing. “It says, ‘Works well, what a laugh!’” He looked up at his sister. “Lily, Grandfather Potter made this potion. We must use it!”
“Tell me about it, please,” Lily requested as she bounced about on the balls of her feet. “Oh, I hope the potion doesn’t take a month to make.”
James scanned the instructions before reporting, “This seems to have a two-hour brewing time plus preparation and a ripening period of about six hours or more before bottling or using.” He looked up at her, feeling a wicked grin spread across his face. “I have all the ingredients in my potions kit. I could make it during my free period tomorrow, especially if I skipped breakfast to get a head start. Do you think anyone will miss me if I don’t show up for breakfast?”
“Kendra,” Lily said without hesitation. “You’ll have to tell her what you’ll be doing and swear her to secrecy. Maybe if you convinced her to help you in some way she’ll not wonder aloud where you are and make everyone at the Gryffindor table start looking for you.”
“Hmmm, hadn’t thought of that,” James muttered. “Well, we better go check this book out and get back to the common room. It looks like I have a few things to do.”
They quickly cleaned up their area and Lily left to go back to the common room while James checked out the Potion’s book. Madam Shannon looked down her nose at him, raised an eyebrow and asked pointedly if he was researching unusual potions. James said nothing and escaped the library as fast as he could.
Surprisingly, Kendra was willing to keep mum about what James wanted to do in the morning. “I’ll bring you some toast and pumpkin juice,” she volunteered. “Can’t have you slaving over a hot cauldron with no nourishment in you. You’d faint dead away.”
“Would not,” James grumbled as he tried to keep from smiling.
Kendra kissed him lightly on the tip of his nose. “Don’t want to chance it anyway,” she said. “Good night.”
That was easier than I thought it would be, James thought as he waved at Kendra as she disappeared up the girls’ staircase. Then, yawning, he climbed the stairs to his own dormitory.
*
0825 hours, Wednesday, 6 January 2021
“Kendra, have you seen James?” Albus asked as he climbed through the portrait hole. “I didn’t see him at breakfast.”
Kendra looked startled and hid something behind her back. “No, I haven’t seen him, Al. Do you want me to tell you where he is if I do see him?” she asked.
“Yeah, I’d appreciate it. I’m having trouble with my Arithmancy homework and I wanted James to help me with it,” Albus confessed.
“Give me a moment to get my bag. I have a few minutes. Would I do as a substitute?” Kendra asked.
Albus nodded. “Yeah, you’ll do,” he said.
Kendra excused herself and hastened up the girls’ stairs. She came back down a few minutes later with her bag. “What’s your homework about?” she asked as they found places at a nearby table.
Albus explained what was confusing him about his homework. To his surprise, Kendra knew exactly how to help him, and once he understood, he made some notes to help him remember what to write when it came time to complete the exercises. By the time they were through talking, there was just enough time for Albus to sprint to his next lesson. He arrived just as the door was closing and threw himself into the nearest seat at the back of the room. As the lesson commenced, he forgot all about James’ absence at breakfast.
*
0856 hours
Ginny walked through the front doors of St Mungo’s and took her place in the queue for the lifts. The queue was rather long and she only had a few minutes left before she’d be late, and Ginny hated being less-than-punctual for anything. With a sigh, she left the queue and headed for the stairs.
Three flights later, she emerged onto the third floor next to the Potion and Plant Poisoning ward. From beyond the door came the sound of uncontrolled giggling and as she turned left into the corridor leading to Madam Offerman’s office, Ginny wondered if the sound had addled the chairwitch’s brain; she knew if she spent any time on this floor listening to the sound it would get to her.
Apparently it had made the fundraising chairwitch a bit loopy.
“Mrs Potter, I’m so glad to finally meet you!” Gloria Offerman gushed when the secretary ushered Ginny into the room. “Madam Nigel was absolutely thrilled when you agreed to help us with our fundraising efforts this year! Come in, come in. We must get to work! There’s so much to do!”
Behind the witch’s back, Ginny rolled her eyes. This was going to be a long meeting.
They sat at a table in the corner of the office that was loaded down with invitation samples, a pile of what looked like menus from past events and several photo albums. Madam Offerman ordered coffee and soon they were sipping and discussing the March Gala.
“Now tell me, Ginny–may I call you Ginny?–do you prefer to circulate through the crowd or would an autograph-signing table be more to your liking during the meet-and-greet?” Madam Offerman asked.
“I prefer to circulate,” Ginny replied. “I’d rather not to be stuck in a corner all evening.”
“Of course, of course!” Madam Offerman said, making a note in her event planner. “And you’re preparing some remarks, as Keynote Speaker, about the need for generous giving due to the increase in staffing?”
Ginny nodded, feeling rather uncomfortable. She knew the improvements had been made because of her demands, but she wanted to do her begging for money on a one-to-one basis, rather than make an appeal to the masses for the funds needed to support the additional staffing improvements. It was more personal, she thought.
“Excellent!” Madam Offerman said enthusiastically. “I think we’re done with that for now.
“Now tell me about your ideas for the Summer Gala. I know from your letters that you’d prefer an auction over a ball… ” Madam Offerman leaned forward expectantly.
Ginny opened a portfolio she had with her and brought out several photos of different gift baskets, which she handed to Madam Offerman. Each had a different theme: one was a Quidditch basket for the Quidditch enthusiast, another was full of bath and beauty products for the witch of the house, and the third was full of items for a children’s party.
“These are just some of the ideas I came up with,” Ginny began. “My idea is to have baskets and donated items such as jewellery or a hand-knit jumper or a donated broom out on tables, each with a card underneath that looks like this.”
She handed the chairwitch a small piece of heavy parchment on which was printed “Item Number ___: _______” and “Item Value/Beginning Bid: ___”. Under this was printed “Bidder’s Name” and “Bid Amount”, followed by a dozen lines for people to write their names and the amount they were bidding on the item.
“The bidding will start with an amount no less than the value of the item,” Ginny explained. “For example, if the Quidditch basket contains autographed items such as a team jersey or a team photo, and maybe a real Snitch or a pair of Beaters’ gloves, several pennants, a poster, and maybe a tour of one of the stadiums, the value could be set at twenty Galleons. Those who want what’s in the basket will write their names and bids on the parchment. At the end of the evening highest bidder wins the basket or item. Also, the winning bids will be announced and a running tally will be kept to show how much money was raised.”
Madam Offerman had cocked her head to one side while she listened to Ginny’s presentation. Now she said, “I think that might work as the fundraiser, Ginny, especially if there are a variety of items with different values. What do you suggest as entertainment for the evening?”
The two of them brainstormed several ideas and finally settled on two possible options to be explored further in the months ahead. By the time Ginny headed home, she had a pounding headache not only from listening to Madam Offerman’s constant, bubbly enthusiasm, but from the high-pitched giggling coming through the thin walls of the office from the ward on the other side.
*
0910 hours
Lily watched in fascination as James meticulously measured out the dry ingredients for their potion into a small mortar and then crushed the lot with a heavy-looking pestle.
“Shouldn’t you be crushing all those ingredients separately?” she asked, making her brother look up from his task.
James shook his head. “Instructions say to crush all the herbs together and add the mixture all at once,” he answered. He went back to his grinding.
“Can I do that?” she asked. “I’d like to help.”
James smiled at her and slid the heavy bowl across the table to her. “Make sure everything is finely ground,” he cautioned.
“Yes, professor,” Lily smirked, earning her a good-natured scowl from her brother. She set to work, carefully grinding the ingredients to the specified degree of fineness. When she was done, she pushed the mortar across the table and asked, “How’s this?”
James looked the contents over carefully before gently shaking the mixture into his bubbling cauldron and stirring anti-clockwise five times and then clockwise two. Then, he stepped back and watched the surface before leaning over to adjust the heat under the cauldron.
Finally, he said, “You’ll be a Potioneer yet, Lils. Just a little more time in the kitchen with Mum cooking dinner… ”
“Oh, so you’re stepping down as her main help during holidays?” Lily asked quickly, cutting him off mid-sentence. She knew James actually liked to cook as much as she did. The two of them had squabbled good-naturedly over who was going to get to help get dinner each night after their family meeting on Christmas Day. This had amused their father no end, especially when he observed that their efforts in the kitchen most likely resulted in high marks in Potions. He had told them more than once before they came back to school that he was glad the family knack for Potion brewing had shown up in two of his children. He’d also told them their Grandmother Lily would have been quite proud of their skill in the subject.
Now James growled, “Why should I?”
“I don’t know,” Lily said, suddenly at a loss for a retort. Unlike Rose, she found any sort of verbal sparring hard to sustain, so “I don’t know” was her favourite phrase whenever a discussion became too intense for her. Instead, she asked, “Where’s Kendra? I thought she was supposed to be here by now.”
James looked at his watch. “You’re right. It’s almost time for the bell to ring for the end of first lessons,” he said.
Lily sighed. “How much longer before you add the lacewing flies?” she asked, wanting to stay long enough to see the completed potion.
James consulted his watch again. “Thirty seconds. Then I’ll enchant the potion just in case the teachers become annoyed. Thanks for the help, Lils. We’ll be able to experiment with the potion tonight after dinner if you can spare the time.”
“I’ll make the time,” Lily said as James gently shook the lacewings into the cauldron and gave the potion the required number of stirs. Their potion bubbled vigorously for several seconds and then settled down as it changed colour from dark green to a pleasing chartreuse. As soon as the colour change was complete, Lily couldn’t help exclaiming, “What a lovely colour!”
The door opened, admitting a harried-looking Kendra. “What’s a lovely colour?” she asked as she shut the door behind her and came to look at the finished potion. “You’re right, Lily, it is pretty.”
“What kept you?” James asked, and if Lily hadn’t known who was speaking, she would have thought it was her dad making the enquiry rather than her brother.
“Albus,” Kendra answered, blowing a few stray hairs out of her face. She reached into her bag and brought out a rather squished stack of toast, which she handed to James. “He was looking for you because he was stuck on his Arithmancy homework. I talked him through what he was supposed to do, but it took a while.”
Lily turned her head as James leaned forward and gave Kendra a tender kiss. As the two murmured sweet nothings to each other over the cauldron, Lily picked up her bag and walked noisily to the door. She doubted the two lovebirds would even miss her.
*
1106 hours
The brochure for The Groves lay on her desk next to her correspondence from Madam Offerman. Ginny had read those letters several times already, but for some reason couldn’t concentrate on the Fundraising Chairwitch’s plans for table assignments and invitation designs. Her eyes kept straying to the red-circled bullet point on the brochure under the heading Family Services.
“Counselling services are offered to the immediate family of The Groves residents. Persons eligible to talk to a counsellor include the spouse/main care-giver and children of the patient. For more information contact the patient’s physician or Mrs Vaughan at the front desk. Appointments will be made through the attending physician,” she read for the fiftieth time in the last hour.
Am I really back to normal? she asked herself. Throwing all those Quaffles on Christmas Day had certainly helped, as had her talk with George, but still, in the back of her mind she wasn’t sure…
She picked up the brochure and stared at the bullet point. She knew part of Harry’s treatment included the services of a mental health professional. He hadn’t spoken to her much about what the two had talked about–she hadn’t even known the counsellor had existed until after Harry had started communicating with the children again–although on the monthly statement she received it stated clearly that he was receiving services twice a week. How had she missed this detail of Harry’s treatment? She supposed it was the stigma the Wizarding world had about such things that kept him from telling her much about what went on in their sessions at all.
She sighed. So… do I need to talk to someone, too?
It might be a good idea…
But what would people say if it was discovered she was seeking help? Would the same thing happen to her as it had to that witch in Features, the one who became the hottest topic in the Prophet’s gossip mill, the one who had finally quit her job because she couldn’t stand the pointed stares and catty remarks? It had been whispered that the witch had a split personality and was nuttier than a fruitcake. Would she, Ginny, be talked about like that? Would the office gossips turn their vicious rumours on her, even though she sensed the sympathy of many of her co-workers? Did she have the stamina to withstand the attention? Some days she wondered if she should just pack it all in and hide out at home.
Frustrated, she shoved Madam Offerman’s letters aside and reached into a drawer for her personal stationery. Maybe getting Hermione’s opinion on the subject would help. Before she could second-guess her motives, she quickly penned a letter to her friend and sister-in-law and sent it off with Quaffle.
Now that she had acted on her doubts, she felt better. Glancing out her window at the snow-covered Quidditch pitch in the distance, Ginny smiled to herself. Maybe, after she’d answered Madam Offerman’s letters and finished writing her questions for her interview with the Tornados’ general manager, she’d go out and fling a few Quaffles about the pitch until it was time to set the table for tea. The physical workout would make her feel even better and get her in the mood for the interview. Her smile lingered as she reached for another piece of parchment and began writing back to Madam Offerman.
*
1132 hours
“Excuse me, Madam Granger-Weasley,” her secretary, Gloria, said as she opened the door without knocking, “this private message just came in via personal owl.”
Hermione sighed inwardly. She hated being addressed as Madam Granger-Weasley solely because she was neither old enough to be called ‘Madam’ and adding her maiden name to her married name called attention to who she was before she married Ron and that’s not who she was any more. But instead of snapping at Gloria to stop calling her by the attention-seeking name, she merely smiled and asked, “It didn’t come as a memo?” and hastily shoved several documents aside and closed a folder on top of them.
“No, Madam, it didn’t. The Revealing Charm I used says it’s from Ginny Potter,” Gloria said as she advanced across the carpet to Hermione’s desk.
Hermione held out her hand. “Thank you, Gloria. I don’t require you to remain for a reply. Is the owl still on the perch?”
“She is, Madam Granger-Weasley.”
“Very good. Send her in. I imagine it’s Ginny’s Quaffle that brought the note.”
A few moments later, Quaffle settled on top of her In Box as Hermione broke the seal on the letter and began reading. Ginny was inviting her to tea at half-two this afternoon and had underlined the word “must” three times following it with “because I need your advice.” Her friend was never this dramatic, nor did she ever set tea time this early, so whatever she needed advice about must be pretty important.
“Gloria,” she called through the still-open door, “please clear my calendar for this afternoon after two. I must take the rest of the afternoon off and won’t be back until tomorrow.”
“As you wish, Madam Granger-Weasley.”
Grinding her teeth in frustration, Hermione put her folders away, replied to Ginny’s note that she’d come, and took an early lunch, hoping whatever Ginny was worrying about wasn’t going to be too catastrophic.
*
1345 hours
“Sorry I’m late, Silvia, I couldn’t find my floats,” Harry apologized as he rolled up to the edge of the therapy pool and waited for the attendants to help him out of his chair and down onto the pool deck.
“I have them, but you won’t be needing them today, Harry,” Silvia said as she swam over, pushing a kick board ahead of her. “Come on in. The water’s warm.”
Harry put his feet in the water and scooted along the edge of the pool until he was at the steps. Then, he lowered himself step by step until he was sitting chest deep in the water with his legs pointing straight out in front of him. “Why won’t I need the floats?” he asked curiously.
“We’re working on kicking this afternoon, Harry.” Silvia handed him the kick board. “Now, holding the kickboard in front of you, I want you to glide forward with your upper body and push off the bottom with your feet at the same time,” she instructed. “Then, I want you to kick your legs as best you can, keeping your knees straight so you’re kicking from your hips. We’ll stay in the shallow end today until you’re used to the exercise.”
Harry stared at her. “You want me to do what?” he asked sceptically.
“You heard me,” Silvia chuckled. “It’s either this or go back in and do another five sets of ten leg raises each on the pulleys.”
Harry shook his head and pushed off as he had been told. His legs sank almost immediately, but with some effort, he was able to slowly kick his way across the pool. When he reached the other side he couldn’t help the huge grin that spread across his face.
“How was I?” he asked.
“Pretty good for a beginner,” Silvia said. “Follow me back to the steps.” She turned towards the opposite wall and took a step or two, giving him room to move before turning back to watch him.
Harry leaned forward and found his momentum wasn’t enough to allow him to straighten up. His legs had sunk to the bottom and suddenly, the only thing holding his head above water was the kick board. He panicked. Arms flailing wildly, he tried to reach for the side of the pool, but only came up with water. His head went under and he felt himself sinking towards the bottom, which scared him more. He opened his mouth to yell only to find it filled with water. He was going to drown! And then two strong arms were around his chest, holding his head above water, and Silvia’s voice was in his ear telling him to calm down, she was there, he was safe, she would not let him drown. He laid his head on her shoulder, coughing, gasping for breath and quivering with fright.
“Harry, you’re safe. I’ve got you,” her voice soothed. “Shhhh.”
Slowly, Harry’s heart ceased its wild beating. He stopped shaking and lay limply against Silvia’s shoulder.
“What happened? You were doing so well,” she asked a few moments later.
“I don’t know,” Harry gasped. “I tried to follow, but I couldn’t straighten my legs.”
“Did you push off with your feet, like I told you to?” she asked.
Harry shook his head. “No,” he murmured, feeling stupid. “I want to get out.”
“Not going to happen,” Silvia said stubbornly. “Listen, Harry, we can do this kick as if you’re doing backstroke.” He felt her moving backward and stiffened, scared she would drop him and that he’d go under again. She stopped.
“I can’t. Get me out,” he pleaded.
“Harry, do you trust me?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then why aren’t you relaxed any more?”
“I don’t know…” he repeated his request, “Get me out.”
“I’m trying to, Harry, but the steps are at the opposite end of the pool. You won’t like it if I just heave you onto the deck like a sack of potatoes,” she told him.
He considered this and liked this option even less than the thought of having her tow him to the steps. “No, I don’t think I would,” he told her. “What do I have to do?”
Harry could hear the smile in her voice as she asked, “Can you feel the bottom of the pool?” He nodded. “Then push off with your feet when I tell you to. Then kick from the hip just like you did coming this way.”
She took a step backwards. Using both feet, he pushed off from the bottom and saw his hips rising a bit. As Silvia murmured instructions in his ear, he kicked one leg and then the other. His body floated a little more. He kicked again… and again… felt their momentum pick up. And then they were at the steps and Silvia was putting him down.
“No. Stop!” he said. “I want to do it again. Face first.”
“You need your board, Harry and it’s floated away. Shall we go get it?” Silvia asked.
“Yes,” he said determinedly.
“Good,” she said, and helped him lay back onto her shoulder. “Push off… kick right, kick left, kick right, now left…”
They went deeper into the water, Harry listening to her voice and kicking in rhythm as best he could. Then Silvia was handing him the kickboard and he suddenly felt himself half standing, half supported by the board and staring into Silvia’s eyes.
“Tell me what you need to do to get going,” she requested.
“Lunge forward… push off with my feet… kick,” Harry said.
“Good. Now do it.” Silvia stepped back a step or two to give him room.
Harry lunged, letting the momentum carry him forward. At the same time, he pushed off the side of the pool with his feet. It wasn’t a big push, but it was enough to carry him away from the wall enough to be able to kick. He straightened his body and kicked from the hip, face in the water, hands above his head, holding the board. He felt himself move forward in the water. He kicked again and again, over and over…
“Breathe, Harry! Lift your head!” he heard Silvia command.
He stopped kicking and raised his head, his legs sinking again, and gasped for breath. They were out in the middle of the pool and Harry had no idea how they’d come to be there.
“How?” he sputtered.
“This is where you took us, Harry,” Silvia said. “But you need to raise your head and take a breath every two to three kicks. You’re not supposed to turn blue when you swim.”
“Oh,” Harry said and gave an embarrassed laugh. “How am I doing?”
“Much better.” She turned him towards the steps. “Let’s go that way. Try a stronger kick with your right leg. Kicking evenly helps you swim straight. You’re doing well.” Again, she had him tell her the steps to begin swimming.
It took another two stops, but Harry managed to kick his way back to the steps. Along the way, he discovered that as long as he kept moving, the water supported his body. It felt good and he wanted more. Then, he was sitting on the steps and Silvia was taking the kickboard from him.
“Give it back. I want to do two more laps,” he said.
Silvia shook her head. “Maybe tomorrow. I don’t want you to overexert yourself. You’ll be sore if you do,” she said. “Good show, by the way.”
Harry ducked his head. “Thanks,” he murmured, feeling pleased. “But I’m still pretty slow.”
“Want to do your usual workout?” Silvia asked, ignoring his comment.
He smiled at her. “Please.”
Three minutes later, he was strapped to his floats and pulling himself strongly through the water with his arms.
*
1429 hours
The table was set for two. The kettle was on and just beginning to boil. The teapot was warming near the sink. The tin of Hermione’s favourite Lady Grey black tea–she’d purchased the tea in a shop that featured the Muggle brand Twinings–was ready to be added to the teapot. A plate of finger sandwiches, one of scones and a two-tiered serving dish that held large pieces of several different pastries and cakes Hermione was particularly fond of were on the table, too. Satisfied, Ginny stood back and watched the fireplace. Hermione was always prompt, never late.
The fire suddenly flared green and Hermione stepped out. She was still in her work robes and she was carrying a paperboard box Ginny recognized came from Hermione’s favourite bakery. She carefully put down the box on the kitchen table and walked over to give Ginny a hug.
“I came as soon as I could,” she said as Ginny returned the embrace.
Ginny stepped back and held out a hand for Hermione’s cloak. “I’m sorry to take you away from work, Hermione,” she said, “but I need your advice in the worst way.”
The kettle whistled shrilly and Ginny bustled over to rescue it.
“Whatever it is, I know you wouldn’t ask me to cancel my meetings if it wasn’t important,” said her friend.
Ginny poured water into the pre-warmed teapot and brought it over to the table. “Let’s eat first before I tell you what has my knickers in a twist,” she said as she added the right amount of tea.
The two sat down. “All right, but you know I’m beyond curious,” Hermione said, untying the string from around the box and opening it to reveal a small quiche. “I know we usually don’t include this at tea, but Pierre does such a lovely job on these and this looked so good!”
Ginny smiled. “It does look delicious. I could never make anything like that, not even with Fleur breathing down my neck and whispering instructions in my ear!” she said.
“Shall I cut it?” Hermione asked.
Ginny nodded and Summoned a knife and a cutting board to the table. The quiche was delicious and she ate slowly, appreciating the subtle flavours of bacon, cheese and eggs in the delicate pastry. She welcomed the addition to the meal.
At length, Hermione cleared her throat, capturing Ginny’s attention. “Ginny, you’re always unflappable. I could tell by the way you worded your note that you were telling me to come,” she said. She reached for a sandwich as Ginny pointed her wand at two bowls–one of clotted cream and another of orange marmalade–and levitated them to the table. “What’s on your mind?”
Ginny took a sip of her tea. “What would you say to my getting some help from the counsellors at The Groves?” she asked quietly. She stared apprehensively into her mug, watching the leaves floating towards the bottom.
The tell-tale clunk of Hermione’s mug hitting the tablecloth told her what she needed to know. She was sure her friend would tell her to forget the idea and just tough it out the best she could. Hermione’s hand on her arm made her look up.
“If that’s what it takes to make you happy, Ginny, you need to get help soon,” Hermione said.
“You… you think it’s a good idea?” Ginny asked incredulously.
Hermione leaned forward. “I do, Ginny. What happened at Christmas showed me just how stressed out you’ve become. If you have any lingering doubts at all, contact Healer Stilwell and have him arrange for you to see the family therapist at The Groves,” she said. “It’s time you started taking care of yourself.”
“Why are you agreeing with me?” asked Ginny. “Why aren’t you telling me to tough it out?”
“Because for once, the Muggle practice of talking things out with someone other than a close relative or friend makes more sense. There are trained professionals at The Groves who help spouses and children cope with the emotional stress of watching a loved one battle back from a debilitating injury every day. I’ve read that brochure several times myself, Ginny. I know they will listen to you and not judge you as other people might. You were lucky your family sent George to find you that day. I’m not sure Ron or Bill or Percy would have understood why you left. George does, but there’s only so much he can help you with. What he started, a Muggle psychologist can finish,” Hermione said.
Ginny stared at her for the longest time. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” she asked finally.
Hermione nodded. “When are you going to contact Healer Stilwell?”
“I have an appointment at five o’clock to interview the Tornados’ general manager. I thought I’d leave here about four and see if I could catch Healer Stilwell before he left St Mungo’s,” Ginny replied. “He should be in his office doing parchment work about then if something hasn’t come up.” She reached for the tiered serving platter and pushed it towards Hermione, murmuring, “I’m in the mood for chocolate.”
They each took a piece of the chocolate gateau as well as an clair. “I’m glad you’re going to do this, Ginny,” Hermione said around a dainty bite of the cake. “It’s good you’re finally willing to help yourself for once.”
A tear trickled down Ginny’s cheek and she swiped at it with her napkin. “What will Harry think?” she asked.
Hermione scooted her chair closer to Ginny’s and gave her another hug. “He’ll be relieved, Ginny,” she said. “Like all of us, he’s been worried that you’re still not taking care of your own needs. You don’t have to be afraid of his reaction.”
“That’s good to hear,” Ginny sniffled. “Thanks for listening.”
“I’m glad to lend my ear, Ginny,” Hermione said. She picked up her fork. “Now tell me… how did your bit of mischief turn out with Harry? Grandmum Weasley was positively thrilled to have your three for an extra night last week…”
*
1538 hours
Scorpius was tired of hanging upside down. He was tired of twisting round in endless circles. He was tired of not being able to feel his feet because they were held high above his head by the spell. He was more interested in figuring out how to release himself and somehow getting to Hogwarts or, preferably, home than he was hanging around. His fear had subsided a long time ago into apprehension when he discovered that the psycho with the wand was only going to torture his cellmate and possibly cast the Cruciatus Curse on him… but that had only occurred when he’d asked to be let down. He hadn’t done that again and the psycho had left him alone.
He’d observed something else, too. By the way the light changed and the outside wind blew in from one direction, he thought he knew where the exit to the cave was. That was good. What was bad was that he was still hanging around.
There was more. Once his head had cleared enough of his fright, he had been able to think more clearly. Thinking was good because it gave him something to do. He’d thought up two plans for escape and was thinking about a third, but that one required a wand and he didn’t have his wand… or did he?
Quickly, Scorpius began searching his pockets, including the specialized wand pocket stitched into the side seam of his right trouser leg. His hand closed over the seam and he smiled. His wand was shoved so deeply into the pocket that the psycho hadn’t found it–not even when he had patted Scorpius down the other day looking for things that hadn’t fallen out of his other pockets–and he realized that he’d quite forgotten his wand in his surprise and fright.
What will Father think of me? he thought, suddenly horrified that he’d completely forgotten the advice and lessons his father had taught him about self-defence and getting out of tricky situations. Not much… but then maybe forgetting I had my wand just might save me.
Smiling, he decided to wait to start working on escaping until the light faded, the lanterns were nearly all extinguished and the witch who worked in what looked like a potions lab had lain down in her corner bed. (She had some strange habits, that one. Scorpius had observed her lying down at nearly the same time for about fifteen minutes while the light was fading. Then, she would work late into the night, sometimes nearly until morning, and when she finally went to bed, she had something gold in her hand. If he blinked, he’d miss what would happen next: she’d disappear for a split second and then reappear and then sleep until her wand let out a shriek that echoed though the cave, usually waking Scorpius’ cellmate. A few minutes later, she would leave the cave and not come back for hours.) Then, he decided, would he draw his wand, cancel the hanging charm and go to work trying to escape. Whether or not he took his cellmate with him was a question he couldn’t answer yet. Only time would tell.
Sometime later, the witch arrived in the cave with the creepy psycho and another wizard. As Scorpius watched, the two men entered his cell and woke the man hanging on the wall. It only took a wave of the psycho’s wand to make the man go meekly with them. Scorpius couldn’t help watching because their movements in the cell caused the men to either brush up against him or the air currents caused him to rotate.
As the three exited, the psycho hissed, “What choo lookin’ at?” causing Scorpius to divert his gaze towards the ceiling. He didn’t answer. He held his breath until the door to the cell closed.
The man’s voice suddenly bellowed, “Crucio!”
The spell wasn’t unexpected, but it did take Scorpius slightly by surprise. He screamed, making the men and the witch laugh. They watched him writhe and scream and then left him hanging, tears of pain and frustration seeping into his hair, as they manhandled the other man into another part of the cave. A little bit later, Scorpius heard the man cry out, a long, high-pitched wail that went on and on until one of the men cast a Silencing Charm and the cave was once again silent except for the wind and the lap of the sea.
The witch’s voice drifted over to him, “Nice work, Tim. He expired more easily than I thought he would. I wonder if you’ll go the same way he did. After all, the potion is in your system as well. For all we know, it’s eating away at your nerves right this second. Shall I hasten the process?”
A strangled, frightened voice pleaded, “Please don’t! Tell me what I must do next.”
Muted murmurings echoed through the cave and a few minutes later, Scorpius saw the psycho carrying a limp body towards the cave entrance. The sight made an apprehensive shiver run through Scorpius’ body.
Tonight, Scorpius promised himself, tonight.
*
For the second time that day, Ginny exited the fireplace at St Mungo’s and hurried towards the lifts. Once inside, she poked the button for the seventh floor and hung on as the lift transported her upwards towards Healer Stilwell’s office.
“I was wondering if Healer Stilwell is in,” she told the witch sitting at the reception desk. “This won’t take but a few minutes,” she added.
“One moment, please,” the secretary replied. She turned to the tiny fireplace behind her desk and threw in a few grains of Floo Powder. She spoke for a few moments and then turned back to Ginny. “He’s coming out to meet you.”
Ginny smiled tightly and looked at her watch. “Thanks.”
“Mrs Potter, how nice to see you!” Healer Stilwell greeted her a moment later. “Come into my office. We’ll have more privacy there.” He let her inside, gesturing towards the familiar sofa. “Now what can I do for you?”
Ginny pulled The Groves brochure out of her handbag and opened it to the right page. “It’s a long story, but the reason I’m here is this.” She pointed to the bullet point she’d circled earlier. “I’m interested in talking to someone who might help me stop feeling like I need to do everything for Harry. I’m miserable and hope you can help me.”
Healer Stilwell had been nodding the whole time she was speaking. Now he said, “I was wondering when you’d ask for help, Ginny. You and Harry are so much alike, I’m now beginning to understand why you two married each other. Let me see if Reginald Hale has any openings." He fished in his pocket and pulled out his mobile. "Hello, Reg? Payton Stilwell here.”
Five minutes later, Ginny left the office clutching a small piece of parchment upon which her appointment time was written. Healer Stilwell had assured her that Harry’s therapist would keep everything in confidence and do his best to help her. As she Disapparated for the Tornados’ front offices, Ginny let out a satisfied sigh. It felt good to be doing something for herself for once.
Chapter 28: 28: Resourcefulness
Author's Notes: For all of my readers who love the Auror action in this story, most of this chapter is centred on the search for Scorpius Malfoy. I hope you’ll enjoy reading about their adventures because I had a lot of fun doing the research.
Many thanks go to my pre-beta team of Jedi34, Mutt n Feathers, Rebecca Ripple and RSS who always do such a great job of commenting, proof reading and questioning various aspects of the chapters I send them. I want to single out Rosina Ferguson because she not only helped me with getting rid of my Americanisms, but sent me three more destinations which made the Aurors’ search for Scorpius much more tedious. Finally, thank you Aggiebell, my beta, for catching things the other readers didn’t. Your question about Scotland only made me think. I’m glad I had time to revise this chapter one more time before today.
0124 hours, Friday, 8 January 2021
James waited until long after midnight before he sneaked down the stairs to the fourth year Gryffindors’ room. Pausing just inside the door to make sure all the boys were soundly asleep, he was happy to see that Albus had left his hangings open. James crept to the foot of his brother’s bed, and drawing his wand, whispered the incantation for the prank he and Lily had giggled about for a full five minutes yesterday when she’d found the spell in 501 Ways to Prank Your Siblings. Then, barely holding back a villainous laugh, he sneaked outside and scurried back to his own bed.
*
At the same time that James was hexing Albus, Lily was busily creating breakfast chaos in the kitchens. For the last hour, she had been methodically dipping the forks to be used by each house table in the potion James had made for their prank and drying them quickly with a flick of her wand. She grinned as she dried the last Ravenclaw fork. Breakfast was going to be fun in the morning.
Let the fun begin, she whispered as she closed the kitchen door and snuck through the shadows back up to Gryffindor Tower.
*
0245 hours
The cave was quiet except for the whisper of the wind and the lap of the sea coming through the hole in the rocks that made up the cave entrance. It was low tide at the moment; Scorpius could tell because of the amount of wind coming into the cave, as well as the sound of the water. The calmness of the sea at the moment wasn’t good for what he wanted to do because he couldn’t hide behind its noise. What he needed was a good tempest with howling winds and crashing waves that would cover up the sounds he knew he would make in his bid for freedom.
He had thought it all out: how he would let himself down, what spell he would use to unlock the cell door, what his route between the cell and the cave entrance would be (as far as he could see while hanging upside down) using the shadows to conceal his progress towards the mouth of the cave, and whether or not he was willing to brave the frigid water in his attempted escape. This last part of the plan would definitely test his mettle, but he was determined to escape, or at least try. Even if he ultimately had to come back into his cell, he had planned a way of telling his parents and the Aurors where to find him.
He glanced through the bars of his cell to make sure he was alone. He knew for certain that the witch who seemed to be in charge of the place wasn’t in the cave tonight–he had seen her Disapparate just before nightfall–nor was the bloke who liked to Cruciate him present. It appeared that both adults had thought him incapable of attempting an escape and left him alone…
Scorpius took a deep, calming breath. This is it, he thought as he drew his wand from its special pocket in the side seam of his trousers. He pointed the wand first at the floor, muttering a Cushioning Spell, for he knew that no matter how he twisted, he would land on his head once he cancelled the spell that kept him hanging about in the middle of the cell. He didn’t need a headache on top of the lingering effects of the Cruciatus Curse. Next, he raised his wand and pointed it at his feet. He muttered, “Finite Incantatem, ” and braced himself for the drop. Nothing happened. He tried again, his wand at a different angle. Still, he remained upside down. Finally, in desperation, he bent at the hips so that his wand was now wedged between his ankles and repeated the spell a third time. The result was instantaneous. As he felt his ankles being released from the spell, he dropped back first towards the floor of the cell and would have been hurt had his head struck the rock. As it was, he bounced once on his charm before coming to a complete stop. He lay still for a moment to let his body become accustomed to being horizontal.
There was another reason he stayed prone on the floor: he couldn’t feel his feet. The long hours of hanging upside down had made his feet go numb soon after he’d arrived in the cave. Scorpius had learned the hard way the first time he’d been let down to relieve himself–his loo was an open hole in a corner of the cell–that getting up too hastily was bad news; not only did all the blood rush from his head and make him dizzy, his numb feet hurt tremendously and were more likely than not to trip him up just as thoroughly as a Trip Jinx would have done.
Very slowly, Scorpius pushed himself up on his elbows; he breathed deeply, testing his equilibrium. His head spun a little, so he closed his eyes, content to allow his body to re-orient itself. Meanwhile, he wiggled his fingers, testing his grip on his wand. He flexed one knee and then the other, even though the movement hurt a little. Finally, he bent his knees and put his feet flat on the floor and wiggled his toes. That hurt! He waited several minutes more and he was happy to discover that he could now feel the bumps in the floor through his shoes. With this happy discovery, he pushed himself upright into a full sitting position and waited a few more seconds while his body adjusted itself again. Then, he stood up and crossed the cell on unsteady legs to door.
His head began spinning as he reached it, and Scorpius made a grab for the wall to steady himself. Bloody hell, he thought angrily, they’ve turned me into damn bat!
He took a couple of deep, steadying breaths and blew each one out slowly. His head cleared and he was able to think more clearly about the spells he needed to perform. When he was sure he could stand on his own, he reached up and tapped each of the hinges of the door with his wand while whispering a lubricating spell he’d heard his dad use on the doors of Malfoy Manor. Then, he levelled his wand at the lock and whispered, “Alohomora.” The lock clicked and the door swung open, its hinges swinging it silently inward. Smiling to himself, Scorpius sneaked out of his cell and into the main room of the cavern.
It was bigger than he thought. It was also creepier than he’d imagined. However, he didn’t have time to explore, nor did he want to at the moment. He zeroed in on his goal: the cave’s entrance.
Cautiously, he peered round the rock wall that separated his cell from the one next to it. The cell was empty, just as he had expected, so he quickly crossed in front of the bars to the front wall of the cave and melted into the shadows behind several rock piles. Then, tiptoeing from pile to pile, he made his way over to the drop-off that led to the cave mouth.
The steeply sloping drop of about fifteen feet ended in a narrow ledge that widened a little to Scorpius’ right. Below the ledge lapped the sea. It was the perfect landing place for a small boat, he supposed, although he had not heard or seen anyone enter the cave except by Apparition.
From his observations the last few days, he knew that to his right, directly opposite the mouth of the cave where the bow of the boat might be tied, a set of steps had been carved into the bedrock for easy access to the rooms above. They were completely exposed, however, and Scorpius didn’t want to get caught using them, so he had chosen the more difficult place to make his descent. He’d thought a lot about what charms he’d need to cast at this particular point in his escape while he was suspended in his cell. As silently as he could, he cast a cushioning charm on the ledge directly below where he stood. Then, he pointed his wand at his shoes and whispered a Silencing Spell and his favourite jinx, the Sticky Shoe Jinx, which stuck one’s shoes to the floor and to one’s feet. (The jinx had been useful to him on several occasions last summer when he’d climbed out his bedroom window and down the vine-covered wall of Malfoy Manor to go into the nearby village without his mother’s permission.) Immediately, he felt the bottoms of his shoes conform to his feet a little more snugly. With one last look over his shoulder, Scorpius slipped his wand back into its pocket, tugged his left foot off the ground and began his slow descent to the ledge below.
He reached the ledge without incident and cancelled the Cushioning Charm before attempting to venture out of the cave. What had looked like a substantial opening in the rock from his cell was really a fissure barely three feet wide that ended in a point about seven feet above the water. Below it were several huge boulders, half submerged in the water, which would prevent a boat from gaining access to the cave. At the moment, the water lapped gently against the rocks and provided Scorpius with a reasonable means of at least stepping out of the cave mouth. Smiling to himself he began inching his way from one boulder to the next until he was standing on a wet, slippery rock in the middle of the opening.
One more rock and I’m free! Scorpius thought as he prepared to leap toward a barnacle-encrusted rock several feet away. Excitement filled him as he thought of how he would continue leaping from one rock to another until he reached a place in the cliff where it would safe to climb to safety.
He leaped. Suddenly he was crouching on the rock and realizing that he had been wrong: there were no more boulders in front of him and the water was actually pounding against the cliffs that towered above his head. He almost cried out in despair. All that work, all that planning, only to discover that it would be too dangerous to enter the water and try to swim for it.
Scorpius closed his eyes as he felt hot tears course down his cheeks. Frustrated, he gave in to the self-pity for a few moments before he pulled himself together enough to think.
What would Dad do? he wondered.
Look around, observe your surroundings, said a voice inside his head that sounded like his dad’s. So swiping at the tears that still clouded his vision, Scorpius looked up.
The night was cold and clear with a waning moon casting a thin silver streak on the water that reached to the horizon. It was windy here, too. To Scorpius’ left and right were the walls of a wide cleft in the cliff, and directly in front of him was a tiny peninsula on top of which seemed to be the ruins of several buildings. It would have been a beautiful sight if he hadn’t been so frustrated.
What would Dad do now?
There was only one answer: send a Patronus Message. It seemed like a good idea, but to whom should he send it… if he could manage to cast a corporeal Patronus. He’d only been successful once in class and his scorpion hadn’t lasted very long. He looked out to sea and realized he was becoming chilled as well as frustrated and sad, and with that realization, wondered if he could even think of something happy to sustain the Patronus long enough to send it.
I have to try, he thought, and began searching his memory for a sufficiently happy memory. It was hard, because his thoughts kept returning to the fact that his quiet family life wasn’t steeped in happy memories; most of what he considered happy were just images and feelings of contentment. Finally, he settled on a memory from this past Christmas: the first time he won a Wizards Chess game against his father. It had occurred Christmas afternoon, after presents and the traditional luncheon feast, when his family had been together enjoying themselves in the library by the fire. It had been the first time his father had not made a dumb move towards the end of the game that allowed Scorpius to win; rather, it was a genuine hard-fought battle that had ultimately ended in his triumphant announcement of “Checkmate” followed by his father’s groaning “Well done, Scorpius,” accompanied by his rarely seen and openly proud grin. It had taken a long time that afternoon for that pleasurable feeling of triumph to finally subside into contentment.
Now, focusing hard on that afternoon, Scorpius closed his eyes and cast his spell, concentrating hard on the incantation, Expecto Patronum! It surprised him when he opened his eyes that there were two scorpions standing in mid-air before him, seemingly waiting expectantly for instructions.
I am still alive, he thought, sending the sentence to his scorpions. I’m being held in a cave by the sea by a witch and three wizards. There’s a ruined castle high on a cliff across from the cave entrance. I want to come home, but can’t escape. The sea is too dangerous for swimming here! Come get me, PLEASE!
He ended his message and watched his Patronuses scuttle away in two different directions. Then, with one regretful look at the sheer rock walls of the cliff, and hoping he’d managed to provide sufficient information for his father to find him, he made his way sadly back into the cave and back into his cell where he quietly locked himself in. He would wait until morning to cast Levicorpus upon himself so the psycho wouldn’t suspect anything when he brought Scorpius’ breakfast. In the meantime, Scorpius crawled onto the mouldy mattress that occupied one of the side walls and huddled under the thin blanket left there by one of the cell’s previous occupants. All he could do now was hope his Patronuses reached his parents and the Aurors.
*
0257 hours
Despite the lateness of the hour–or earliness depending on how he looked at it– Draco Malfoy sat in his study at Malfoy Manor, a stack of paperwork for the office spread out before him. He should have been giving it his utmost attention because of the details of the contracts, but in reality, he was mostly staring into space and wondering what was happening to Scorpius. He was deeply worried about what would happen when the kidnappers discovered tomorrow that he had only managed to raise a tenth of what they wanted to release his son… five thousand Galleons.
The owl had brought the second ransom note yesterday and Draco had immediately notified the Aurors. They had sent a young wizard–Draco remembered his name had been Auror Brodie Something–to check the note for spells and be with him and Asteria when they opened the note.
The letter had been as clean as the first; no finger prints, Muggle ink and delivered by the owl that left as soon as the letter was removed from its leg. The letter had given the particulars of where the bag of hex-free Galleons was to be left and by whom. It specified that Draco himself must bring the money to the drop-off location alone and that the kidnappers would know if there were any Aurors lurking in the shadows.
Auror Brodie had then taken possession of the original note, leaving Draco with a copy and the assurances that there would be someone nearby should something happen, even though the kidnappers had specifically said to come alone. This was another thing that was keeping Draco awake.
The door of the study opened and Asteria came in carrying a tea tray. Draco stood and took it from her, recognizing the small decanter of brandy sitting in the middle of the tray. How like his wife to recognize his signs of worry and to know that adding just enough of the spirit to his tea would help him relax enough to finally come to bed. He set the tray on his desk and turned to take his wife in his arms.
“Thank you, my darling,” he said, pulling her close. “You always seem to know when I need you.”
Asteria tightened her arms around his waist, but said nothing. They stood there for a long moment and then she whispered, “Come, Draco, the tea is getting cold.”
They parted, but Draco did not sit down at his desk as he ordinarily would have. Instead, he remained behind her, watching her elegant movements as she first poured tea into two earthenware mugs and then added a small measure of the brandy to his. Their hands touched when she handed him the mug and he looked deeply into her eyes, silently thanking her, once again, for helping him to not feel so horribly alone.
She smiled at him, breaking their eye contact, and led the way to the settee in front of the fireplace. They settled into the worn fabric and Asteria snuggled close to him, her head on his shoulder, his arm holding her close. Draco sighed and wished a happier reason was bringing them together at this time of the morning.
They had almost finished their tea when a large silver scorpion Patronus scuttled through the window and stood before them. Draco barely had time to put his mug down before the scorpion delivered its message. At the end, after the Patronus dissipated, Draco and Asteria clung to each other while silent tears of relief rolled down his cheeks.
“He’s alive,” Draco breathed. “Scorpius is alive!”
*
0313 hours
The clock in Ron and Hermione’s bedroom at Weasel’s Keep had just chimed three when Ron’s wand buzzed loudly, waking him and Hermione from a sound sleep. Ron yawned and struggled over to the fireplace where he knelt and called the Auror Office.
“What’s up?” he asked the Auror sitting in the Situation Room.
“Auror Weasley, we just received a Patronus Message sent to us by Scorpius Malfoy giving information about where he’s being held and by whom. I thought you’d like to see the Pensieve memory as soon as possible,” the Auror on duty explained.
“I’ll be right there,” Ron said. “Please notify the rest of my team and have a map of Britain and Scotland ready for us in the small conference room.”
“Will do, sir,” the young man replied.
Ron pulled his head out of the fireplace and looked at Hermione, grinning from ear to ear. “Scorpius Malfoy has made contact with the Auror Office,” he told her. “I have no idea when I’ll be home, but I’m going to bring that boy with me.”
“I know you will, Ron,” his wife said.
He grabbed his Auror robes and disappeared into their en-suite, emerging a few minutes later feeling a little more alert. He kissed his wife and then Disapparated to the Ministry.
*
0335 hours
“Is the Pensieve ready?” Ron asked as he strode into the Auror Office.
Susan Bones grinned at him from her place at the conference table. “Right here, Ron. I saw the Patronus come in,” she said.
“Why were you here?” asked Ron as he took a seat close to the Pensieve.
“I traded shifts with Reagan O’Mara. She asked me last week if I’d help her out while her in-laws visited from Dublin. With all that’s happened, I’m glad I was here when the message arrived,” Susan explained.
“That makes two of us,” Ron remarked. “So… tell me what happened.”
Susan gave him nearly the same report the other Auror had, concluding, “I left the memory in the Pensieve. Scorpius’ Patronus is rather spectacular.” She tapped the liquid in the basin, bringing forth the scorpion.
Ron had to agree the huge insect was amazing, but he wasn’t that impressed that Scorpius Malfoy had such good control of the spell; after all, Harry had produced his stag at thirteen, a year earlier than Scorpius.
They viewed Susan’s memory twice, with Ron jotting down the details Scorpius provided. They then opened the map of Britain and Scotland and asked it to show all of the known castles. As the two were studying the map for possible sites, Mary Beth Pendergast, Brodie, Garrett and Terry strode into the conference room. Susan played the memory again, causing Brodie to whistle softly.
“The trick with castles,” Ron said, scratching his head, “is that a lot of these supposed ruins are really magical residences. Do we know of any unoccupied castles that really are ruins?”
Terry pointed to several locations on the map. “I’ll use these inland castles as my example,” he said. “This one, this one and this one are on the Muggle Historical Registry as ruins, but in reality are magical residences disguised by enchantments and Muggle Repelling Charms similar to the ones at Hogwarts. This one was built only three hundred-fifty years ago, but it’s enchanted to look as old and run-down as the others, is still occupied and has been ‘Muggle-proofed’ as it were. Finally, this one is a true ruin: no one has lived there for centuries because it would take too much magic to turn it back into a viable residence; there just isn’t enough of the original buildings left.”
“So what we’re looking for are seaside castles that are true ruins and not private residences?” asked Mary Beth. “How do we know?”
“Correct,” Terry answered. “I’d say look for evidence that Muggles don’t live there.” He scratched his head as he studied the map. “I think we’re in for a bit of a search, because all the seaside castles I can see are on the Registry and may or may not be lived in.” He added almost as an afterthought, “Or are museums.”
“What about the topography?” Brodie asked. “Scorpius’ message said his castle is situated on a tall cliff or peninsula. Does that rule out any locations?”
“I think we’ll need a Muggle topographical map for that,” Susan replied. “I’ll see if there’s one listed in the Ministry’s Map Index.”
She hurried from the room and came back fifteen minutes later carrying a large roll of heavy paper. She spread this next to the map of Scotland and then tapped it with her wand. Immediately, the lines printed on the paper rose above the table, showing the hills, valleys, plains, and mountains in relief. Another spell added all the historical sites they needed from the other map. She then colour-coded them to show residences with Muggle-Repelling enchantments, museums and true ruins.
“We won’t need these,” she said, pointing her wand to the sites on the interior of the country. They all disappeared, all except for one: Hogwarts.
Ron had to smile at her nostalgic flare, but asked anyway, “Why did you leave Hogwarts?”
“To give us a proper perspective for distances and something to use as a reference if we need one,” she answered. Then, turning to Mary Beth, she asked, “Would you add the major cities and seaside towns and villages, please? I’ve just thought of something else…” She hurried away again.
Mary Beth waved her wand at the flat map, copying the names and locations of the requested populated areas, adding Edinburgh Castle on its promontory above the city. “The magical community here is quite large and is spread over quite a few city blocks, not just a single street like Diagon Alley,” she explained. “If her new hide-out is anywhere near Edinburgh, the Matron may have visited one or more of the shops there to purchase supplies of some sort. Has the Sketch-wizard finished his rendering of the Pensieve memory witch?”
Garrett answered, “Yes, it was finished last night. I’ll have copies on my desk for everyone when we’re done here.”
“Good, we’re going to need them,” Mary Beth said as Susan slipped back in the room looking disappointed. Apparently, she hadn’t found what she was looking for.
Ron said, “Thanks for keeping tabs on that, Garrett. I’d forgotten about the sketch in all the excitement.”
“So… which of the possible castles are located on the right land forms?” Susan asked.
Ron and his team scrutinized the topographical relief map, turning it this way and that with his wand. Finally, he pointed to seven castles he thought might be right. “I vote for Gylen Castle, Broughty Castle, Greenan Castle, Dunure Castle, Culzean Castle, Edinburgh Castle and the magical community, and…” He hesitated, comparing two possible castles. “Dunnottar Castle. We’ll start with those. I realize Edinburgh Castle is too far inland, but like Mary Beth said, it’s a good place to question shop keepers, especially those we know of whose entrances are booby-trapped with spells that momentarily reveal a person’s real identity for theft-deterrent purposes.”
Terry asked, “How come you’re not having us search the English castles? There seem to be several that fit the criteria.”
Ron looked uncomfortable for a moment. “To tell the truth, I’m going with a gut feeling I have about this,” he said sheepishly, looking at Terry. “Something tells me we need to start where the topography is rugged. We’re supposed to be looking for a place with cliffs and a peninsula. A lot of the British castles are either set back from the water or are built on islands. I have a feeling we’d be better served starting with the Scottish castles.”
“As good an answer as I could give you,” Terry said shrugging.
Ron sighed tiredly. He plunged his hands into his pockets, thinking. “All right… assignments… Susan and Mary Beth will go to Broughty Castle, Terry and I will check out Dunure Castle, and Brodie and Garrett get Greenan Castle. Take your usual gear. We’ll converge back here in a couple of hours and decide whether or not we need to find more castle sites or send a team to Edinburgh’s wizarding district to find out if someone meeting the Matron’s description has been seen in the area.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Brodie quipped. “Is it too early to leave?”
“I don’t think so,” Ron answered. “I think you’ll know whether or not your castle is the one we’re looking for almost as soon as you get there, even though it’s dark.”
Enthusiastically, Brodie rubbed his hands together, saying, “Well, what are we waiting for?”
Chuckling, the rest of the team left the conference room. Ron was the last to leave, taking the time to put his signature locking charm on the door because of all the evidence they’d left inside.
*
It was bitterly cold when Susan and Mary Beth landed on a dark beach near Broughty Castle. The water lapped calmly on the headland the castle was built on, and Susan immediately knew this was the wrong place. Looking through the gloom at the structure surrounded by car parks and Muggle buildings, she could see that not only was the castle not built on a high cliff, it was definitely not a ruin. She turned to Mary Beth.
“Seen enough?” she asked the other Auror.
“I have,” Mary Beth answered. “Let’s go before I freeze.”
Not needing any more encouragement, Susan nodded and Disapparated back to the Ministry.
*
Terry pulled the hood of his cloak over his head as the cold wind blowing across the water made its way down the neck of his Auror robes. Beside him, Ron was doing the same thing.
“Bloody kidnappers,” Ron grumbled, making Terry smile. “Why do they have to pick such awful places to imprison their hostages?”
“Makes it hard to escape?” Terry offered.
Ron shook his head and led the way towards the path they’d landed near. “Whatever. I think the ruins are this way,” he said, and Terry thought he could hear Ron’s teeth chattering as they strode towards the remains of Dunure Castle.
After about five minutes, the path ended at a jumble of stone walls that resembled a rock pile more than a group of buildings and Terry wondered why the structure was even on the Historical Registry. It was evident that no one lived here except maybe mice and other furry creatures, especially since the castle was built on a strip of land no more than twenty feet above the beach.
“I vote we rule this one out,” he suggested.
Ron shook his head. “Not yet. I’m Apparating onto the beach,” he said. “I’ll be back in a moment,” and before Terry could reply, he’d popped out of existence. A few seconds later, he was back.
“Find anything?” Terry asked.
“Nope. Let’s go. It’s bloody cold here, mate,” Ron said.
The two walked quickly back the way they’d come and upon reaching the Apparition point, Disapparated back to the warmth of their Ministry office.
*
Greenan Castle’s light-coloured stone walls gleamed in what little moonlight there was, casting a long shadow over the beach forty feet below. The cliff it was perched on was eroded on one side so the land sloped gently towards the beach. On the other side, the precipice was much more pronounced, but it, too, eventually melted into the beach. Off in the distance in a north-easterly direction, a sleepy little village was just distinguishable by the lights shining in the streets.
Brodie looked up at the ruined structure from where they’d appeared on the beach and murmured to Garrett in a disappointed tone, “This is more like a promontory than a cliff. And Scorpius didn’t say a thing about seeing a village. Do you think it’s worth hiking up there?”
Garrett turned his back to the waves that were lapping gently onto the beach some twenty feet away and lit his wand. “Let’s at least check out the base of the cliff,” he suggested. “I doubt we’ll find anything, though. It’s unusual to find beach entrances to medieval castles, ya know.”
Brodie grunted through gritted teeth as though he was trying to keep them from chattering, “Let’s get this over with. The sooner we get out of this wind the better.”
They lit their wands and the two Aurors followed the base of the cliff as it curved east towards the lights of the village. They illuminated as much of the rocks as they could, but to no avail.
“You’d think there would be some sort of repelling charm in place,” Brodie commented quietly. “If the lab is here, if Scorpius is here, wouldn’t it stand to reason that there’d be at least something to suggest we steer clear of the place?”
Garrett extinguished his wand and tucked it into its holster. “There’s nothing here. I checked. Let’s go,” he said. “See you back at headquarters.” Then he turned on the spot and disappeared from sight.
Brodie followed suit, feeling more than a little disappointed.
*
Mary Beth had always known Auror work would be tedious, whether the job called for surveillance work or interviews or research of one type or another. Her father had certainly done enough of those things for the Aurors before he was killed in the second war; he’d always seemed to have the patience of a saint when it came to ferreting out the truth, and he’d passed his love for justice and his sense of fairness along to his daughter.
As she and Susan materialized at the Ministry she sighed and asked, “Write the report now or wait until later?”
“Let’s get it over with,” Susan suggested. “It doesn’t look like the boys are back.”
Mary Beth smiled; she liked Susan’s straight-forward approach to investigative work and the mounds of parchment work it generated. “I’ll get the forms and meet you in your cubicle. Ron probably has the conference room locked up tighter than a drum.”
Susan took off her cloak, smiled her assent and turned left down an aisle between two sets of cubicles. Mary Beth went straight to her own cubicle and had the required parchments in her hand when she heard voices. Curious, she craned her neck over the partition to see who’d arrived.
“Hey Ron, Terry!” she called, waving her hand. The men looked up. “Where are we meeting?”
“Conference room,” Ron grunted.
“I’ll get Susan,” Mary Beth said.
“No need,” Susan said. “I know they’re here.”
The four Aurors had to wait another ten minutes for Garrett and Brodie to arrive. In the meantime, Mary Beth sat quietly in a corner, her quill scratching busily, until the door opened, admitting the two stragglers.
“Find anything?” Ron’s question was hopeful.
“Nope,” Brodie answered. “We found a whole lot of nothin’.”
Mary Beth put down her quill and joined the others crowded around the maps. Ron looked at her, his face expectant.
“Broughty Castle looks inhabited and like it's used as either a hotel or a museum,” she reported. “We didn’t stick around once we found the car park and saw lights in the windows.”
Ron pointed his wand at the raised form of Broughty Castle. It winked out of existence as had the other inhabited castles earlier. Without looking up, he said, “Dunure Castle’s just a rock pile, really, and can’t be more than twenty feet above the beach, so it’s out, too.” The little castle picture disappeared from the relief map as its counterpart had just seconds before.
“Same goes for Greenan Castle,” Brodie said with a yawn. “It had promise for about two seconds until we figured out that it’s on the only cliff for several miles. The rest of the area is covered in sandy beaches.”
“It’s also within viewing distance of a village,” Garrett added. “I don’t think the Matron would have picked such an easily escapable place. Even at high tide the water level isn’t more than a couple of feet high according to the markings on the rocks.”
Ron stuck his hands in his pockets and stared thoughtfully at the relief map. Finally, he pointed to three more castles. “Let’s investigate these this time,” he said wearily. “Mary Beth, you and Susan take Gylen Castle on Kerrnan Island. Brodie, you and Garrett take Dunnottar south of Aberdeen, and Terry and I will take Culzean.”
“Why are Brodie and Garrett going to Dunnottar?” Mary Beth asked. “All the other castles we’ve investigated are on the west coast. Dunnottar’s on the east.”
Ron used his wand as a pointer. “The topography here is right, Mary Beth,” he said. “I picked it because there are cliffs and beaches running north and south of the castle for miles. From the looks of them, they’re quite high above the water.”
Mary Beth had to agree. “That makes sense.” She looked at Susan. “You ready to get cold again, partner?”
Susan shivered and rubbed her upper arms. “Come on, gents, let’s get this over with,” she said.
Ron looked over at Mary Beth. “Is your report done?”
She smiled as she picked up the parchment and handed it to him. “All that’s lacking is Susan’s signature,” she said.
Ron handed the report to Susan who signed it. “Nice work, Pendergast, nice work,” he said as they left the office. “See you in a bit.”
He sealed the door and then turned left to go deeper into the Auror office while the others headed right towards the corridor leading to the lifts.
“Kiss-up,” Brodie teased her.
Mary Beth flashed him a smile. “Susan and I will be going home long before you three will,” she said sweetly as the five crowded into a lift.
Brodie just rolled his eyes and punched the button for the Atrium level.
*
Ron stayed outside the conference room only long enough to lock the door again. He hoped Terry would go on ahead of him to Culzean Castle because the faster they ruled out each inhabited or publicly used castle the closer he and his team would be to zeroing in on the Matron’s cave.
He looked at his watch, noticing that three hours had passed since he’d first come to the office. Deputy Director Robards would be in soon and Ron didn’t feel like telling him his team had so far come up with a whole lot of nothing. He hastened to the lifts and had to smile as he glimpsed his superior emerging from the far car. The doors to Ron’s lift closed as he heaved a sigh of relief.
Terry, it turned out, had not waited for Ron and had gone ahead. When Ron’s feet touched solid ground, he came face to face with the manicured lawns and carefully-tended gardens of a very public castle. In an area this big, he reasoned, it would be easier to locate Terry from the air using a heat-seeking spell, so he quickly made his way to a grove of pine trees, took his broom from his pocket and camouflaged himself and the broom before taking to the air.
The castle was spectacular from the air, almost as glorious as Hogwarts, he reckoned, and before he looked for Terry, Ron took a moment to appreciate its beauty. The main building was a huge, sprawling five-story thing that looked as if the original large mansion with its many turrets and towers had been added onto several times over the years. It looked like something Hermione might want to come to later in the spring when the gardens were in full flower.
Finally, he cast his spell. The only warm-bodied, two-legged object large enough to be Terry was standing on the other side of the castle near the edge of the cliff the castle was built on. Ron turned his broom towards the sea and flew close to the water while inspecting the cliff for fissures big enough to admit a person. When he found none, he cancelled his Disillusionment Charms and cast a spell, which alerted Terry of his presence.
“This one’s a big bust,” Terry commented as Ron landed beside him.
“Yeah, I wonder how the others are faring,” Ron said. He shoved his hands into his pockets to keep them warm.
“No idea. You ready to go back?”
“Yes. I need to brief Robards on what’s been happening.”
“You go on ahead, then,” Terry said. “I’ll be along in a minute.”
“All right, see you in a few.” Ron turned on the spot and left the castle with his usual quiet pop.
*
The desolate beauty of Kerrera Island was evident as soon as Susan and Mary Beth arrived. Susan supposed she should feel lucky to watch the spectacular sunrise that was forming on the eastern horizon, but the top of the hill they’d landed on was too cold and windy to warrant staying in one place long enough to appreciate the rolling hills and craggy outcroppings looming above Gylen Castle.
She motioned to Mary Beth to Disillusion herself and the younger Auror did so asking, “There isn’t anyone around, Susan. Why all the caution?”
“I feel very exposed here,” Susan admitted. “This castle was put on that rock to guard the Firths on either side of the island. It can be seen from the water and if we’re going to Apparate down to it, I don’t want any Muggle ship captains saying they saw ghosts or something.”
Mary Beth smiled at her. “Susan, I think you need more sleep. Your imagination is running away from you. C’mon, let’s get this over with.” She Disapparated, leaving Susan standing there with her retort unsaid. Growling in irritation, Susan followed her to the water.
From the shore, Gylen Castle was a beautiful rustic ruin that cast long shadows into the cold winter morning. As the sky lightened, Susan cast several revealing spells, which didn’t react, causing both witches to sigh in disappointment. They took the time to walk through the ground floor of the castle as well as comb the base of the outcropping it was built on. They found no evidence of a cave or an entrance to one.
Finally, as the sky turned light yellow above the hills, Susan admitted defeat.
“Let’s go back to London, Mary Beth. We have yet another report to write,” she said.
Mary Beth groaned. “You get to write it, Susan. I wrote the last one,” she said.
“Fair’s fair,” Susan said. “I’ll buy you a pot of tea to thaw you out.”
Mary Beth grinned. “You’re on,” she said as Susan Disapparated.
*
Garrett knew he and Brodie had found the right place as soon as he heard the waves; he could hear them crashing far below their landing spot. He remained still for a few moments, finding his bearings and admiring the desolate wind-swept plain that seemed to disappear into the sea some distance away. He looked at his watch, surprised to see that it was nearly seven o’clock; it was still dark this far north. Looking up, he saw that the sky was clear and still full of stars, although the eastern horizon was beginning to show signs of lightening.
Turning to Brodie, he asked, “What do you think?”
“I don’t know,” the other wizard said. “I think this might be it, but I want to look around some more… you know, just in case.”
“I agree,” Garrett murmured. “Stick together or explore separately?”
“Together. If the Matron is in the vicinity, I wouldn’t want to face her alone. Not after reading the report Stilwell wrote describing her abilities and knowing what she’s done to our colleagues,” answered Brodie. “Which way should we go?”
Garret peered into the night. “Let’s find the castle first,” he suggested. “I think it’s that way.” He pointed towards the water and after Disillusioning himself and Brodie, began walking towards the sound of the waves.
Eventually, they found a precariously narrow path leading to the ruins; on both sides, the cliff dropped away alarmingly towards the water. The Muggles had installed safety railings, so Garrett was able to suppress his fear of heights enough to lead the way out to the middle of the path where he and Brodie found they could see the coastline for several miles on either side.
“If you were the Matron, where do you think you’d hide your cave?” Brodie asked.
“I vote for over that way,” Garrett said, pointing to his left, momentarily forgetting that Brodie couldn’t see the gesture. “Sorry, look left. I’m seeing shadows in the cliffs over there. There are none to our right. Shall we check them out?”
“Might as well,” Brodie agreed. They pulled miniaturized brooms out of their pockets, enlarged them and took off, flying towards the first set of folds in the rock.
As they approached, Garrett knew this wasn’t the right place for the cave because there was a slim stretch of beach at the base of the cliffs. “Let’s keep looking,” he said and flew farther down the coast to the next set of folds in the rock face.
As they approached, they suddenly encountered the feeling they needed to be elsewhere.
“Do you feel that?” Brodie called about the waves. “There’s magic trying to keep us away from these cliffs.”
Garrett turned his broom back towards the way they’d come. He was rewarded with a spectacular view of the small isthmus Dunnottar Castle was built upon.
“I have no doubt we’ve found what we’re looking for, Brodie,” he said. “With magic this strong trying to discourage us from going any closer, plus this view, I know this is the place the Matron is holding Scorpius Malfoy. I’m going to fly as close as I can to see if I can find the entrance. If there is one, we’ll need to record the location on the Omnioculars.”
“I’ll start with the castle and pan back this way while you’re doing that,” Brodie said, taking his standard issue pair of the glasses from under his cloak and bringing them to his eyes.
Garrett thought momentarily how funny it looked to see the instrument hanging in mid-air, then he turned and began flying towards the crevice in the rock. The walls were nearly vertical and at their base were large seaweed-covered boulders. He flew lower, fighting the suggestion to leave even though it was quite strong. When the urge was nearly unbearable, he hovered just above the waves, pulled out his Omnioculars and brought them to his eyes after setting them to the Night Vision setting. He smiled when he found a small crack in the wall behind the boulders. He recorded several images and then turned on the Heat Seek feature. Again, he smiled: the opening showed warmer air leaking out of the cave mouth. Warm air wasn’t leaking between the rocks anywhere else. Garrett made a few notations and then rejoined Brodie.
“If this isn’t the place, I’ll eat my hat,” he told Brodie.
The other Auror grinned. “I don’t think you’ll have to do that, Garrett. Let’s go back to headquarters. Ron will want to see this.”
They flew back to the safety of the cliff top where it was a matter of seconds to stow their gear and Disapparate to London.
Chapter 29: 29: Birthday
Author's Notes: I’m really excited about this chapter, mostly because I had so much help on it. When I originally planned to have James and Lily prank Albus for his birthday, I asked my readers to come up with a prank, mostly because I was fresh out of ideas. I am grateful to Hedwig_edwiges for suggesting and allowing me to use her “Be Our Guest” prank which caused the objects around Albus to dance as he passed. I also thank Rosina Ferguson for creating the “Tuning Forks” prank which caused so much havoc in the Great Hall. Both of these pranks were great fun to write and I hope you two like how they turned out.
As always, many thanks go to my pre-beta team of Jedi34, Mutt n Feathers, RebeccaRipple, Rosina Ferguson, and RSS. Thank you for squeezing time from your busy schedules to read and comment on this chapter. Thanks, Aggiebell, for being such a great beta.
0545 hours, Friday, 8 January 2021
Lily dashed out of the portrait hole and down the stairs, yawning and hoping she would catch the house-elves in the act of setting the house tables for breakfast. Last night, she had insisted that it would be her who cast the last spell on the Gryffindor table’s forks, the one that would trigger the song fest when Al came down for breakfast.
She was huffing and puffing by the time she reached the underground passage that led to the door to the kitchens, so she hid behind a suit of armour until she regained control of her breathing. Then she stole stealthily from shadow to shadow until she reached the fruit painting and reached up to tickle the pear. The door handle immediately appeared and she let herself in.
“Miss Potter! How nice to see you!” an elf called from her place at a huge cauldron. “Can we get you anything?”
Lily smiled at the elf and looked around at the four preparation tables, happy to see that the place settings were just about ready to go. “No, thanks, Calla,” she responded. “I’m here to do one last prank on the Gryffindor table. No need to leave your stirring.”
“All right, but be quick about it,” Calla said and Lily hastened over to the head of the Gryffindor table. Two seconds and a well-cast spell later, she was out the door and slinking back up the seven staircases to Gryffindor Tower.
As she slipped through the portrait hole she whispered for the second time that morning, “Happy Birthday, Albus.”
*
0645 hours
The feeble shaft of sunlight shining through a gap in his bed hangings woke Albus more thoroughly than the steady leak of cold air coming through the same gap. He lay under his warm covers, blinking at the dust particles that danced in the light and wondering why today should be any different than any other Friday, especially in light of the fact that Scorpius Malfoy was still missing. He hated not knowing what was happening with his friend and the sadness and worry of the last week came crashing down on him like a load of giant spell books. With a great sigh, he pushed himself upright and stared, goggle-eyed, at the foot of his bed. It was covered with an assortment of gaily-wrapped packages, all with some variation of ‘Happy Birthday, Albus!’ written on them. How could he have forgotten his fifteenth birthday? Stupid, really…
Now a little happier about the prospect of getting up, Albus reached for the first gift, which turned out to be from his grandparents. Tucked under a new pair of dragon hide Beater’s gloves was an assortment of his favourite home-made sweets. Albus pulled out a rather large piece of chocolate-pecan fudge and sat nibbling on it while he opened the rest of his presents. His friends and relatives had given him the traditional assortment of sweets, new quills, joke items and a pair of hand-knit socks from his Aunt Hermione. He had saved his presents from his parents and siblings until last and now opened the box he was sure the family owl, a barn owl named Dumbledore, had brought to him from his parents. Inside, were a couple of Muggle paperback mystery books, a new pair of fur-lined gloves and a broom servicing kit to go with the new broom they had given him for Christmas. Albus smiled happily at this last item. There was also a long letter from his dad, which Albus decided he’d read later when he had more time to enjoy it.
Albus smiled as he repacked the box and reached for the small one from his brother and sister. He read the note attached to it, “We hope your birthday is something to smile about. Love, James and Lily.” They had pooled their money and purchased some pocket-sized Wheezes from his Uncle George, the sneaky kind he could easily conceal to surprise his ‘victim’ at a moment’s notice.
“Hey, Potter! You up yet?” His best mate, Kenneth, popped his head between the curtains, grinning from ear to ear. “Happy Birthday, mate! You like my present?”
Albus grinned back, holding up the extra large box of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans. “Thanks, Kenneth. These are brilliant.”
“Good to know,” Kenneth said. “Now get your lazy carcass out of bed and down for breakfast. We have Transfiguration in forty-five minutes.”
A groan escaped Albus as he slid off the bed and began hopping about on the cold floor. “Did you have to remind me?” he asked as he separated his presents from the discarded wrappings and put the gifts in his trunk.
“Yep. I sure did,” Kenneth chortled as he grabbed his book bag and headed for the door. “See you downstairs.”
Albus looked at the clock and frowned. He could have sworn it had just pirouetted in place. Shaking his head, he grabbed his toilet kit and headed for the loo. As he passed, something on Kenneth’s bedside table rattled as did the lamp shades, discarded clothes and books near Scott’s and Brad’s beds. Albus shrugged and went into the loo where his toothbrush and toothpaste wouldn’t stay put on the side of the sink, instead trying to march around the basin while the water ran. Giving it up for a bad job, Albus returned to his bed to dress and put away his things and get his books for the day. As he walked back towards the door to the landing, more objects behaved peculiarly.
“Weird,” he muttered and made his way down to the common room to meet Kenneth, Scott and Brad.
As he entered the common room, books, newspapers, ink bottles, book bags, and anything else not held down began swirling in mid-air, finally landing on the floor and creating a sort of chorus line that bowed and spun in intricate patterns on the floor in front of him. The other occupants of the common room had noticed and were pointing at him and laughing.
“What the heck?” Albus asked nobody in particular and feeling rather self-conscious. “What’s going on?”
Kenneth stopped laughing long enough to say, “Beats me,” as the chorus line disbursed and the objects went soaring back to their places.
“Come on, Albus, let’s go down to breakfast,” Brad suggested, turning towards the portrait hole. “We need to get down there before all the good stuff is eaten by the seventh years.”
Albus, Kenneth and Scott followed him through and as the portrait closed, the four boys were met with an eye-opening sight; all along the corridor, the normally stationary statues and suits of armour were bowing, hopping, jumping and twisting on their plinths. As the boys passed each one, it struck a pose and seemed to be mouthing “Happy Birthday, Albus.”
Scott elbowed Albus in the ribs. “You’ve been pranked, mate!” he chortled. “Do you know who hexed you?”
“No idea,” Albus said, shaking his head. “I hope this doesn’t last very long. The teachers aren’t going to be pleased if this keeps up all day.”
“I think it’s kind of funny,” Kenneth said. “Whoever hexed you did a good job.”
Albus had to agree as he watched the statuary and suits of armour all over the school dance as he drew near. Nothing happened in the statue-less Entrance Hall, and Albus heaved a sigh of relief as he let his friends enter the Great Hall first. He then stood silently in front of the closed doors and steeled himself for what was surely going to be a big dance-fest if the past few minutes were indicative of what was to come.
“You going in?” a familiar voice asked from behind him.
He turned to see his Cousin Rose standing a few feet away with her other five room mates. All six girls must have seen the dancing statuary for several of them were giggling behind their hands and trying not to point at him.
“Yeah, I’m going in,” he said, “but you can go first. I may not have breakfast after all.”
“Chicken!” Rose whispered as she passed him.
Albus glared at his cousin and hissed back, “I’m not a chicken!”
“Then come in and face the music,” Rose challenged, and tossing her hair over her shoulder, she followed her friends to the Gryffindor table where they took their seats about halfway down the table.
Albus watched her sit down and then walked boldly toward his usual place that was closer to the teacher’s table. His entrance into the Hall caused all the dishes, cutlery, and goblets that weren’t held down to rise up and begin dancing jigs and reels and waltzes. It sounded like a great Irish clogging dance because there wasn’t any music. After the initial gasps and exclamations of surprise, the other students began beating rhythms on the tables while providing background sound effects. When Albus had sat down and taken his place next to Kenneth, the dancing stopped and the dishes returned to their original places.
“As odd as this is,” he said as he picked up a plate of toast, “I have to say that was pretty funny.”
“I quite enjoyed it,” Kenneth said around a mouthful of porridge.
“Yeah, you did,” Brad said, pointing to the wet spot on Kenneth’s tie, “especially after your breakfast danced onto your tie.”
“You’re not much better,” Kenneth chortled. He leaned over and stage whispered, “He shrieked like a girl when his sausage and eggs landed in his lap!”
Albus shook his head and helped himself to the porridge. “I think I did, too,” he said with a small smile.
*
Lily, who was sitting next to James at the Gryffindor table, had a better view of the Great Hall doors than her brother did and when Albus finally made his appearance, she nudged his foot under the table.
“This is going to be good!” she exclaimed softly as dishes and cutlery all over the hall seemed to sprout invisible legs and started rattling and tapping.
James snorted, “Look at his face! It’s positively purple!”
“Do you think he’s angry?”
“Nope, not in the least. I think our dear brother is trying to act as if this isn’t pleasing him one bit… and he’s failing miserably.”
“Shall we complete the pranks?” Lily asked, her eyes dancing.
“By all means,” James said graciously as the din subsided and everyone went back to their meals.
Lily stood up and called loudly down the table, “HAPPY FIFTEENTH BIRTHDAY, ALBUS!”
*
James waited, holding his breath. Lily’s greeting was the trigger for the next phase of Albus’ birthday prank. As soon as his sister sat down he picked up his piece of toast and sat nibbling it while listening intently. He was rewarded several seconds later when the deep voice of one of the seventh year boys started singing Happy Birthday even though he had no idea why he was singing or to whom he was singing. The startled seventh year was quickly joined by others up and down the table, all wishing Albus a musical ‘happy birthday.’ All over the Great Hall people stopped eating again so they could crane their necks to see why the Gryffindors were disturbing the meal for a second time that morning.
Just as the first Gryffindor chorus finished the other side of the Hall erupted into song; up and down the Slytherin table the burly fifth, sixth and seventh year boys as well as a great many of the girls put down their spoons and forks and began singing “Ring-a-Ring o’Rosies”, “Insy Winsy Spider”, and “Pop Goes the Weasel”. As the faces of the singers grew decidedly pinker by the word, the Gryffindors started another round of Happy Birthday.
“This is too funny!” called a small Hufflepuff whose head seemed to be on a swivel because she apparently didn’t know which table to look at. All around her her housemates started giggling.
The next instant, though, they too were singing. The girl’s eyes widened because she suddenly couldn’t stop singing, “Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens, bright copper kettles and warm woollen mittens…” along with the rest of the Hufflepuff table, which had taken up the “Do-Re-Mi” song.
James grinned at Lily. “This is better than I thought it would be.”
His sister giggled behind her hand, “I can hardly wait to see the teachers’ faces when the Ravenclaws start in.”
“You bet,” James said, and he picked up another piece of toast and slathered it with marmalade. He glanced wistfully at the sausages he’d put on his plate earlier, but didn’t dare pick up his fork; he didn’t want to join in the singing until he’d had a good laugh over what the Ravenclaws would soon be belting into their spoons.
Right on time, the entire Ravenclaw table–or rather all of those who had been eating with their forks–stood up, grabbed their spoons and began belting, “We don’t need no education, We don’t need no thought control. No dark sarcasm in the classroom. Teachers leave those kids alone! HEY Teachers! Leave those kids alone!”
The other three tables had momentarily paused in their singing, the singers’ mouths hanging open while those not singing had their heads together whispering frantically. James listened hard and was able to catch some of the phrases flying around him in quick succession:
“They’re going to get in so much trouble!”
“Whoever did this is gonna get it!”
“Wish I’d thought of this prank.”
The conversation between two Hufflepuff first year girls took the cake, though, in his opinion.
“Who’s Albus? Is it his birthday?”
“Yeah, dummy, he’s over there! Albus Potter, the kid turning bright red!”
Momentarily, panic seized James. Did we choose the wrong house to sing that song? he asked himself.
However, when James looked at the teachers they were all laughing behind their napkins or chuckling into their goblets. Professor Wolcott caught his eye and actually winked as all four house tables began competing against each other to see who could sing their songs the loudest. Glad that the headmaster wasn’t going to reprimand him for interrupting breakfast, James picked up his fork, speared a sausage, chewed thoughtfully, and then joined his housemates in serenading Albus.
The noise level rose steadily all the rest of breakfast. James kept glancing down the table at his brother hoping Albus would catch on or at least become annoyed enough to tell somebody to stop singing. Unfortunately, Al didn’t and as people finished their breakfasts, they began drifting off into other parts of the castle still singing their assigned song: James could hear snatches of “Pop Goes the Weasel” mixing with “’nother brick in the wall” and “Happy Birthday dear Albus…” all fading away as the singers walked away from the Great Hall.
It was still quite noisy when Albus finally seemed to catch on that he might have something to do with making the singing stop and finally yelled, “ENOUGH! STOP SINGING!”
Instantly, every single singer stopped singing; the Ravenclaw performers gratefully sagged back onto their benches, the Hufflepuffs stopped popping up and down when their note was to be sung in the “Do-Re-Mi” round and the red-faced Slytherins slunk out of the Great Hall, creating blissful silence that seemed to permeate the entire castle.
James winked at Lily and speared his last piece of sausage as their brother walked over to them, causing the dishes nearest him to get up on their rims and quietly do their jig. (James sighed happily at this sign that his dancing dishes spell was beginning to wear off.)
“Did you do this?” Albus asked, sweeping a hand in a wide arc that included the dancing dishes as well as the remains of the house table singing competition.
“Are you angry?” James asked.
Albus shook his head. “Nope, I’m not angry at all,” he said, grinning. “You got me good, James. Thanks. I needed the laugh.”
Lily glared at her brothers. “I get credit, too,” she said indignantly. “I helped James find the spells and potion he needed to pull all this off.”
Albus smiled. “Thanks, Lily.” He paused and then asked, “Did you see the look on Parkinson’s face when he started singing the spider song? That was just about as good as watching Professor Flitwick’s expression when his house started that Pink Floyd song Dad likes.”
“I was afraid the teachers wouldn’t like it, but they couldn’t stop snickering,” Lily said. “Professor Longbottom and Headmaster Wolcott even joined in for a bit.”
“I saw that, too,” Albus said. He sighed and looked around the quickly-emptying Great Hall. “Alas, Transfiguration calls,” he said melodramatically and hurriedly left to go to his first class of the day, leaving a trail of rattling dishes in his wake.
James called after his brother, “Happy Birthday, Albus!” Then, turning to Lily, he said, “Thanks for your help, sis. We put a smile on his face.”
Lily stood up and grabbed her bag. “That we did, big brother, that we did. See you at lunch,” she said and quickly followed Albus.
James lingered a few seconds longer to grab one last rasher of bacon before he, too, headed for his first lesson.
*
0907 hours
Brodie could hardly restrain himself from blurting the news he and Garrett had found the cave/castle combination as the two strode into the Auror office and turned towards the small conference room. He knew there would be many more long hours of planning and waiting before they would actually be able to undertake the freeing of Scorpius Malfoy and possibly capturing the Matron and her followers, but just the fact that they now knew where Scorpius was lightened his mood considerably. He wanted to share that feeling with the other tired-looking members of Ron’s team.
Garrett had barely closed the door before Brodie crowed, “We found the castle!”
Four heads turned in their direction and the hang-dog weary expression on Ron’s face evaporated instantly to be replaced by a tired grin.
“Good work, you two,” he said, as the other three stepped away from the maps they’d been studying and came round the table to congratulate Brodie and Garrett.
Unfortunately, the euphoria brought about by the announcement lasted only seconds as the six realized just how much more they needed to do before they could close the investigation. They stared at each other for several seconds before Terry took a clipboard from its place on the wall. Brodie glared at it for a moment, then turned towards the coffee urn in the corner of the room and poured a cup of the strong, stale brew. He was going to need the caffeine if he wanted to stay awake for the planning meeting.
*
0921 hours
Garret and Brodie had just finished with their report. The two sat hunched over their coffee mugs as everyone waited for him to make the next move.
“Good work, gents,” Ron said as he stood up and walked to the door. “I need to report this to Deputy Robards. Terry, go ahead and start planning the mission while I’m gone. You can brief me when I get back.
Terry nodded and began the planning meeting as Ron slipped out the door.
“You got a minute?” he asked Robards a few minutes later.
Robards looked up from his parchments. “How goes the investigation?” he asked.
Ron couldn’t help smiling. “We’ve found the cave, sir,” he said. “We’re now planning the surveillance mission.”
“Excellent. I’d like to sit in,” Robards said, flicking his wand over his desk, clearing it. He followed Ron back to the conference room where they found the others reviewing one of Brodie’s Omniocular recordings.
“Impressive castle,” Robards commented as he and Ron sat down.
“Yes, the cliff it’s on is over a hundred and fifty feet high, according to the relief map,” Terry said, pointing to an enlarged version of that portion of their Muggle relief map. “It would have been very dangerous for Scorpius to attempt to climb, had he been able to reach its base, even with releasable sticking charms on his hands and feet.”
Ron studied the map, shaking his head in amazement. “Hugo tells me Scorpius is fearless on a broom, so I don’t think the kid would have thought twice about trying to climb it.”
“I’m just glad he’s smart enough not to attempt it,” Robards commented. He looked over at Terry. “How much of the particulars have you covered?”
“We’ll Disapparate to the Muggle village of Stonehaven and set up observation points in this snow field, at the castle and on brooms facing the cave entrance,” Terry answered. “At this moment, we don’t know whether there’s a land-based entrance in the snowfield, so we’ll need to check that out before we establish a surveillance base.”
Robards stood up. “I’ve seen enough to know you have this well in hand. Report in when you can,” he said.
Ron nodded. “Will do, sir,” he murmured and turned his attention back to Terry and the others.
*
1300 hours
“Welcome, Mrs Potter,” Mr Hale greeted her. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
Shyly, Ginny entered the therapist’s office. She clutched her handbag and waited to be told where to sit. Mr Hale walked over to a grouping of several chairs and a sofa. “Come, have a seat, please,” he said, taking one of the armchairs.
Ginny sat on the very edge of the middle sofa cushion with her bag on her lap. She felt as tense as a cornered Kneazle and ready to run only because she knew there were anti-Apparition spells on this part of The Groves that prevented her from leaving the facility that way.
Mr Hale smiled at her and asked gently, “Why are you here, Mrs Potter?”
She didn’t answer right away, and when she did, her voice sounded strange in her ears as she said, “I’ve had some–wait, that’s not true–a lot of trouble coping with the fact that Harry doesn’t need me now as much as he did right after his accident.” She had been staring at her shoes as she said this and now looked up, feeling quite vulnerable as she added, “Can you… can you help me?”
Mr Hale smiled, his face softening into a caring expression. “Do you want to be helped?”
Ginny nodded. “I do,” she whispered.
Mr Hale leaned forward a bit in his chair. “Good. We shall get to work, then. Will you describe the sorts of trouble you’ve been having?”
She took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. And as she began her answer, Ginny felt a sense of peace creep over her, something that hadn’t happened very often since Harry had been hurt. It’s begun. I’m going to be all right, she thought, soon…
Chapter 30: 30: Surveillance
Author's Notes: A/N: We’ve come to the place that so many of you, my readers, have been anticipating these last few chapters. I must warn you, there are a few time-line jumps in this and the next chapter as I tried to make sure you know what’s happening to everyone all at the same time. This chapter is a continuation of the same day as the last chapter, 8 January 2021 and I’ve come to look at it as a sort of “meanwhile, back at the cave” sort of chapter. I hope I have not disappointed or confused you.
And now for my standard list of thank yous: To my pre-beta team of Jedi34, Mutt n Feathers, RebeccaRipple, Rosina Ferguson and RSS, thank you for all you’ve done to help make this chapter readable. To my beta, Aggiebell, thank you being such an awesome person to help me get my chapters posted week in and week out.
30: Surveillance
The Rescue Part 1
1012 hours 8 January 2021
Ron had only a few minutes before the Aurors were scheduled to leave on surveillance. He raced to the mail room and selected a very fast, direct-flying owl to whose leg he attached a very brief note addressed to Harry at The Groves. As he tossed the bird into the owl entrance he thought, Draco needs to know. He and his wife shouldn’t wait alone. Not now, not when we’re so close…
1030 hours
This wasn’t her first surveillance mission, but it was the first she predicted would end in the capture of the suspects and the rescue of the victim, instead of resulting in more long hours of meetings and more surveillance… and it was all due to the evidence found in Scorpius Malfoy’s Patronus message.
Mary Beth stood next to Susan in the Ministry’s Apparition point and thought about the car park just off the coastal road on A92. When it was her turn, she Disapparated, rematerializing between Susan and Ron as the last of the group to arrive.
Ron looked relieved as he glanced about. Mary Beth remembered that it was on this particular case at another evidence site that the forensics team had been murdered. She knew he and the others were listening for any sign of a hidden aggressor, although how anyone could hide in an empty car park surrounded by open fields–even a Disillusioned aggressor–was beyond her. Finally, Ron said quietly, “We’ll leave in two groups. Mary Beth and Brodie, we three will set up the base camp in the field over there.” He pointed to the right of the just-visible castle. “Garrett, you and the others begin our observations from the castle ruins. If you find a good place inside one of the buildings to set up a second observation tent, do so. When you’re done, set up a watch with two observers and one sleeper. We’ll do the same. We’ve all been awake a tremendously long time and we need to be alert later on. Any questions?”
No one had any, so the six Aurors applied Notice-Me-Not Charms to themselves and began walking towards their objectives. It was cold out in the fields. The wind coming off the sea found its way under the hem and up the sleeves of Mary Beth’s Auror robes, causing her to pull her cloak closer to her body as they walked. She was thankful that she wasn’t going to be out on the peninsula in the ruins.
When her group reached the path leading to the fissure where the cave was located, Ron pointed to a low depression in the middle of the field. “That area is a bit more sheltered than the rest. Let’s erect the tent and set up our observation point a bit closer to the fissure.”
The three made quick work of setting up the headquarters tent and creating the observation point near the secondary footpath that led from the road to the first fissure and finger of rock that extended into the sea. While Ron and Brodie finished casting the security spells on their observation point, Mary Beth took it upon herself to walk the footpath, looking for signs that someone had passed this way recently.
She was rewarded almost immediately. Not far from where the path curved to the left and followed the precipice towards the main path to the castle, Mary Beth found a newly trampled area leading away from the established trail. She followed the faint track, wondering where it would lead, when she began thinking that she really should be somewhere else. The farther she walked, the stronger the suggestion became. She pressed on. Finally, when the suggestion was almost impossible to ignore, she broke through some sort of barrier and found herself staring at a set of roughly hewn steps leading down into the first fissure. Her head was clear of any desire to be elsewhere and she thankfully remembered why she was standing on the cliff top in the first place.
She now took out her wand and cast a non-verbal spell that would turn her words into coded vibrations needed to send silent messages to the members of her team. “Ron, I think I’ve found a land-based entrance to the cave,” she whispered excitedly to her encoded wand.
Her wand vibrated almost immediately. “Where is it?” he sent back.
“Follow the footpath to where it curves to the left and then turn right at the trampled area. Follow the vague path south along the cliff for two hundred yards,” she sent back.
“Any suggestion spells?”
“Yes, one. It’s easily ignored if you know what to do.”
“Where are the steps?”
“First fissure. Brodie said the cave’s sea entrance is in the second. I’m going down now.”
“Be careful. Sending him along shortly,” Ron transmitted back.
Mary Beth thanked him and started cautiously down the steep stairs, hugging the cliff as best she could: she didn’t want to stumble and plummet over a hundred feet to her death. Luckily, she came to a man-made archway about half way down the wall. The path curved inward into a narrow tunnel that sloped steeply downward into the darkness. She lit her wand and ventured further down the path a little way, then stopped to listen. At first, all she could hear was silence, but the more she concentrated, the more she thought she heard the sound of waves lapping. She followed the sound, finally coming to another archway that led into a dimly lit room.
She stopped dead in her tracks, still within the protective darkness of the tunnel. The sight before her was like nothing she had ever seen. Before her was an area that looked like a nightmare version of a medieval torture chamber, complete with stocks, work benches, tables and supply cabinets. Beyond this she could see a bright triangle of light. The sound of waves lapping filled the cave.
I found it! she crowed silently. She felt excited by her discovery, but instinct told her to exercise caution, so she stayed hidden and cast several quick revealing spells. She smiled when the body count came back for a single human being and the last spells cast inside the cave seemed to have been cast nearly eight hours previously. That meant whoever was in the cave was alone and was probably asleep.
Mary Beth’s wand vibrated. It was Ron checking in. “Where are you? Brodie can’t see you.”
“Nearly in the cave,” she answered, this time tapping her wand with her finger to form the coded vibrations. “Only one occupant. Leaving now.”
“He’ll wait for you,” came Ron’s answer.
Mary Beth turned and followed the tunnel back up to where it met the steps. Brodie was waiting for her. She smiled at him.
“You all right?” he asked.
“More than all right,” she answered, grinning. Over the whistle of the wind and the crash of the waves from below, she told him what she’d found. “Do you want to go down there?” she ended.
“Might as well, especially if there’s only one person inside. Did your spell indicate where the person might be?”
“Someplace to the left of the tunnel entrance. I didn’t go in, not without back-up.”
“Let’s go in this time and take some photos. Then, if it’s only Scorpius trapped in there, we’ll go get Garrett and have him talk to the boy.”
Mary Beth smiled. “Sounds like a plan,” she said. She turned and led the way down the passage to the cave.
“Same sort of set-up as the cellar in the house in the woods,” Brodie remarked in a whisper as they stopped near the cave entrance to enlarge their photographic gear. “Gave me the collywobbles last time.”
Mary Beth glanced at him. “You doing all right now?” she asked in concern.
“No, I have them again,” he said. His face looked pale in their wandlight.
As he cast a magical hazard detection spell Mary Beth hadn’t used earlier, she said, “Let’s hope this investigation ends better than that last one.”
Brodie didn’t answer. Instead, he turned his back to her. She could hear him fiddling with his camera as if buying for time.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, suddenly realizing what the sight of all this equipment might mean to Brodie.
Brodie sniffed and cleared his throat. “Apology accepted. No traps detected and only an Anti-Apparition spell engaged, so let’s go.”
They entered the cave in single file, and Mary Beth began taking Omniocular films of the general area. When her wand vibrated and identified the caller as Brodie, she stopped what she was doing and looked at him. He inclined his head to the right, indicating the direction he intended to go. She followed him, passing several rock pillars on their left that looked to be support columns for the cave roof.
They found a small potions laboratory on the other side of a high stone wall that seemed to be a partition between the rooms of the cave. They took more footage and then moved on, exploring a small kitchen area and finally what looked like a small bedroom beyond the potions lab. As she turned around to go back the way they’d come, Mary Beth gasped. Brodie’s head whipped in the direction she was pointing.
“Brodie, look! In the cell across the cavern. It’s Scorpius!” she exclaimed in a loud whisper.
“Oh, Merlin!” he exclaimed quietly as he began frantically tapping his wand.
Mary Beth trained her Omnioculars on the first cell, first taking wide-angle photos, and then switching to a zoom setting to take more detailed images. She photographed the boy hanging upside down with the name stamp turned to “on”, the pallet in the corner of the cell and several detailed images of the cell door and its lock.
Brodie nudged her. “Garrett’s coming,” he said and Mary Beth heaved a sigh of relief.
“What’s the plan?” she asked.
“I told Garrett we’d meet him on the steps,” Brodie answered. “Susan’s coming with him.”
“That’s good,” Mary Beth said, and the two quickly crossed the cavern to the archway. As they entered the tunnel, she paused to look back towards the cell, feeling more than a little guilty for leaving the cave now that they’d located the boy. Hang in there, Scorpius. The cavalry is coming, she thought. Then she hurried up the passage after Brodie.
*
The sound of footsteps approaching the cavern woke Scorpius from the fitful sleep he’d fallen into when he’d returned to his cell after his escape attempt. The footsteps seemed to belong to a single person and were confined to the torture area of the cave. Dreading being caught sleeping on the pallet, he walked to the centre of his cell and thought, Levicorpus. Instantly, he was yanked upside down, even though his wand was in its pocket in his trousers. He listened carefully as his body revolved in mid-air and felt both hope and despair as the footsteps paused and then receded the way they’d come. As they faded away, he closed his eyes and pretended he didn’t care that he’d been left alone in this horrible place.
*
1100 hours
“Mrs Potter, Ginny, it’s so good of you to come on such short notice!” Madam Offerman gushed as she ushered Ginny into her office.
“What’s going on?” Ginny asked as she sat down at the overflowing work table. “I thought everything was finalized for the March fundraising Ball.”
Madam Offerman grabbed a limp handkerchief off her desk and dabbed at her eyes. “They were, they are, but Madam Nigel saw the plans for the summer auction and wants to switch the spring and summer fundraising events so that the auction is first this year. She thinks dancing under the stars is much more romantic than an auction under the stars!” she wailed. “Now we have to start all over again!”
Ginny sighed heavily. “Madam Offerman, can I ask a few questions?” The chairwitch nodded. “You’ve booked the same venue for both occasions, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And we were going to have the same catering company do the food for both events, correct?”
“Yes.”
“You’d even engaged the bands for both evenings, am I not correct?”
“You’re correct on all of those points,” Madam Offerman sniffed.
“So why are you so upset?” Ginny asked, feeling rather irritated. “You have the venue, the food and the music. Those are the three major items you must book early. The invitations are easily changed with a flick of your wand, even if you’ve already had them printed, so coordinating the auction won’t be much extra work. Just think… you’ll have the summer ball all planned months before you usually start it.”
“Now that you put it that way,” Madam Offerman conceded, “soliciting the items for the auction won’t be that much more work.” She blew her nose. “I’m sorry, Ginny. This change of events was so sudden, I wasn’t handling it well.” She pulled out a long roll of parchment. “Shall we get down to the business of planning this auction?”
Ginny smiled. Since the auction had been her idea she was more enthusiastic about helping with it. “What should we discuss first?”
“You talked last time about contacting several of the Quidditch teams and their players to donate signed items, tickets, tours, that sort of thing…”
“I’ve already started on that,” Ginny said, pulling out her own roll of parchment. “Several of the team public relations witches have already sent multiple promotional items to me. I have them at home. Where do you want to collect everything?”
Madam Offerman had several ideas and they settled on a mutually agreeable place, which was secure enough and central enough for both her and Ginny to get to. They talked about which items needed to be auctioned off separately in the silent auction and which should be grouped in baskets. They discussed which items should go in the live auction–Ginny had already procured box seat and stadium tour packages from six of the English mainland teams. Madam Offerman was enraptured that her favourite team, the Chudley Canons, had extended their box seats for the entire season, not just a single match, and Ginny had to excuse herself and leave the office for a moment because she was finding it hard not to break out in impolite peals of laughter. She knew Ron and Hermione would be at the fundraiser and she knew Ron was going to have a tough time procuring the Canon’s seats now that he had a rival. She could easily picture him in a bidding war with Madam Offerman as Hermione’s face turned several shades of crimson and the bids soared.
When she re-entered the office, Madam Offerman said, “You found something about the Canons tickets extremely funny. May I ask what it is?”
Ginny grinned as she said, “You are going to have stiff competition for those tickets from my brother, Madam Offerman.”
The chairwitch smirked, “All the better for the hospital, then.”
Ginny couldn’t have agreed more.
The two witches spent nearly an hour talking about where to get the other really big actionable items, finally deciding on asking the Diagon Alley, Edinburgh and Hogsmeade merchants to make generous donations of cruise trips, a custom-designed and built Owlery, week-long resort holidays for two, expensive jewellery items, and special outings just for families, such as a tour of the Hebridean Dragon Preserve. By the time the hour was up, Ginny was feeling excited about the auction, even though she was going to need all of her persuasive skills to actually procure the items they had brainstormed.
“Ginny, darling,” Madam Offerman said as the two stood up and gathered their files, “you’re an absolute gem and a delight to work with. Let me know when you have those things lined up. I’ll do the same on my end. See you next Friday?”
“Yes. It’s been a pleasure,” Ginny said, meaning it. And as she left Madam Offerman’s office, she thought about the coming week and decided that helping with the auction and keeping busy would help her outlook on life a great deal; she’d be doing good things for the hospital as well as herself. I must tell Mr Hale about this later, she thought as she headed for the lifts. I wonder if he’ll approve… Already, without even setting foot in the therapist’s office, she felt more like the old Ginny than the one who had run away on Christmas Day.
*
1107 hours
The owl found him just as Harry was entering his room after his morning workout. Somehow it had slipped past the Mail Room attendant and flown out into the corridor in search of its quarry where cries of “Stop that bird!” signalled its presence. The owl seemed to know where Harry was going and swooped through the doorway ahead of him, surprising Harry’s guard.
Harry followed it, immediately closing the door and trapping the bird. It didn’t seem to mind, for it settled placidly on the back of one of the chairs at his table and waited patiently for him to approach. Warily, he did, for this was the first time he’d directly received what looked like an official Ministry owl since October. He needed to know which department it belonged to in order to decide how to proceed as well as its level of urgency. The trick was to find the special identifying band on its leg. If the band was silver, the owl would be an ordinary post owl. If the band was blue the owl was a fast flier, often used to carry documents swiftly between non-Ministerial solicitors and barristers and the various departments in the Ministry. A yellow band signified a fast flier bearing time-sensitive materials. The rarest of the owls were those with red bands on their legs, as this one most definitely was. The owl in front of Harry was only used in urgent situations to carry messages of great importance and he wondered who had sent him such a message.
As he took the bird’s scroll, Harry tried to find the department number on the band. The number he found began with a two, signifying the department the owl belonged to was located on the second level of the Ministry building, which housed several departments, including the Auror Office in Magical Law Enforcement.
“Who is sending–” Harry murmured, staring down at the scroll. Then, he recognized Ron’s messier-than-usual scrawl. Could it possibly? This soon? Oh, he hoped so…
Harry,
Going on surveillance. Parents alone, don’t know. Do not reply.
Ron
The brief message was all Harry needed: Ron’s team had found the location where Scorpius Malfoy was being held and an attempt to rescue him was underway. Harry needed to get to Malfoy Manor quickly. Grabbing his wool coat from its peg behind the door, he patted his shoulder, indicating to the owl that it should come with him. It landed gently, its talons digging into the fabric covering his shoulder as it balanced and swayed in rhythm with Harry’s hurried pushing.
“Everything all right, Mr Potter?” asked the guard as Harry passed him.
“Yes, thank you. I won’t be returning to my room. Could you lock the door, please?”
“Of course, Mr Potter.”
Harry didn’t stay to talk any longer. Instead, he skidded around the Matron’s station, turned towards the Mail Room and opened the door just wide enough for the owl to fly through. Then he was off to the Transportation Office.
After signing in, Harry took a moment to hastily scribble a note to Draco asking him to open the largest connected fireplace at Malfoy Manor; it was a matter of importance. That done, he rolled to the nearest fireplace, threw in some Floo Powder and waited until someone answered the summons while thrusting his message at her through the connection.
“Who is there?” came Asteria’s cautious inquiry.
“Asteria, it’s Harry Potter. I can’t put my head in this fireplace. Please give this message to Draco,” Harry instructed. He waited until she took it from him and then asked, “Is it possible to keep the connection open?”
“I think so,” she said uncertainly. “Here, hold this.” She shoved what felt like a bellows into his hand and hurried away, leaving Harry leaning awkwardly out of his wheelchair.
A moment later, Draco took the implement from Harry. “What’s all this about? Why the cloak and dagger?”
“It’s classified, Draco. I can’t talk about it where I am. Can I come through?” Harry asked, still keeping his hand in the flames.
“Of course, but the biggest fireplace in the house is in the drawing room,” Draco hedged.
“I’ll have to take my chances on this one, then,” Harry warned. “Stand back,” and propelled himself into the fireplace.
It was a tight squeeze, but he managed to fit both himself and his wheelchair inside just before he called out, “Malfoy Manor!” He hung onto the big wheels of his chair for dear life as he was spun past numerous fireplaces. Seconds later, enveloped in a rather large plume of soot, Harry bounced out of the fireplace and onto the marble hearth of Draco’s sitting room.
Grinning at his accomplishment, he said to his host, “Didn’t think I could do that. Thanks for seeing me.”
“Potter, you can do anything you put your mind to and you know it,” Draco responded, as he waved the soot away with his wand.
Harry grinned sheepishly back at his friend, but said nothing.
To cover the awkward silence that settled over them, Asteria motioned to the two people sitting and introduced them to Harry as her parents, Lyndon and May Greengrass. As her daughter left to put the kettle on, May explained that she and her husband had been on holiday since New Year’s and had just returned home to the news about their grandson.
As soon as they were settled with their tea, Lyndon asked, “What’s going on? What’s so important that you couldn’t talk about it directly?”
Harry told the Malfoys and the Greengrasses about the direct-flying owl. “I’m almost sure this means my department has found where they’re keeping Scorpius,” he said as his audience exchanged glances. “Ron wouldn’t send me that sort of message if there wasn’t some truth behind it. Have you heard anything more from the kidnappers yet?”
Draco shook his head. “No, we haven’t, but we did receive a Patronus Message from Scorpius earlier this morning.”
“How do you know the message was from Scorpius and not the kidnappers?” Harry asked, wondering if this development was setting the family up for a disappointment. “They could have forced your son to send it in order to lure the Aurors into a trap.”
“This was genuine,” Asteria said with conviction. “Scorpius has only just learned to produce a corporeal Patronus over the holiday and it’s the only arachnid I’ve seen.”
Harry was pleased with this news; Scorpius’ Patronus was unique amongst the many animal forms he’d seen over the years. He sat back in his chair, sighing heavily. “That’s about as good as it can get, then. All we can do now is wait,” he said.
The others agreed, and Draco raised his wand and Summoned something as Asteria and her parents returned to their side of the room. When it came, he put it on the table between them and looked expectantly at Harry. “Chess?” he asked.
Harry grinned and inched his chair closer to the table. “What else will help us while away the time?”
*
1225 hours
The receptionist’s head appeared in his fireplace. “Healer Stilwell, an urgent message has come for you from The Groves,” she said.
“Is the caller still on the network?” the Healer asked as he put down his quill and closed his files.
“Yes, she is. What shall I tell her?”
Healer Stilwell stood up. “I’ll come out.” Two minutes later he stood before the small communications fireplace facing a very agitated Mrs Vaughan.
“Harry Potter! He’s gone, sir. Just up and left! No one can find him anywhere!” she exclaimed excitedly.
Puzzled he asked, “There’s no clue as to where Mr Potter has gone? Has he been kidnapped?”
“It doesn’t look like a kidnapping,” she reported. “We had an owl escape the Mail Room earlier. It flew directly to Mr Potter’s room and met him in the doorway. The guard reported it had a note tied to its leg. Mr Potter left his room shortly thereafter, telling the guard to lock the room; he signed himself into the Transportation Room and never came out.”
“Is there a record of whom he talked to? Where he might have gone?”
“The Transportation Officer said he called Malfoy Manor.”
“I see,” Healer Stilwell said thoughtfully. The name sounded familiar, but that could have been because of the infamous Death Eater by that same name from twenty years ago. Why would Harry be mixed up with them? he wondered.
“Have you contacted Mrs Potter?”
“I’ve left a message with her parents, but she’s not at her contact fireplaces. Shall I keep trying to reach her?”
Healer Stilwell shook his head. “No, I don’t think that will be necessary. I’ll do some checking myself. Thank you for informing me. I’ll check in a little later.”
Mrs Vaughan thanked him and withdrew her head. Healer Stilwell sighed in frustration. “I’m going to lunch,” he said to the receptionist who frowned because she’d heard his entire conversation. He ignored her raised eyebrow and entered the lift when it stopped on his floor, turning his back to the other two occupants.
Two floors down, the lift stopped. The two healers exited, leaving Healer Stilwell alone. Just as the doors were closing, a familiar voice called out, “Don’t let it leave! Wait!”
He pressed the button to keep the doors open and a very familiar witch, her arms filled with files, dashed in.
“Thank you,” she said breathlessly. “Oh, Healer Stilwell, how nice to see you today!”
“Mrs Potter, you’re just the person I’m looking for,” he said, feeling very relieved.
“Oh?” She seemed surprised.
“I’ve just had an urgent message from The Groves telling me that Harry might have gone somewhere called Malfoy Manor. Is that a familiar place to you?” he asked.
Ginny Potter’s eyes widened. “They’ve found him!” she breathed, sounding relieved.
“Found whom?”
“Scorpius Malfoy, Draco Malfoy’s son. He was kidnapped last Saturday. Harry’s probably had word that the Aurors have found him. He must have gone to be with Draco and Asteria so they won’t be alone while waiting for more news of their son,” she explained. “They have very few friends and her parents are out of the country right now.”
Healer Stilwell thought about this as the lift doors opened, showing the ground floor corridor. It made sense to him that Harry would do something kind like that, even if it meant leaving The Groves without notifying anyone. The two exited the lift. “I’ll let the facility know where Harry is. Do you know if your husband will be returning tonight?”
“It all depends on how the Auror mission goes,” Mrs Potter said quietly. She paused and cast a wary glance about the bustling corridor. Then she added, “I doubt he’ll go back until they know Scorpius and the Aurors are safe and the criminals are locked up. You’d better let Mrs Vaughan know Harry might not return until Monday.”
“I will,” Healer Stilwell said. Then, as an afterthought, he asked, “Who might have done this?”
“My brother thinks it’s the same group that hurt Harry and Brian Nelson.”
Healer Stilwell ran a hand through his sparse hair. “I sincerely hope the Aurors succeed.” He bade Mrs Potter good-bye and headed back to the lifts. He had a Floo call to make.
*
1348 hours
She was glad to get out of the wind. All the warming charms in the world couldn’t keep her warm enough on this mission, but if the result was the apprehension of a group of criminals and the rescue of a kidnap victim, Susan was willing to endure whatever the weather threw at her to get the job done. There was always the promise of a long soak in the bath followed by one of Justin’s wonderful massages. Just thinking about her husband brought a smile to her lips as she and Garrett followed Mary Beth and Brodie down a footpath that skirted the edge of the cliff towards the land entrance to the cave.
Their plan was simple: enter the cave, cast preservation spells on anything that might yield evidence without touching anything, make contact with Scorpius. It sounded easy, but Susan had been on enough missions to know that even the least complicated of plans could go very wrong. Her mind wandered for a moment as she reflected on the mission that had robbed her department of its head…
Susan bumped into Mary Beth. The younger witch scowled and pointed to the steps: they were about to enter the cave and she needed to pay attention. Pulling her wand out of her sleeve just enough to send Mary Beth a communication, she tapped, “I’m sorry. I was thinking about the last time Harry and I went down into the Matron’s cellar. I’m a bit nervous.”
“I am, too,” Mary Beth sent back. “Watch your step. It’s pretty steep. Oh, since we’re going in, cancel your concealment spell. I’d like to notice you again.”
“Thanks,” Susan transmitted. “I’d forgotten about that, too. Must be lack of sleep.”
The four Aurors gained entrance into the cave without incident and Susan and Garrett hastened to the cell containing Scorpius Malfoy. Mary Beth and Brodie remained behind to cast protective spells on everything they thought might be broken by wayward spells during the battle that was sure to come.
All of the Aurors had studied Mary Beth’s photos of the cell door and lock, including the special photo, which revealed the types of spells cast on the metal. Garrett and Susan now worked together to cancel the layers of alarms and curses which were protecting the cell from the outside–all evidence suggested there were no curses on the bars or door from within, which was a good sign. It took a few minutes, but they managed to eliminate them all, and with a satisfying click, the lock disengaged and the door swung outward.
Susan cautiously crossed the threshold into the cell and when nothing happened, she beckoned to Garrett. The two of them approached the hanging boy, staying quiet, but not so soft that Scorpius wouldn’t know someone was in his cell.
“Scorpius,” Susan whispered as she knelt beside the red-faced boy, “Scorpius, can you hear me? I’m Auror Susan Bones. My partner, Auror Carmichael, wants to let you down, but he doesn’t want to drop you on your head. May we touch you?”
All the while she had been speaking Scorpius had kept his eyes closed. Now he cautiously opened his eyes. “Don’t hurt me!” he pleaded.
Garrett knelt beside Susan. “We’re going to let you down now, Scorpius,” he said softly, “I promise not to hurt you. Will you trust us to catch you and let you down gently?”
Scorpius closed his eyes and swallowed with great effort. “Yeah. The counter spell is Liberacorpus,” he whispered finally.
Susan rose to her feet. “Thank you for sharing that. Now on my count of two, Auror Carmichael will put his arms around your back and under your neck and on three, I’ll cast the counter spell. Are you ready?”
The boy nodded and as Garrett moved into place, Susan noticed Scorpius had begun to tremble. “One… two…” Garrett supported the boy’s neck and back. “Three.” She cast the non-verbal spell and Scorpius dropped neatly into Garrett’s waiting arms. Susan caught Scorpius’ legs and together the two Aurors carried him to a pallet located near one of the side walls of the cell. Once he was settled, Susan conjured a pillow, which she slipped under the boy’s head while Garrett covered him with warm blankets.
Several minutes went by in silence and then Scorpius asked, “A-are you t-two real?”
Susan smiled. “We’re very real, Scorpius. In a few minutes, Auror Carmichael will take you to St Mungo’s where you’ll be reunited with your parents. The rest of us will remain here to apprehend your kidnappers,” she said, patting his shoulder. When he didn’t flinch or shy from her touch, she tapped her wand, sending Garrett the message, “Not physically abused, at least not through contact.”
Garrett nodded almost imperceptibly. “Are you ready to go?”
Scorpius answered, “No, I can’t go and neither can you.”
“Why?” Susan and Garrett asked together.
“You’ll never catch that crazy lady and the other two she works with,” he explained slowly, as if concentrating hard to gather his thoughts. “The first thing she does when she arrives is come to check on me. If I’m not here she’ll know something is wrong and Disapparate.”
“We don’t want that to happen,” Garrett remarked. “What time does she usually arrive?”
“Usually late afternoon,” Scorpius answered. He rubbed his temples, a pained expression on his face. “Headache,” he murmured. Susan watched him carefully, making mental notes on his condition for her report later.
“Does she usually have someone with her?” Garrett continued.
“No. She always comes alone. But sometimes the others come together and bring someone to torture.” Scorpius spoke slowly, again seeming to concentrate on forming his words.
Susan looked at Garrett. “We’ll need to remain here until they’ve all seen him,” she said.
The whisper of silenced footsteps made all three look towards the cell door. Mary Beth and Brodie entered and came to stand at the foot of the pallet. Susan introduced them to Scorpius and together the five settled on a plan, which they relayed to Terry and Ron who were still watching the entrances.
Susan added to the end of her conversation with Ron, “We have between three to three and a half hours before the Matron gets off work. What’s your recommendation?”
“Sleep in half-hour shifts. Make sure the Anti-Apparation Spell is disabled and have one from each team lie down and get some rest. Terry and I will work out our sleep schedule up here,” Ron replied. Susan was about to comment when he added, “As much as I’d like to have one of you go back to the office to get some Polyjuice Potion so that someone can impersonate Scorpius and we could get him to St Mungo’s faster, I’d rather not have us undermanned and vulnerable should the suspects decide to appear early.”
“All right. I’ll tell the others,” she answered.
Ron thanked her and didn’t add anything more, so Susan relayed his orders. The adults decided Mary Beth and Garrett would be the first to get an hour’s sleep.
The two had just left for the second cell when Susan looked at Scorpius and asked, “Are you hungry, Scorpius? Thirsty?” She had pulled out her water bottle to quench her own thirst and it suddenly occurred to her that Scorpius might need a drink and something to eat, too.
He scowled and pushed himself into a sitting position. “Just a drink of water, please. If I have to hang upside down again I’ll feel sick if I eat,” he said, sounding rueful.
Susan refilled her water bottle with warm water and handed it to Scorpius. He leaned against the wall of the cell with his eyes closed and sipped the water slowly until it was half gone, then handed the bottle back. “Thanks, Auror Bones,” he said, “that’s the first water I’ve had since last night.”
“Do you want more?” Susan asked, rather concerned by his actions.
“I’d better not,” Scorpius answered. “Maybe later if I’m feeling better? I’m rather dizzy right now.”
“All you have to do is ask,” she answered, setting the bottle between them. Surreptitiously, she tapped a wand message to Garrett that she thought Scorpius was dehydrated. He agreed.
The group settled into silence. Scorpius lay down again, pulled the blankets up to his chin and closed his eyes. He was shivering again. Susan cast warming charms on them all; it was very chilly in the cave.
“How did you know where I was?” Scorpius asked an hour later as the triangle of light from outside began to fade into dusk.
Susan answered, “I received your Patronus message at the Auror Office. Your scorpion is very impressive.”
Scorpius’ eyes grew wide. “You m-mean… the s-spell really worked?” he asked, sounding incredulous.
“It did, and your message gave us enough clues that we eventually found the sea entrance to the cave,” Brodie answered.
“So… so… my parents…”
“Received your message, too.”
At this news, Scorpius’ eyes glistened in the Aurors’ wand light, but his tears did not fall. Susan’s heart swelled with compassion and it was all she could do to keep her composure. She didn’t like the plan they’d decided on, but it was the only way to ensure the Matron’s capture. There was no way to prepare except wait and keep Scorpius warm and calm. He was going to need every bit of courage he had within him.
Chapter 31: 31: Solace
Author's Notes: It is with much regret that I tell you this is the last pre-written chapter in the story. The last five chapters are still in the writing stage because I’ve been suffering from a combination of writer’s block, real life family events and a serious need for sleep because my ten-year-old son has been trying to share his cold with me for the last week. I think I may be over the writer’s block, but the next chapter probably won’t be finished in time for next Thursday, much less in time for my pre-betas to give me the feedback I need to make sure the quality of the chapter is the same as all the others. Frankly, I’m surprised I’ve made it this far without running out of chapters. Therefore, I beg your patience with me and I hope you’ll all continue to read and leave reviews when I do post the next chapter. Suffice it to say that justice will out in the end.
That said, this chapter is a continuation of the action on 8 January 2021 and into the wee hours of 9 January, the next morning. I hope you'll like how the results.
That said, I must thank Jedi34, Mutt n Feathers, RebeccaRipple, Rosina Ferguson, and RSS for their feedback. You’ve helped me keep the quality of my writing up the high standards I’ve set for myself and I’m grateful to you all. Also, thank you to Aggiebell, my beta, who has read and posted my chapters every Thursday even when the turkeys seem to want to get her down!
1655 hours, Friday, 8 January 2021
He had been distracted all day. Consequently, the Matron had been particularly surly towards him whenever his nerveless fingers caused him to be clumsy in her presence. Her displeasure was particularly evident when, at lunchtime, she called him into her office, sealed and silenced the door, and then Cruciated him in an effort to get his mind back on task. It hadn’t worked. In fact, the spell had made him dwell more determinedly on the subject he’d been preoccupied with all morning: his predicament. The more he thought about it, the easier it was to come to the conclusion that he needed to turn himself in… and soon.
He had two possible places to go. The first was the Auror Office, which would offer him the most protection, but wouldn’t do anything about the piece of sharp metal shrapnel imbedded in his back. He knew from witnessing the Matron’s most recent treatments that the potion delivery device was also the focal point for the remote spell. It needed to come out of his body so that if she somehow found out that he had turned himself in, she couldn’t kill him outright; the potion would still react to the spell, but it would take several days of lingering agony before he finally succumbed. If that happened, it just might be enough time for him to tell the Aurors everything he knew, as opposed to his sudden death and the missed opportunity to tell his side of the tale. Still… if he went to the Auror Office it might be hours before someone was called to remove the piece of metal. In that time, the Matron might find out where he was and cast her spell. If she did, he would die instantly without getting the opportunity to tell all he knew.
That left his second option: He needed to go to Healer Stilwell and make an Unbreakable Vow to tell all he knew if the healer would agree to remove the shrapnel. At least with the metal removed, he, Tim, would have a ghost of a chance to live long enough to give his evidence.
Tim glanced at the clock. Only five minutes left in his shift. Smiling to himself, he began to cast Voiding Spells on his patients with a gentleness he had never used before. Some of the more alert patients recognized him and thanked him, something no one had ever done before. When he was done, he quickly went to his locker and cleaned it out, knowing that he’d never use it again.
*
The knock at his office door made him look up from the report he was reading. The patient in question had nerve damage due to a spell gone wrong, and the healers in Spell Damage had sent her file to him to see if he could do anything for her. The interruption was not welcome because he needed to concentrate on this complicated case in order to determine whether or not he could help the witch. Getting up, Healer Stilwell went to answer the door.
He was surprised to see Tim Dawson, one of the Matron’s Assistants in his ward and one of Ronald Weasley’s suspects, standing on the other side.
“Can I come in?” Dawson asked. He looked scared, which caught Healer Stilwell’s attention immediately.
“Certainly. What can I do for you?” he asked as he closed the door behind Dawson.
“Sir, I need your help,” Dawson began. “I know some things about the Potter case that you need to know, but I need you to first cast the Foreign Body Detection Spell on me and remove a piece of metal from my back.”
This wasn’t what Healer Stilwell had been expecting. He stared at Dawson for several seconds while he digested this information. “How do I know you’re sincere about giving evidence to the Aurors after I remove the object?” he finally asked.
Dawson took a small package from his pocket and set it on Healer Stilwell’s desk. He added his wand and then stepped back, nearly to the fireplace. “I am a dying man, Healer Stilwell,” he said. “The metal in my back was soaked in a poison that is slowly eating away at my nerves. Already, I am losing control of my fingers, and at times have to use two hands to hold my wand. I can hardly feel my feet and sometimes have to look to see whether I am wiggling my toes or not controlling them at all. I have given you my wand and my personal effects from my locker, which I cleaned out just a few minutes ago. I do not expect to ever come back to St Mungo’s as an employee. By the time the Aurors are through with me, the poison will have taken over my body and my death will be imminent. If you require it of me, I am prepared to make an Unbreakable Vow to reveal everything I know about what happened to Harry Potter that night in October, as well as where Scorpius Malfoy is being held. Does this satisfy you?”
Stunned beyond belief, Healer Stilwell could only nod. Finally, he said, “I must cast the spell on bare skin. Would you remove your shirt, please?”
Dawson seemed to sag in relief as he tugged off his blue robes and removed his shirt. He stood before the healer with a grateful expression on his face before turning his back. “Will it hurt?” he asked.
“You won’t feel a thing, Mr Dawson,” Healer Stilwell said. “If the spell detects the metal you say is there, you’ll see a steady blue glow until I cancel the spell. Are you ready?”
Dawson nodded and Healer Stilwell cast the spell. Immediately, a bright blue glow appeared over the muscle on the left side of Dawson’s back, about half-way down and close to the spine. What sickened him were the angry red lines radiating from the area that indicated the poison Dawson had mentioned was coursing through his body. This man was indeed dying.
Using another spell to mark the area, Healer Stilwell then cancelled the Detection Spell. “I’m sorry I doubted you, Mr Dawson,” the healer said. “If you don’t mind, I need an assistant and a witness for the procedure to remove the metal object. With your permission, I’d like to ask Auror Weasley to be the witness and one of the Senior Medi-witches to assist me.”
Dawson turned his head. “Just get it out of me,” he begged. “I don’t care who helps.”
“Very well. Have a seat while I make my calls,” Healer Stilwell said. He flicked his wand at the objects on his desk, affixing them to the wood, before making his calls.
*
1726 hours
It was his turn to rest while the others stood watch; he’d get forty-five minutes to an hour to sleep, if he could calm his mind enough to relax. He closed his eyes, letting the warming charm he’d cast on himself do its work to relax his body as much as he dared let it while out in the field. Five minutes later, he slipped into a light slumber.
The incessant, violent vibration of his wand woke him instantly. This alert was followed by a series of long and short vibrations–a code Harry had invented which was based on Muggle Morse Code. The Aurors used it as a means of silent communication between operatives in the field and the main office, should there be a need to call someone back to headquarters. Ron immediately responded and then scrambled to his feet.
“You’ve another half hour of sleep,” Terry whispered when Ron joined him at the castle observation tent.
“I know, but Robards just informed me Tim Dawson has turned himself in to Healer Stilwell,” Ron murmured. “I’m to Disapparate to St Mungo’s immediately. Don’t know how long I’ll be gone. You’re in charge until I get back.”
“No matter,” Terry said. “I’ll tell the others.”
Ron smiled at him. “Thanks,” he said, and Disapparated to the hospital.
*
1735 hours
The fireplace flared green, disgorging Senior Medi-witch Amelia Johnson just as Healer Stilwell opened the door to admit Auror Weasley.
“This sounds serious, Healer,” Auror Weasley said. “What can I do for you?”
Healer Stilwell pointed to Tim Dawson. “I need you to witness the extraction of a piece of metal shrapnel from this wizard’s back. Did you bring the evidence bags I asked for?”
Auror Weasley nodded and held up several clear bags in different sizes. “What should I put in them?” he asked.
Healer Stilwell smiled. “The piece of metal and some personal effects. I’ll explain after we extract the metal,” he said. He then turned to the Medi-witch. “This extraction is not a conventional procedure because I need to do it in secret here in the office.” He pointed his wand at the sofa, transfiguring it to a surgical table. “Please sterilize the table and my surgical wands. You’ll find anything you require in the cupboard behind my desk. After Mr Dawson lies down, I’ll need two overlapping spotlights directly above his back.” He gave her several other instructions and then they prepared Mr Dawson for the procedure.
The extraction didn’t take very long. The piece of metal was long and thin and seemed to have settled point first in Mr Dawson’s muscle tissue. As he withdrew the metal, Healer Stilwell heard Auror Weasley murmur several swear words and had to smile; he was thinking the same thing. The wound closed up nicely as Auror Weasley sealed the metal in a small evidence bag, labelled it and sent it away to the Auror Office. A moment later, Mr Dawson was sitting up, looking quite relieved.
“Thank you, Healer Stilwell. May I tell Auror Weasley who I am now?” he asked. He slid slowly off the surgical table, which immediately became a sofa again.
Healer Stilwell nodded, and indicated to the Auror that he should sit in the wing chair facing the sofa. He himself sat down behind his desk. Medi-witch Johnson sat on a small stool she’d conjured after putting away the equipment they’d used.
“Auror Weasley, my name is Tim Dawson. I am one of the suspects you seek in the Potter mutilation case. I also have information on the Nelson case, the deaths of the four Aurors and know the location of where Scorpius Malfoy is being held. I promise to come quietly and to tell all I know in exchange for refuge from the witch you know as the Matron,” he said. “I gladly turn in my wand and personal effects from my locker here at St Mungo’s as evidence, too.”
Healer Stilwell nearly chuckled at the look on Auror Weasley’s face. He supposed that after all this time, apprehending someone this knowledgeable of all these cases was akin to an expensive present.
“Why… why… why are you turning yourself in now?” sputtered Auror Weasley.
“I am a dying man, Mr Weasley,” Tim Dawson said. “I have done many regrettable things in the last few years, and before I die I want to help you capture the witch who has influenced and finally tortured me because I displeased her. I also want to save an innocent young lad from becoming one of her victims. What I know will help you capture her and find him.”
Auror Weasley caught Healer Stilwell’s eyes. “Is he for real?” he asked.
“He is,” he answered. “May I suggest you two leave now? I know you’re anxious to speak to him privately.” He cancelled the Sticking Charm on the wand and package. “You’ll probably want to take these with you as evidence,” he added.
Auror Weasley levitated the items into a second evidence bag and sent it, too, to the Auror Office. Then, still looking as if he couldn’t believe his good luck, he offered his hand to Mr Dawson who had been struggling to stand.
Healer Stilwell went to his private potions store cabinet, took out several vials and made note of what he had taken before he handed them to Auror Weasley. To Mr Dawson he asked, “Are you in much pain?”
“It’s bearable,” the man answered.
Healer Stilwell handed the last vial to Mr Dawson, telling him what it contained as he did so. Mr Dawson opened the vial and swallowed the potion. As he handed the vial back, his pained expression lessened a little and the healer knew the man was in more pain than he had let on.
“Auror Weasley, the potions I just gave you should help with Mr Dawson’s pain,” he explained. “I’ll make arrangements with the Auror Office to do a more in-depth examination tomorrow. Then, I can prescribe potions more suited to his individual case. I’d like to do it now, but I know finding young Mr Malfoy is a more pressing matter.”
Auror Weasley murmured his agreement and then turned to his prisoner. “Which would you prefer, Side-Along-Apparition or taking the Floo Network?” he asked.
“I no longer Apparate, sir,” Mr Dawson answered. “The pressure hurts too much.”
“Then we’ll go by Floo,” Auror Weasley said. He turned to face Healer Stilwell. “Thank you for asking me to come. Can we use your fireplace?”
“Yes. It was the least I could do,” Healer Stilwell replied as the two stepped over to the fireplace.
Auror Weasley threw some Floo Powder into the flames and a moment later, he and Mr Dawson were gone. Healer Stilwell turned to Medi-witch Johnson. “I don’t think it’s necessary to secure your word that what you witnessed here this evening won’t be spread about the hospital or circulated amongst your friends?” he asked.
“It won’t, sir,” Amelia Johnson said. “I suppose that if there’s a trial we’ll both be called to testify or if there isn’t, I should not speak of this at all if I value my neck?”
Healer Stilwell nodded. “The only person we need to inform is Madam Nigel. Will you come with me? I don’t believe she’s left her office yet.”
“Yes, I’ll come.”
Healer Stilwell took a moment to secure the files on his desk and then led the way to Madam Nigel’s office. He hoped she would take the news well.
*
1710 hours
All in all, it had been a difficult day. There were two new patients in the NMI ward whose injuries weren’t suited at all to the type of experiments she needed to carry out. Although… no, the potion wasn’t meant to be drunk… There had been the lunchtime incident with Tim that had unsettled her day even more, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had pushed him too far this time; especially after having finally given into her desire to teach him a lesson by giving him a triple dose of the new potion. At first, she had been pleased to see the gradual deterioration of his nervous system–his jerky movements, the items he could no longer grip firmly, the way he was uncertain on his feet at times–but now it seemed she was going to have to Imperius another employee to do her bidding because Tim was definitely dying. That would take time and right now, none of her employees were impressionable enough loners to be effectively convinced their mundane lives could be better if they started working a second–unpaid–job for her. Damn it!
She looked at the clock opposite her desk and shut her ward log with a bang. She should have left ten minutes ago. She didn’t trust Tim to feed the prisoner, much less not drop him on his head, without her supervision. Without a new victim to experiment on, he was likely to take out his frustrations on the boy and cause some irreparable damage… and for the time being, common sense told her to leave the kid alone.
So… to the cave.
*
1725 hours
Terry was the first to see the lone figure striding purposefully along the cliff top path towards the castle. There had been several castle-goers who had sauntered down the path leading from the car park, but no one coming from the village of Stonehaven a couple of miles north. He tapped his wand between his eyes and immediately, his vision zeroed in on the figure, sharpening the image so he could identify the person. Terry smiled: the Matron was coming down the path.
“Matron sighted on path from village. Estimated time of arrival, fifteen to twenty minutes,” he tapped on his wand, sending the message to Ron.
Mary Beth vibrated back, “Brilliant. I’ll alert the others.”
Terry smiled. So far, so good, he thought, and resumed his surveillance of the Matron.
*
1715 hours
She Apparated to the little village of Stonehaven and wearily began walking out towards the field entrance to the cave. Just as she was about to leave the village, she decided to stop at the baker’s and see if he had any pasties; she’d forgotten to eat at the end of her shift… again. She bought two and ate them as she walked, washing them down with a bottle of water. (Oh, how she hated the practice of bottling water in plastic bottles. The water tasted stale, but what could she expect when she was forced to buy her dinner from the Muggles?)
The sun was nearly set when she reached the fissure. She paused to admire the view before descending the steps into the darkness of the passage leading to cave. Eventually, she emerged into the weak light of the torch-lit main cavern. It was quiet except for the sound of the water lapping at the sea entrance, and the Matron decided against disturbing the prisoner until she absolutely had to. Instead, she decided to begin preparing for the evening before going to see the prisoner. She had given Tim the responsibility of watching him and had delighted in the pain the wizard had visited upon the prisoner: the sounds of the boy’s shrieks resonating through the cave had been music to her ears.
The Matron traded her travelling cloak for her lab robes, noting she would need to buy another set because this last batch of potion had started eating holes in the material in the places it had dripped or splattered on. She then began preparing the prisoner’s gruel in the kitchen area: this was the only place she cooked any sort of food, because if she cooked anywhere else in the cave for her prisoners, she knew she would be tempted to add a few drops of her experimental potions to the food. That wouldn’t be good research technique; she had to keep strict control over what was given to or forced upon her “visitors” so that any changes could be written down in the her experiment journals. It wouldn’t do to replicate something she’d already tested and approved…
When she finished the gruel, she set it aside for Tim to take to the prisoner when he deigned to show up. She was still angry at him for some of the things he’d done wrong this morning, especially with the two new patients, and she wondered if he would decide not to come to the cave this evening; he’d left before she’d had a chance to talk to him. With a shrug, she dismissed him for the moment and went to her bed, writing down the exact time before fishing the Time Turner out of her robes and taking her fifteen-minute nap. Her last thought before she fell asleep was that she hadn’t cast Homenum Revelio to see if anyone had infiltrated the cave. No matter, I’ll do it when I get up, she decided. Seconds later she was asleep.
She woke from her nap feeling refreshed and ready for the evening.
*
At the sound of footsteps in the tunnel, Scorpius whispered, “She’s coming.”
The four Aurors Disillusioned themselves and moved to the back wall. As they did, the one called Auror Carmichael told Scorpius to stay on the pallet. Scorpius gratefully remained where he was even though he knew the crazy lady expected to see him hanging upside down when she came to inspect his cell. From his position on the floor he watched in fascination as one of the Aurors magically closed the cell door. Feeling safe for the first time since his kidnapping, Scorpius closed his eyes and slept.
*
Brodie scowled at Susan’s Disillusioned form as she closed the cell door, but did not lock it. “What are you doing?” he whispered angrily. “You’ll trap us in here.”
“Biding us some time,” she hissed back. “From this far away, the door looks like it’s locked. I’ve closed it in such a way that she’ll have to put her hand on it to discover it isn’t locked. Besides, I cast a Forgetfulness Spell on the doorway. The first person through will forget to check for people other than Scorpius.”
Brodie still wasn’t mollified. “What about her habit of checking on Scorpius first thing?”
Susan looked annoyed. “That was part of the Forgetfulness Spell, Brodie,” she said testily.
Mary Beth murmured, “Stop it, you two, before we get caught. We need to make a break for it and hide someplace other than this particular cell. Was the door to the other cell open? If it is, let’s hide in there.”
Reluctantly, Brodie agreed as Susan nodded. Garrett alone dissented, saying, “I can’t leave Scorpius.”
“Be careful, Garrett,” Brodie whispered. He and the two witches eased through the gate to the cell and entered the dark second cell just as the footsteps reached the cavern.
*
The first thing that occurred to her when she awoke was that something looked strange in the first cell. There was also something not right about the corner of the drop-off leading to the water: footprints and disturbed places, almost as if someone had slid down the slope to the water. She hadn’t noticed them before, she’d been so tired; the light had been wrong earlier, too, but now it was obvious that someone had climbed up and down the drop-off from the sea entrance, not bothering to use the stairs. She rose from her bed, pulled out her wand and strode around the U-shaped drop-off that surrounded the boat slip to the detention cells.
The first thing she noticed was the boy. He was lying on the filthy pallet inside the cell when he should have been hanging upside down. Rage filled her. The only possible explanation was that Tim had taken pity on the prisoner this morning. After what he’d done at the hospital today, the Matron decided Tim had chosen not to suspend him like he was supposed to after giving the boy his morning gruel.
Angrily, she bent and picked up a good-sized stone from besides the bars, took aim, and hurled the stone at the sleeping boy. It hit him in the side and he cried out in pain as he woke. She smiled in satisfaction and cast the suspending spell, reeling her prisoner in like a fish on a line. The boy’s terrified expression warmed her heart.
*
The Aurors had promised to keep him safe from the cruel witch. He knew there was one still in his cell. Why wasn’t Auror Carmichael duelling her? Then Scorpius remembered; the Aurors wanted to catch all the suspects, not just their ringleader.
By now Scorpius was used to being yanked upside down, but to find himself floating towards the bars was quite unnerving.
“Who let you down?” the witch screeched when Scorpius floated to a stop before her.
Thinking quickly and hoping to put the blame on the man who had brought his food last night, Scorpius answered, “The man… the man in the b-b-blue robes.”
“I see,” the witch said, not sounding satisfied with his answer. “And tell me, are you all alone?”
Scorpius averted his gaze as he whispered tremulously, “Yes.”
“LIAR!” The witch spat the word venomously at him and flicked her wand, causing Scorpius’ head to strike the bars.
“I’m alone!” he cried, trying to keep the tears at bay even as the pain in his head made his eyes sting.
“We’ll see about that,” she cackled and all but threw him into the middle of the cell. “Crucio!”
The pain from the witch’s spell was unlike anything he’d ever experienced, even from the maniac wizard. Scorpius’ very bones filled with fire, his body tried to curl instinctively to protect itself, he couldn’t see as his eyes rolled in different directions in their sockets. Underneath the pain, he felt hatred so vast that it propelled the spell straight to his mind. At first, Scorpius bit his lip and tried not to scream, but as the spell continued, he couldn’t stop himself from crying out, from screaming himself silent. The pain was gone as suddenly as it had started and he felt the suspension spell release his ankles and drop him back onto the pallet. His head hit the blankets and he blacked out.
*
Garrett watched the Matron’s approach from his hiding place in the dark back corner of Scorpius’ cell. He didn’t like her expression and wondered if she’d detected him and the other Aurors present in the cave. A moment later, it became obvious that her ire was focused on Scorpius and the fact that he wasn’t where he should be.
When the Matron began yelling at Scorpius, the Auror found himself admiring him as he endured the Matron’s wrath. The poor boy had more courage, Garrett decided, than most of the Gryffindors at Hogwarts, Harry’s sons and daughter included. They had never been tortured like this or subjected to this sort of cruel interrogation; Scorpius, on the other hand, was holding his own against the onslaught of cruelty and hatred coming from the Matron and even finding a way to give her a cheeky answer that certainly didn’t help his situation.
Then the Matron cast the Cruciatus Curse and Scorpius’ screams filled the air. It had been a long time since Garrett had heard that sort of screaming; it was a sound that would keep him awake in the nights to come as he tried to squash his childhood memories of seeing his mother Cruciated by the Death Eaters who had broken into their home the summer before Garrett and his twin sister had been scheduled to go to Hogwarts. He himself had endured the curse’s pain that awful night, and it was almost impossible for Garrett to remain hidden and let the Matron exhaust her fury. When at last she tossed Scorpius back onto the pallet, the Auror breathed a sigh of relief. The boy’s ordeal was over and, to tell the truth, so was Garrett’s. He would wait another few minutes and then take Scorpius and Apparate him to the hospital.
*
1843 hours
Stunned wasn’t a word Ron used for himself very often these days. He knew he’d always been somewhat gormless about certain things–like Hermione when they were in school–but after talking with Tim Dawson for a few minutes during his processing at the Ministry, he could only say that having such a gold mine of information presented to him and his fellow Aurors had left him completely and utterly stunned.
Dawson had wanted to make a complete confession of everything he’d been involved in and had wanted to make a statement as soon as they reached Auror headquarters. Ron had enlisted Deputy Director Robards’ help, explaining the prisoner’s fragile state of health and sense of urgency. Robards had expedited the check-in process so that Ron could take advantage of his time with the prisoner before going back to his mission as quickly as possible. Of the myriad things Dawson confessed to, the most valuable to Ron at the moment was the knowledge that his team was watching the correct site and the times the Matron and her other two associates usually showed up at the cave.
As he stood to leave, Ron asked, “What should we expect when we encounter Scorpius Malfoy? Has he been used as one of the Matron’s experimental subjects?”
Dawson shook his head. “No, you’ll find him cold, hungry and tired of hanging upside down. The Matron has no desire to experiment on him. He doesn’t have the injuries she requires for her experiments.”
Ron couldn’t help the sigh of relief that escaped him. “Thank you,” was all he could manage to say as he let the interrogation room door close behind him.
Now, five minutes after leaving the prisoner with Robards, Ron reappeared in the Aurors’ invisible tent. He sat down on the unoccupied camp bed and took out his wand. “This is Ron. I have returned to the tent. One more suspect in custody. Matron should be inside with two more suspects to come. I will remain on watch up here,” he said to the wand.
Seconds later, Terry replied, “Combined team with prisoner. Main suspect in cave. Waiting for last two suspects. Prisoner out after suspects confirm he’s still in cell.”
Garrett reported, “Prisoner Cruciated. I will Disapparate him to St Mungo’s.”
Ron thought about this, about whom the Aurors could trust. “Leave prisoner with Healer Stilwell when you get there.”
“Will do,” Garrett sent back.
Ron contacted Deputy Robards. “Contact Healer Payton Stilwell at St Mungo’s. Ask him to stay with victim.”
Robards sent back several minutes later, “Healer to greet Auror and victim.”
Ron cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself as a sense of satisfaction swept through his body. Scorpius Malfoy wasn’t completely safe yet, but with Garrett Carmichael as his protector he would be much safer than if he’d been left alone in the cave. Ron let his wand slip back into its holster and stepped out of the tent, intent on reaching the observation shelter before the last two suspects arrived and saw him.
*
The boy’s screams echoed satisfyingly around the cave, warming her inside as nothing else could. It was the sound of pain, the sound she longed to hear Payton Stilwell utter. How she hated him! How she loathed working with him day in and day out while he used her potions, the ones he’d stolen from her, to make people better! One of these days she would get her revenge when patients began dying because the potions they were taking turned to poisons when they encountered the trace amount of her newest potion in their systems.
The Matron ended the curse and flicked her wand again. The suspended boy zoomed across the cell where she released the suspension charm and dropped him unceremoniously back onto the blankets. She smiled as his head struck the ground first.
She needed to inspect the drop-off. She needed to see how many sets of footprints had invaded the cave. She was puzzled, too, because the intruder-repelling curse she’d cast on the sea entrance should have been strong enough to discourage someone trained to ignore the suggestion. She reached the cave wall and cast a magic revealing spell. Curiously, there was only one set of footprints… or was there? She looked hard at the spell and decided the same shoes had made two tracks: had the boy tried to escape after Tim had let him down? She would punish the imbecile for taking pity on the prisoner…
The sound of her two associates arriving caused her to give up her investigation and she hastened back to the experiment room to greet them. She was pleasantly surprised to see the two had brought a female victim: she had grown tired of the guttural cries of her male experimental subjects, no matter how they screamed and pleaded.
“Where did you find our guest?” she asked, letting her satisfaction colour her tone.
The wizard, Ogden, answered, “Edinburgh.”
“And the reason you chose her?”
“She tried to steal my handbag,” the witch, Beda, answered. “Muggle’s not too smart,” she added, jerking her thumb at the woman.
The Matron smiled. “You’ve done well,” she said, allowing herself to smile. “Show our guest to the table and make her comfortable. Dinner will be ready in a few minutes.”
The woman began to scream as Ogden and Beda yanked her towards the experiment table. The sound was invigorating and the Matron hastened to the kitchen as the sounds of the woman struggling filled the cave.
*
After the Matron checked on Scorpius, Garrett emerged from the dark recesses of the far corner of the cell. He was concerned the boy was suffering horribly from being Cruciated and was quite relieved when he raised his head.
“Are you feeling up to getting out of here?” Garrett asked quietly as he knelt beside Scorpius’ pallet.
Scorpius struggled to sit up. His mouth was bloody where he’d bitten his lip in his efforts not to scream. Oh Scorpius, Garrett thought, you didn’t have to put on such a brave front for us. We all know how much that curse hurts. He pulled his wand and siphoned away the blood before conjuring a StayFull glass and filling it with water. Scorpius took the glass, but it slipped through his fingers. Garrett held it to the boy’s lips. He drank all the water in small sips, then smiled wanly as the glass refilled itself. He finished the second glassful, too. He smiled his thanks as the cup disappeared having sensed the drinker was satisfied.
“I’m… better now, Auror Carmichael, but I can’t stand up just yet,” he whispered, looking troubled.
“If you’ll let me carry you, I can Disapparate directly to St Mungo’s from here. Are you agreeable?” Garrett asked. He moved closer to Scorpius so the boy could lean on him.
“Yeah, you can carry me,” Scorpius said weakly.
Garrett smiled and gently gathered Scorpius in his arms. He put an arm around Garrett’s back and as soon as the Auror felt it tighten a little, he turned on the spot and left the cave.
They arrived at the Auror arrival room to find Healer Stilwell seated at a desk reading a medical magazine. An empty trolley floated a little ways away and as the Healer approached, the trolley followed him.
“Welcome to St Mungo’s, Master Malfoy,” Healer Stilwell said as Garrett laid Scorpius on the trolley. “I’m Healer Stilwell. I’ll be the healer who examines you. How are you feeling?”
Recognition dawned on the boy’s face. “You’re… you’re the healer who helped Mr Potter and Brian Nelson,” he said and Garrett again heard the note of trust creep into the boy’s voice.
“I am,” replied Healer Stilwell, looking surprised. “Can you answer my question?”
“I hurt all over,” Scorpius said.
“He’s just been Cruciated,” Garrett explained.
“Then we need to get him to A and E,” Healer Stilwell said. He opened the door and the trolley and Garrett followed him out of the arrival room.
As soon as they reached the corridor to the examining rooms, Garrett said, “I’ll go notify the parents.”
Scorpius suddenly looked terrified. “Stay with me,” he pleaded. “Please. I… I’m scared.”
Garrett couldn’t leave. Instead, he reached for Scorpius’ hand and held onto it. “I’ll stay if you want me to,” he said. The boy nodded and seemed to relax a bit at the contact, curling his grimy fingers around Garrett’s hand.
The three entered an empty examination room and Healer Stilwell stepped to one side, directing the trolley into the room. As soon as Scorpius was transferred to the examining table, the trolley disappeared with an audible pop. While this was happening, Healer Stilwell gave orders to several medi-witches who appeared at the door and then shut it once they left.
“Auror Carmichael,” he said, “if you’ll stand next to Master Malfoy’s head that should be far enough away that you won’t interfere with my diagnostic spells.”
Garrett moved to the head of the table, keeping his hold on Scorpius’ hand. As he did so, the door opened admitting the two medi-witches. One looked directly at Scorpius and said, “Your parents are on their way.”
Scorpius closed his eyes and a tear trickled slowly down the side of his head. Garrett gently wiped it away. “Thanks,” he said to the medi-witch and turning back to Scorpius, he added, “It’s all right to let it out if you need to.”
The boy sat up with a quiet wail, threw his arms around Garrett’s shoulders and hung on with a vicelike grip as his body heaved with great, gulping sobs. Garrett held Scorpius close, murmuring nonsense phrases and telling him he was safe, until the storm passed and Healer Stilwell could continue his examination.
Chapter 32: 32: Battle
Author's Notes: I made it! I promised so many of my readers that I’d post this chapter today that I’ve been writing nearly non-stop for a week! I sincerely hope this end to the kidnapping passes muster because not only did I type like a fiend, I asked my pre-beta team of Miz636, Mutt n Feathers, RebeccaRipple, Rosina Ferguson, and RSS to drop everything on Sunday afternoon and get this chapter back to me in time for me to send it to Aggiebell on Monday evening. Thank you, everyone, for the time you took to read the chapter and give me your suggestions in so little time. You five are truly the best. And Aggiebell, thanks for getting the chapter back so quickly, too. You gave me the time to think about the questions you raised and make the changes you thought necessary. We haven’t had to do that very often with this story… and hopefully, the quality hasn’t suffered… much.
Again, this chapter bounces around on the timeline because of the various points of view. Thanks again to everyone who kept faith that I'd post this chapter in a timely manner. I'm looking forward to answering the reviews because I discovered last Thursday was quite lonely indeed without messages from my regular reviewers! Happy reading! I hope you enjoy the chapter.
2125 hours, 8 January 2021
“Terry!” Ron waited a few seconds and then tapped his wand again, sending a more intense vibration to his fellow Auror.
This time Terry answered. “Sorry, dozed off. Hey, when did it get dark?”
Ron chuckled softly and tapped back, “About an hour ago. I just saw the Matron’s henchmen enter the fissure. They were frogmarching someone between them, a woman who didn’t look too happy. I think she might be tonight’s entertainment.”
Terry’s quick reply was, “That’s sick. You waiting or leaving immediately?”
“I’ll meet you at the top of the steps in ten minutes,” Ron answered.
“Roger that,” Terry responded. Ron shook his head: Terry’s wife was a Muggle-born who had grown up watching police detective shows on the telly and Terry had picked up a few of her witticisms which surfaced every now and then. This was one of them.
Ron went back to the base tent where he, Mary Beth and Brodie had stored their extra supplies. He pocketed several Portkeys–both for the Ministry and St Mungo’s–his extra combat wand, some Ministry-sanctioned Wheezes from George’s shop, and several bottles of medi-potions protected by Unbreakable Charms. When he was satisfied with his collection, he secured the tent with a spell and went to meet Terry.
His partner seemed likewise prepared. Ron could tell because of the tell-tale bulges in Terry’s robe pockets–even with concealing and expansion charms on them, the material moved differently than the rest of the garment. The two greeted each other silently and then proceeded down the steep stairs to the tunnel. As soon as they entered it, first Terry and then Ron cast sealing spells, which could only be breached by the Aurors. Anyone not carrying an Auror’s badge would be trapped inside the tunnel.
Terry cast a privacy spell on their immediate area. “What’s the plan now? I know we’re supposed to wait until Garrett leaves with Scorpius, but other than that I only have the vaguest idea of what we’re doing,” he whispered.
“That goes for me, too,” Ron answered equally quietly. “The last I talked with Mary Beth, the plan was that she, Susan and Brodie were going to wait until the Matron started her experiments on the woman the two assistants brought with them tonight. We need memory evidence of the sorts of experimentation the Matron is doing. I reckon we need to wait until the screaming starts before we show ourselves.”
Terry sighed. “More waiting,” he muttered, and cancelling his spell, tiptoed down to the tunnel’s mouth and sat down on a rock located just outside the patch of dim torchlight, which flickered at the tunnel’s mouth.
Ron stayed farther back in the shadows, fighting the urge to fall asleep.
*
2134 hours
Brodie was the first to hear Garrett and Scorpius leave. “They’ve gone,” he whispered to the others. Then he tapped into his wand, “Ron… Terry… How many suspects now? Any victims?”
“Looks like three suspects and one victim,” Terry reported.
“That’s all of them according to Ron,” Susan whispered to Mary Beth and Brodie.
“The victim looks like a Muggle to me,” observed Mary Beth. “I don’t like the looks of this.”
“I’ll take her to St Mungo’s,” Susan whispered as she tapped her wand to let Ron and Terry know her intentions. “They’ll want to know how to treat her so they can do the Obliviation.”
Brodie sighed. “I wish that didn’t have to happen, but who knows what those two did to her…” He trailed off as Ron spoke through their wands.
“You ready?” he asked as the Muggle woman began to scream.
Brodie and the others tapped their wands in affirmation. He stood up, tested the Silencing Spell on his boots and then slipped silently out of the second cell, sprinting towards the ceiling support pillar closest to the experiment area. He waited until the others had left to take their places behind the other pillars and stone partitions and then recast the modified anti-Disapparation spell they’d disabled to allow Garrett to leave with Scorpius–apparently, the Matron liked to Apparate and Disapparate within the cave, but didn’t want to cope with the possibility that her victims might want to Disapparate out of the cave.
His wand vibrated again with a message from Ron: “They’re tying the Muggle to the table. On my count, cast to Stun and Subdue. Terry and I will go for the wizard; he’s closest. Mary Beth and Brodie, take down the witch. Maintain silence. We need to get the Muggle out before all hell breaks loose. Susan, take her out as soon as you can and come back immediately. Do you need a Portkey?”
Susan answered, “No, I have one with me.”
“Very good. Brodie, keep an eye out for the Matron. Do you have a visual on her?”
Brodie swivelled his head to the left, peering round the back of his hiding place. He couldn’t see the Matron, because his view of the kitchen area was obstructed by another pillar. “No,” he tapped back, adding a shake of his head and pointing in the direction of the kitchen to indicate that he knew she was there somewhere.
Ron tapped back, “All right. Be careful. On three… One… two… three!”
Brodie’s eyes had been glued to the tunnel entrance during the countdown and when he saw Terry emerge from the archway, he too stepped from his hiding place and levelled his wand at his assigned suspect, the witch, and fired off a Stunning Spell. She must have seen either him or the red light of his spell for she turned and hastily cast a Shield Spell around herself. Even before his spell hit it, Brodie was sprinting across the open area towards her, flinging up his own shield and casting again as he saw ropes shoot from Mary Beth’s wand and wrap around the witch’s ankles. She toppled over with a surprised squeak.
Brodie glanced over at Mary Beth. Nice one, he mouthed.
She smiled back briefly as Susan rushed in, freed the Muggle woman from her bonds and activated the Portkey that would take them both to St Mungo’s. As they disappeared, Brodie once again pointed his wand at the witch who was struggling to free herself. She was swearing loudly enough to attract the Matron’s attention, but before Brodie or Mary Beth could Silence her, the Matron’s voice rang out from another part of the cave.
“Get that wench under control or I’ll Cruciate you!”
The witch stopped struggling and almost automatically called back in a monotone, “Yes, Matron,” causing Brodie and Mary Beth to exchange a startled glance before taking advantage of her momentary inactivity to Stun her. Then Brodie went to help Ron and Terry with the wizard while Mary Beth further secured the witch with a Leg-Locker Curse.
The wizard had jumped on top of the table and was engaging Ron and terry in a fierce duel. All three were casting non-verbally and even though the wizard was outnumbered two to one, he was holding his own.
“Mary Beth’s guarding the other suspect,” Brodie panted as he joined the fray from behind.
Ron grunted as a muddy brown spell hit his shield and sent him reeling backwards. “Good,” was all he said as he cast another Stunning Spell at the wizard.
“Tarantallegra! ” Brodie yelled, sending the spell zinging towards the wizard. The spell missed, hitting the table and causing the suspect to look down. As he did so, Brodie managed to slip a rope around the wizard’s ankle and work his way to Ron’s side.
“Good one, Brodie!” Terry gasped as several dark-coloured spells rained down on the three Aurors.
“Can’t let him get away,” grunted Brodie. He yanked hard on the rope, causing the wizard to stumble as he cast his next spell. It struck the ceiling of the cave, digging a crater in the rock, and sending a shower of debris towards the floor of the cave.
“Mary Beth, watch out!” Ron shouted in warning.
Out of the corner of his eye, Brodie saw Mary Beth hastily casting a Shield Charm over herself and the witch so that the stones slid harmlessly to the ground.
Another yank on the rope separated the wizard from his wand as he toppled off the table with a loud grunt.
All four Aurors froze as the Matron swore loudly and yelled, “Don’t make me come out there! You’ll suffer the Cruciatus if you don’t get the Muggle under control!”
Again, the meek reply of “Yes, Matron” filled the cave and then the wizard began crawling swiftly towards his wand.
Terry was faster, though, snatching it from the wizard’s outstretched fingers with a Summoning Spell and Stunning him all in one swift movement. The wizard froze and then crumpled into a heap. The four Aurors stood up simultaneously, silently congratulating each other. Terry handed Ron the wizard’s wand and then stared past Mary Beth’s shoulder.
“Watch out!” he hollered in alarm.
*
Something wasn’t right. The Muggle woman should have been screaming longer and harder. Beda usually swore like a tavern wench when dealing with the volunteers and she hadn’t done much of it tonight. And Ogden, he was always so careless about what he bumped into, making all sorts of noise with the metal instruments when setting up a volunteer for treatment, that she usually had to tell him to be careful; tonight there was a lot less noise. Something was definitely fishier than the smell of the ocean that permeated the air inside the cave…
She listened to the sounds emitting from the treatment room–was that multiple feet she heard–before yelling over her shoulder that she’d Cruciate the lot of them for not subduing the Muggle fast enough. Only Ogden replied… in a monotone. Interesting, that…
Curious as to why Beda and Ogden weren’t sounding like themselves, the Matron ventured out of the kitchen just far enough to see the activity in the treatment room. The sight of at least two Aurors engaged in a duel with her assistants instantly made her furious. How dare they infiltrate her cave! She glanced over at the holding cells and discovered her prisoner, the young blond-headed boy she’d had the pleasure of Cruciating a little while ago, was gone! The Aurors had taken him, too! Oh, this was not acceptable at all!
Quickly, the Matron ran to her store cupboards in the potion preparation area, intent on opening one and using tonight’s potion on the Aurors instead of the Muggle woman. However, when she tried to touch the knobs on one of the cupboard doors, her hands wouldn’t close over them, no matter how hard she tried. She grabbed her wand from her pocket and tried several unlocking spells, but they didn’t work; in fact, the doors seemed to seal tighter with each successive unlocking spell she tried. She went from cupboard to cupboard trying to open the doors, but no matter what she tried, they remained locked or sealed and inaccessible; and with each failure, she grew increasingly angry and resentful towards the Aurors.
Finally abandoning her search for an open cupboard, she sprinted to her bedroom area. The Aurors couldn’t have guessed she’d hidden away a small, covered cauldron containing some of her first nerve toxin, the potion she’d successfully used on the Auror who’d first duelled her nearly a year ago and then again last October when he’d fallen victim to the destroyed steps in the cellar of the fun house. Smiling at the memory, she tapped her wand against the bottom drawer of her beside cabinet. The drawer gave off an amber glow for several seconds and then, with a small shudder, the bottom rose up, revealing the cauldron concealed in the space below the cabinet.
The Matron reached into the space and brought out the cauldron, which she set carefully on the ground beside her. She then replaced the bottom of the drawer with a spell and closed it so no one would find her hiding place. It was only then that she turned her attention to the cauldron, undoing the security spells on it and unsealing the lid. Inside it were several prepared projectiles: long, thin pieces of metal designed to penetrate flesh quickly, and after closing the entry wounds, begin leaking the poison into the victim’s system. Smiling to herself, the Matron stood up, the cauldron in one hand, her wand in the other, and made her way nearly silently towards the treatment room.
The situation that met her eyes was even direr than she’d thought. Four Aurors were engaged in duels with Ogden, Beda lay unconscious on the ground and the Muggle woman was nowhere in sight. The Matron now ducked behind the wall separating the potions lab from the treatment room and used her wand to extract several of the projectiles, which she floated carefully in front of her. Then, she chose her first victim, the female Auror who was now guarding Beda’s unconscious body.
Before the other Aurors realized what was happening, the Matron ran out of the potions lab and threw the metal pieces at the female Auror. She didn’t care where they struck the witch; the metal would do its job as it magically wormed its way through cloth and flesh to nestle securely in the witch’s muscles before closing the wounds. By that time, the Matron knew the other Aurors would have seen her.
The female Auror gave a startled cry of surprise as one of the male Aurors sounded a warning, just a hair too late for the Matron’s victim to dodge out of the way. Her cry heartened the Matron as she Disapparated from where she stood on the floor of the cavern to reappear on the top of the stone partition separating the potions lab and the treatment room.
“There she is!” cried the ginger-haired Auror.
The Matron sent a blinding hex towards him and then Disapparated again, knowing that even though her security enchantments wouldn’t allow her to Apparate out of the cave, she could still Apparate within it. She reappeared on the floor behind one of the support columns holding up the ceiling in front of the boat slip and while the Aurors were looking for her, she cast a percussion hex at the youngest Auror and a Bludgeoning Hex at the tall black-haired Auror.
“Oh no, you don’t!” cried the female Auror. “I don’t know what you hit me with, but you’re paying for it!” And before the Matron could react, the Auror cast a freezing charm, which nearly penetrated the Matron’s shield.
That made her angrier than the sight of her assistants laying motionless on the floor of the treatment room or the disappearance of her prisoner and the volunteer. The Matron jumped out from behind the column and, in rapid succession, fired off four different spells, each one aimed at a different Auror. Then, she Disapparated again, landing on top of the partition between the first holding cell and the treatment room. The disoriented Aurors spread out, searching for her, and calling to each other.
“Where is she?”
“Look up.”
“No, look down, behind the pillars.”
“I think I found her!”
With a triumphant smile, the Matron cast a Leg-locker Curse on the youngest male Auror–the brown-haired one–which harmlessly bounced off his shield, and a cutting hex at ginger-hair. The black-haired Auror finally spotted her and tried to Stun her, but she Disapparated before the spell reached her perch.
The duel continued for several minutes with the Matron casting ever darker spells at the Aurors while Disapparating every few seconds to keep them from finding her. She used the entire cave except for the holding cells; those had been protected with extremely strong anti-escape spells which would impede, but not necessarily prevent, someone without a wand from leaving to go to another part of the cave and thus trying to escape.
Finally becoming winded from all the jumping about, the Matron perched on top of the rock partition between the potions lab and the treatment room. The Aurors saw her appear and came running, firing Stunning Spells at her in their attempt to keep her engaged long enough to make a mistake that would allow one of them to apprehend her.
With a sudden cry, though, the female Auror fell, doubled-over and screaming in agony as the poison from the projectiles began attacking her nervous system. The Matron smiled, watching her twitch and then lay still, before reengaging the other Aurors in a three-on-one duel. The Matron felt she had the advantage and stayed put to try to inflict more damage as she Summoned the small cauldron. She caught it by the handle as it sailed to her outstretched hand. There was only one more metal piece in the bottom, so she lifted it out with her wand, ready to fling it at one of the Aurors, but she never had the chance to cast her spell because the world went suddenly black.
*
2246 hours
Their trip to St Mungo’s through the Floo Network started out in deference to Harry’s inability to Apparate, but as Draco stumbled out of the fireplace at the hospital–something he hadn’t done in years–he realized he would have Splinched himself if they’d come the other way. It had nothing to do with Harry and everything to do with his eagerness to see Scorpius and learn what his condition was. Draco was now very glad there were no witnesses to his arrival other than his wife and her parents; Harry had invoked the Aurors’ password and the three had arrived in the privacy of the Aurors’ arrival room.
“Steady there, mate,” Harry said as he offered a steadying hand.
Draco clutched it, took another two steps and finally stayed upright. “Thanks,” he said sheepishly as Asteria and May smothered giggles behind their hands.
“Happens to the best of us,” Harry said, grinning, “even the Minister.”
Asteria’s eyebrows rose to the ceiling. “It does?” she asked.
“I’ll tell you later,” Harry said, smiling. “Right now, we need to get you through the security check so you can go see your son.” Both Draco and Asteria nodded. “Follow me.”
The next few minutes went by in a blur of questions, wand weighing, and waiting for the healer attending Scorpius to appear in the waiting room. Draco was on his fifteenth trip across the small waiting room when he noticed Harry smiling and rolling towards the corridor.
“Healer Stilwell, what brings you down here?” Harry asked the green-robed wizard who had come to a stop in the archway that separated the waiting area from the corridor.
“Auror Weasley wisely asked that I attend the Malfoy boy,” the healer explained, giving Harry a meaningful look. Harry’s expression turned stony for a moment. “Are these his parents and grandparents?”
“Yes,” Harry made the introductions and then explained to Draco and the others, “He’ll tell us what to expect when we see Scorpius,” and Draco felt a huge lump form in his throat as he offered his hand to the healer.
“How is he?” Asteria asked tremulously. Draco put his arm around her shoulders and she leaned heavily on him.
Healer Stilwell pointed his wand at the archway and flicked it a few times. The waiting area instantly quieted, giving Draco the impression they were now completely separated from the rest of the hospital.
Harry turned his wheelchair as if to leave and suddenly, Draco wanted him to stay. “Harry, please stay,” he requested. Harry came back into the room and parked his chair next to the sofa upon which Draco and Asteria were now seated. Healer Stilwell sat opposite them, glancing at Lyndon and May as if to include them in his report.
“First of all, I need to tell you that Scorpius is a remarkable young wizard,” Healer Stilwell began. “I’m not sure many grown wizards would have fared as well as your son has.” He paused and then said, “Your son has survived his ordeal in relatively good condition. When Auror Carmichael brought him in earlier, Scorpius was dehydrated and suffering from mild hypothermia. He had no broken bones. However, his captor had just Cruciated him.” Draco sucked in a sharp breath as Asteria let out a frustrated wail. Healer Stilwell waited a few seconds and then continued, “I’ve treated your son for the side-effects of the spell and we’re bringing his body temperature back up to normal, continuing the warming treatment started by the Aurors. He’s been given small amounts of warmed Rehydration Solution, which we will continue to administer throughout the night. I expect to release him in two to three days’ time depending on how he responds to treatment.”
Draco sighed heavily. “Thank you, Healer Stilwell. May we see him?” he asked hopefully.
Healer Stilwell smiled and looked at Harry. “Of course. Harry, would you take the family up to my ward, please? I have some things I need to finish before I can join you. Scorpius’ bed is the first one on the right. I’ve separated it from the others with partitions.”
Harry murmured, “Of course,” as Draco and Asteria stood up and Healer Stilwell cancelled his spells.
Draco could hardly keep the emotion from his voice as he said, “Thank you, Healer Stilwell, for taking care of Scorpius.”
“I was happy to do it. We’ll talk some more after you’ve seen your son,” Healer Stilwell said before he left.
Draco slipped his hand into Asteria’s and looked at Harry. “Which way?” he asked.
“Follow me to the lift,” was Harry’s reply.
The lift doors opened and a young, haggard-looking wizard in Auror’s robes stepped out. He looked surprised and pleased to see them. “Harry! I’m glad I caught you,” he said. “I just finished taking the Malfoy boy’s statement. Are you going up to see him?”
Harry answered affirmatively and introduced Draco and Asteria and her parents to Auror Carmichael.
“You have a brave and courageous son, Mr and Mrs Malfoy,” Auror Carmichael said as he shook hands with Draco. “He’s anxious to see you. I’d go back up with you, but I’m needed elsewhere. It was a pleasure to meet you.”
Draco smiled tightly and followed Harry into the lift as the Auror sprinted towards the Auror arrival room. “Where might he be going in such a hurry?” he asked curiously.
“Auror Carmichael left the mission to bring Scorpius here,” Harry answered as the lift began to move. “I imagine he’s going back to help the rest of Ron’s team with the apprehension of the kidnappers. Ah, this is our floor.”
The five exited the lift and Harry led them to a set of double doors guarded by a young Auror. Harry spoke to him and the Auror nodded and opened one of the doors for them. Harry allowed Draco, Asteria, Lyndon and May to pass through into the ward before following them into the room, and Draco waited until his friend joined them, noticing that Harry was hanging back talking quietly to Lyndon and May, before turning his attention to his son’s section of the room.
Scorpius’ bed was surrounded by partitions and Draco hesitantly parted the curtains, even though he was anxious to see his son. He shouldn’t have been concerned. Scorpius lay on the bed with his eyes closed. He face was pale and there were dark circles under his eyes, which seemed to have sunken into their sockets a little.
Asteria let go of Draco’s hand and immediately crossed to the bed. Draco stood behind her, his hand resting on his son’s as his wife gently brushed the blond hair off their son’s forehead. Scorpius stirred and a moment later opened his eyes.
“Mum! Dad!” he whispered. “You’re… here!”
Those four little words were the sweetest Draco had heard in a long time.
*
2319 hours
The tunnel was still dark, but no longer silent as he approached the cave. Instead, it was filled with the sounds of duelling; shouted words, the cries of the wounded and the sound of spells bouncing off the walls and the protective barriers his colleagues had set up earlier. He was glad to have been a major source of comfort for Scorpius Malfoy and to have met his family, but now it was time to support his team members.
Silently, Garrett approached the tunnel entrance into the experiment lab, no, torture chamber, part of the cave and quickly assessed the situation. The Matron was now perched on top of one of the stone partitions with her back to the tunnel entrance, firing spells at Ron, Terry and Brodie in rapid succession. Mary Beth was lying crumpled on the ground. Garrett saw no sign of Susan, so he thought she might be with the night’s victim–he vaguely remembered someone saying she was a Muggle.
Smiling, Garrett took careful aim at the Matron. He stayed hidden in the shadows of the tunnel until the very last moment and then stepped out into the light and fired off a Stunning Spell. The spell hit the Matron in the back and before she could cry out, she toppled out of sight into the room beyond. Garrett heard the wooden clatter of a wand hitting stone followed by exclamations of surprise and joy from the other Aurors.
“Garrett, mate! Your timing is brilliant!” Ron exclaimed as Garrett stepped out of the tunnel.
“Glad I could be of service. Need help securing the prisoners?” Garrett asked.
“Yes. We Stunned the two assistants earlier, but I think we should to revive them now,” Ron said, pointing his wand to the two prisoners who were lying stiffly under the experiment table. It was a good hiding place since it acted like a natural barrier that would protect them from stray spells, but Garrett wondered if such protection had been necessary. A moment later, though, he felt a twinge of guilt for thinking that the “bad guys” didn’t need to be protected long enough to stand trial.
“Before I cast the counter curse, would you tie the prisoners up, please?” Ron asked.
Garrett nodded and quickly bound the two together back to back. Then Ron cast the counter curse, followed by a Silencing Charm. The two Aurors stepped back and surveyed their handiwork.
“How’s Scorpius?” Ron asked.
“Pretty good, considering. I saw his family at the lifts as I was leaving. Harry was with them, which I was glad to see,” Garrett said. “Did you alert him?”
“I did.” Ron looked relieved as he said, “I’m glad Harry received my message. Well done, Garrett. Now let’s go see to the Matron.”
They left the two assistants bound together under several more strong security spells and wandered over to where Brodie and Terry were guarding her.
The Matron levelled a glare at Garrett. Just to aggravate her, he flashed her a cheeky smile. “I ought to make a pin cushion out of you, Auror, like I did your lady friend over there!” she spat. “That would teach you not to Stun people from behind!”
Garrett grinned at her. “I’m afraid you’re all out of pins,” he said. He looked at Ron. “Tie her up?”
“Please, and then take her over to the others. We’re going straight to Azkaban,” Ron said as Susan arrived.
“Did I miss all the fun?” she asked from where she stood in the tunnel entrance.
“Some,” Terry replied. “You should have seen Garrett. He stepped out of the tunnel and hit her in the back with a Stunning Spell. Dropped her like a stone and made it easy for the rest of us to apprehend her.”
“Good. Where’s Mary Beth?” Susan asked.
“Brodie’s with her. Looks like she was hit,” Garrett said. “I think that’s the excitement we both missed.”
“Susan, I need you and Brodie to take Mary Beth to St Mungo’s,” Ron said. “The rest of us will be going straight to Azkaban with the prisoners.”
Susan agreed and walked over to speak with Brodie. Garrett watched her for a moment and then asked, “Are we done here, Ron?”
“Yes, let’s get this lot where they belong,” he said.
*
2216 hours
The feeling of soft fingers stroking his forehead gradually brought him out of his potion-induced slumber and he wondered absently whether it was Auror Bones touching him again to remind him that he wasn’t alone in the cave. Then he heard a sniff and some murmured words. The voices were familiar and comforting and he knew without a doubt that he was not still in the cave and that the hand holding his belonged to his father and the fingers stroking his forehead were his mother’s.
He swallowed the lump that formed in his throat and willed his eyes to stop stinging; he wasn’t going to cry, not in front of his father who he knew had suffered the Cruciatus Curse more times than he dared report. Scorpius wanted to be brave like his father, so instead of showing how scared he still was, he opened his eyes and focused on greeting his parents.
The sight of his parents standing by his bed with his grandparents and Mr Potter waiting in the background was a welcome sight indeed. His mother was crying softly and she smiled at him through her tears, just as Scorpius had expected her to. What nearly undid his own resolve was the fact that his father, the stoic Draco Malfoy, had tears coursing silently down his cheeks as well.
“How are you, son?” his father asked, his voice squeaking a little.
Scorpius closed his eyes again, this time doing a quick assessment of how he felt. He was still cold and still thirsty, but not so much that it was unbearable. His head hurt more than his body did and he chalked it up to all the potions Healer Stilwell had made him swallow, so he opened his eyes again and replied, “I’ve been better.”
That made Dad smile. “Spoken like a true Malfoy,” he said, chuckling.
“So now tell us how you really feel,” Grandfather Greengrass spoke up as he and Grandmother approached Scorpius’ bed.
Scorpius hesitated. His mother was crying hard enough as it was, and he didn’t want to worry her more.
“Scorpius, darling,” Grandmother said encouragingly, “if you don’t tell us, how will we know what to ask your healers to do to help you feel better?”
With a sigh, Scorpius admitted his symptoms, adding at the end, “I’m light-headed and sleepy right now because the healers made me swallow so many potions, I think.”
Mum spoke through her tears, “Then we’ll let you rest. Would you mind if we stayed with you?”
Scorpius smiled at her. “I’d like that very much,” he said as his eyes drifted shut of their own accord. He heard, rather than saw, his parents and grandparents transfiguring small objects into chairs. The sound of the chair legs hitting the floor was almost as comforting as his father’s and his grandmother’s hands holding his. He didn’t want to let go, even to sleep, because if he did let go, they might not be there when he woke up and right now, being alone was just too terrifying. He squeezed his grandmother’s hand and was rewarded with one in return from her. However, the steady pressure of his father’s hand in his was more reassuring than anything else, and Scorpius finally released the last of the tension that had kept him aware even through the effects of the potions he’d taken. With one last sigh, he let the darkness take over and finally let himself really sleep.
*
2221 hours
The reunion of the Malfoy family was one of the best things Harry had witnessed in his professional life. True, he hadn’t been acting in an official capacity today, but just knowing his Aurors had successfully whisked Scorpius from the clutches of the Matron and her followers gave him a deep sense of pride in a job well done. The only thing that would be more satisfying than the reunion would be the capture of the kidnappers by Ron and the rest of his team.
Harry stayed with Scorpius and his family for only a few minutes, just long enough for Healer Stilwell to join them again. Then, he bid them good-bye and went upstairs to the dining room in search of a cup of coffee. He needed a few minutes to himself before he found a secluded corner from which to send Ginny a Patronus message to tell her where he was.
Twenty minutes later, Harry rolled into a deserted waiting area and conjured his stag. He told Ginny where he was and that he wanted her to come to the hospital. As the Patronus galloped off, Harry took the lift down to the A and E and settled in to wait for news of Ron’s team, hoping that his vigil in this place was for naught.
*
0026 hours, 9 January 2021
Ron stood over the three Silenced suspects who were bound back to back in an awkward triangular configuration. The Matron was still mouthing expletives as he opened an evidence bag and dropped three wands into it. As the bag vanished with a wave of his wand, the woman closest to him scowled fiercely at him and tugged at her bonds.
“Nope, I’m not letting you go,” he said. Looking up at Garrett, he asked, “Are the Portkeys ready?”
Garrett smiled tiredly. “Nearly,” he answered. A piece of rope suddenly glowed blue, indicating the creation of the last Portkey. However, instead of handing it and two others to Ron, he walked over to Susan and Brodie who were kneeling beside Mary Beth. “This will take you to St Mungo’s,” he said.
“Thanks, but I have one,” Susan said, indicating the glove lying on Mary Beth’s stomach. “You ready, Brodie?” she asked.
“I am,” he said. “Make sure I don’t drop her.” He scooped up his wounded colleague in his arms and when he was standing, Susan activated the Portkey and the three disappeared, leaving Garrett standing there, holding the piece of rope.
Terry walked over to him. “Let’s use that one later when we go see Mary Beth,” he said.
Garrett smiled tiredly. “Yes. Long day,” he murmured and they walked back to where Ron was waiting.
Ron levelled his wand at the three suspects. “Shirley Gorman, Beda Bardsley and Ogden Sperry, you are under arrest for violence against the person of Harry James Potter of Snidget’s Haven, Godric’s Hollow, in the County of Gwent, in the Country of Wales and Brian Conrad Nelson of 24 Verona Place, Borough of Brentwood, in the County of Essex and for the kidnapping of Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy of Malfoy Manor, in the County of Wiltshire. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.” He paused and then asked, “Have I made myself clear?” All three stared stonily ahead, prompting him to repeat his question. Finally, the three prisoners nodded. “Very good. Auror Boot, Auror Carmichael, we’re ready.”
The three Aurors each grabbed the arm of their assigned suspect and with a tap of Terry’s wand, the six disappeared from the cave to appear seconds later in the processing room of Azkaban prison.
As soon as his feet touched ground, Ron strode over to the desk and began conversing with the Auror sitting behind it. Terry interrupted their conversation a moment later.
“Ron, what are your orders?” he asked.
Ron thought a moment and then replied, “Go back to the base site. Secure it and then break down the tents. There are two; one’s an observation post closer to the footpath, both are under concealing charms. Do the same with your base in the castle. Make sure nothing is left in either the field or the castle and cancel any spells you may have used to conceal your equipment. Then seal the cave, but not before recovering that tiny cauldron she was Summoning.” He indicated the Matron with his head. “Oh, if you can find it, secure that last piece of metal, too. Forensics will like us if we can make their job simpler.”
“You’ll stay here and see these three through processing?” Terry asked.
“Yes. I’ll also be filing my own report through this office before I go over to the hospital. I need to find out about Mary Beth,” he said. What he didn’t add was that he was going to keep Tim Dawson company during his final hours. He’d just received a message that the wizard had been admitted to St Mungo’s. “You can go home once you’ve written your reports,” he added.
“Thanks, Ron.” Terry turned and walked over to Garrett. They held a short conversation and then walked out into the outside corridor where the arrival and departure fireplaces were located. A chime signalled the activation of the Floo Network and Ron knew they were on their way to the prison’s Apparition point.
The Auror on duty now shoved a stack of parchment at Ron. With a weary sigh, he picked up a quill and began filling out the forms.
*
0032 hours
A commotion in the corridor alerted Harry to the Auror team’s arrival. He pushed his wheelchair out of the alcove he’d been waiting in and watched as Susan and Brodie stumbled out of the arrival room carrying one of the younger Aurors.
“Someone help, we need a trolley, fast!” Susan called and three healers with a trolley floating behind them appeared out of nowhere. They swiftly placed the injured Auror on the trolley and disappeared into one of the examination rooms.
“Susan!” Harry called softly.
“Harry, what are you doing here?” Susan asked, coming over to him while Brodie followed the trolley.
“I was with the Malfoys when Garrett brought Scorpius in,” Harry replied. “Have all the arrests been made?”
Susan smiled tiredly. “Yes, we subdued the Matron and the other two about ten minutes ago. Ron, Terry and Garrett have taken them to Azkaban,” she said.
“Thank goodness they’re finally in custody,” Harry said, letting out a huge sigh of relief. He glanced down the corridor. “What happened?” he asked, jerking his head towards the examination room.
Susan looked troubled. “Mary Beth was hit during the fight. We didn’t realize she’d been hurt until just now. The only evidence is some strange rips in her Auror robes. The edges look like they’ve been singed.”
Harry felt the blood drain from his face. “Bloody hell!” he exclaimed.
“What’s wrong?” Susan asked in alarm as Harry began wheeling himself frantically down the corridor towards the room Mary Beth had been taken into.
“How long since she was hit?” Harry threw the words over his shoulder.
“A half hour maybe,” Susan answered as they skidded through the doorway of Mary Beth’s examination room.
The young Auror lay unconscious on the examination table with four healers working frantically to revive her. Her Auror robes had been carelessly cast aside near the rubbish bin. Harry rolled over and picked them up. Frantically, he turned them in his hands until he found what he was looking for, the rents made by the Matron’s projectiles. Just as he feared, the edges of the rips looked as if they’d been singed by hot coals; but instead of being rounded in shape like a normal spark would have caused, the tears were elongated and rectangular, exactly like the slashes had been in his own robes nearly a year before.
“Brodie,” he barked, “guard this room and make sure only authorized personnel are admitted.”
Startled, Brodie reacted by swiftly striding to the door. As he left, he replied over his shoulder, “Yes, sir!”
“Have you done the Foreign Body Detection Spell yet?” Harry barked at the nearest healer. He held up the tattered robes for the healer to see. “She’s been poisoned by metal projectiles!”
The healer blinked once, turned, and performed the spell. Immediately a bright blue glow with angry red trails emanating from the sources surrounded the back of his patient’s legs.
“Rip those bloody objects out of her body right now!” Harry ordered. “They’re soaked in poison!”
The healers reacted immediately and Harry sagged in his chair, his mission complete.
“Harry, how did you know?” Susan asked, coming up beside him and kneeling, took Mary Beth’s robes from him.
He looked at her as memories flooded his brain. “Remember a year ago when we started having problems with Aurors becoming ill after duelling certain criminals?”
Susan nodded. “I do. We were all so frustrated that so many of us were being hurt or becoming ill so mysteriously.”
Harry pointed to the robes in her hands. “The damage done to those robes is the reason, Susan,” he said. “The Matron’s followers were given jars of metal pieces soaking in experimental poisons which, when flung at an opponent or a partner’s opponent during a duel, would sicken or attempt to kill the one receiving the wounds via nerve or blood poisoning.” He stopped, hardly able to go on. “Susan, I was struck by one of the poisoned projectiles and nearly died before the healers found and removed it.”
“I remember,” she said softly. “We were all so afraid for you.”
He looked into her eyes and said sadly, “Now we worry for Mary Beth.”
Chapter 33: 33: Night-watch
Author's Notes: To all of my American readers, Happy Thanksgiving! I hope your day is filled with the people and things you are thankful for. For me, I’m definitely thankful for the hundreds of reviews I’ve received for this story since I began posting it in April. I’m thankful to my loyal readers and critics alike because you force me to think about my story through your comments and questions; on more than one occasion I’ve decided to change it a little because of something someone wrote in a review. I’m also thankful to my pre-beta readers for their dedication and time to help me with the story, so Miz636, Mutt n Feathers, RebeccaRipple, Rosina Ferguson, and RSS, I’m sending you big Thanksgiving hugs. Another big thank you goes to my beta, Aggiebell, for all she does to make sure my chapters are posted each Friday.
On a different note, I’m still working on the next chapter because my computer time has been cut short due to a problem with my computer. The machine itself is working just fine; it’s the complication of my husband being home on holiday every day this week that’s limiting my writing time as well as the fact that I’ve been cooking for days to get our family meal on the table today. I will try my best to post on Thursday, December 8th, but I’m not guaranteeing anything. No matter what, though, I’m dedicated to finishing this story and hope to have it completed and posted in full by the end of December.
0220 hours, Saturday, 9 January 2021
Ginny stepped through the front doors into the main St Mungo’s waiting area and immediately went to join the other witches and wizards waiting in line for the Welcome Witch so that she could find her husband easier. However, she hadn’t been in line more than thirty seconds before one of the medi-witches approached her.
“Mrs Potter?” she inquired. Ginny nodded. “Please follow me. I’ve been instructed to take you back to the A and E where your husband is waiting for you.”
Ginny smiled at her and followed her down the labyrinthine corridors that led to the Accident and Emergency department. Along the way, she noticed how calmly efficient the busy healers were, a big change from the night Harry had been brought in last October.
“Here we are,” the medi-witch said as they reached a short side hallway with only one door in it. Harry was using it to “pace” his wheelchair, rolling the length of the passage one way, turning and going back the other way.
Ginny recognized the hallway as the one leading to the Aurors’ arrival room and she immediately knew why her husband was pacing; he was worried more of his Aurors had been hurt on the mission and he was waiting to see who the victims might be. She thanked the medi-witch and waited patiently for Harry to notice her. When it became obvious that he was too distracted to look up, she spoke to him softly.
“Harry, dear. I’m here. I know you’re worried. Shall we find somewhere quiet to wait?” she suggested.
Harry’s head snapped up and he rolled to a stop next to her. He reached up, grabbing her about the waist and murmured, “Thanks for coming, but no. I want to stay here where I can see both Mary Beth’s door and the Aurors’ entrance.”
Ginny sighed. “All right, Harry. We’ll stay here,” she acquiesced.
Her husband gave her a wan smile and resumed his pacing. It was going to be a long night.
It took an hour, but Ginny finally managed to convince Harry to sit on a waiting area sofa with her and now the two were huddled on the hard, lumpy cushions with their arms around each other. Across the room, Ginny watched Susan Bones-Finch-Fletchley as she gently teased fibres from a hole in Auror Pendergast’s robes and slipped them into an evidence vial. When she was done, she deposited the vial in an evidence bag and Banished the bag to Forensics. She then folded the robes and put them in another bag.
“I found the most active damp fibres and sent them off for analysis,” Susan said, looking at Harry. “The lab should be able to ascertain the components of the potion used on the metal fragments, just from the few I was able to find–thank goodness of that new detection spell we learned last week! The rest of the material around the holes is dry and any metal fragments or singeing will be dealt with by Forensics later.”
Ginny felt Harry lift his head from her where his chin rested on the top of her head.
“And the robes?” he asked.
“Going to Evidence. I’m taking them there myself, and then I’m going home to Justin. I haven’t seen him or the girls in nearly three days and I need to sleep in my own bed and reacquaint myself with my family,” she said.
Ginny smiled at her friend. “I’m sure your family wants you back just as badly,” she said, raising her head from Harry’s shoulder to give him a significant look. “I know we always felt more complete after Harry came back from a mission that lasted far too long for our liking.”
Susan yawned and looked at the clock mounted above the archway that led to the corridor. “Justin always takes at least part of the day off on the day I return from a mission,” she said. “I’ve already told him this one’s wrapping up, so he’s expecting me.” She addressed Harry with her next question, “Do you think Ron will require me to stay at Headquarters longer than it takes to write my report?”
Harry shook his head. “Absolutely not, but if he does, tell him I told you to go home.”
“Thanks, Harry. I’ll do that.” Susan yawned again and stood up. “The sooner I leave here, the sooner I’ll be home,” she said. “Good night, er, morning, Ginny.”
Ginny stood up. “I’ll walk you over,” she said. At the Aurors’ arrival room where Susan would Disapparate, she said, “We’ll send word once we know something.”
The two witches hugged and Ginny returned to the waiting area. She found Harry slumped over with his elbows on his knees and his hands fisted in his hair, a sure sign that he was worrying, just as his pacing had been.
“Harry, what’s wrong?” she asked, coming to sit next to him.
Harry looked over at her, his eyes red-rimmed. “The healer just brought word that Mary Beth has slipped into a coma,” he choked out. “The poison went undetected too long and her body is having a hard time fighting it. I’m terrified that she’s going to die needlessly.”
Ginny began rubbing his back in small, soothing circles. “I know, Harry, I know,” she said quietly. “All we can do is hope the healers can counteract the damage like they did for you a year ago.”
They sat huddled together for a time before Harry spoke again. “Is this what it felt like waiting for me wake up last year?” he asked in barely a whisper.
Ginny closed her eyes, thinking of how scared she’d been after Harry’s first duel with this gang of criminals. “Yes, Harry. This is what it feels like every time I wait for you to wake up in hospital,” she answered truthfully.
Harry flung his arms around her and held her tightly to him. “I’m so sorry, Ginny,” he nearly sobbed. “I had no idea waiting was so hard.”
She wiggled a bit and draped her legs over his so they could sit more comfortably. “There’s a good chance Mary Beth will wake and be whole just like you were,” she said. “I mean, the healers didn’t figure out that you’d been poisoned for nearly twenty hours and it was another two before they found the antidote to the poison since the bezoar they’d given you didn’t work. Because you knew what to look for, Mary Beth’s chances are so much higher than yours were.”
Harry raised his head from her shoulder. “That’s good to know,” he said in a steadier voice. He sounded calmer as he added, “Ginny, I’m sorry I broke my promise to you last October.”
She cocked an eyebrow at him. “Why are you apologizing now?” she asked, wondering why he was bringing the subject up.
“I just realized that part of the problems we’ve been having lately stem from the fact that I don’t keep the promises I make to you very well,” he explained. “For years I’ve been promising that the next mission will be my last and then another high profile case comes along and I become too involved in it and end up getting hurt in some way. I know I promised you a year ago that I’d stay at the office while others did the field work and–” He broke off, running a hand through his hair and sighing deeply. “Well, I didn’t stay back like I said I would.”
Ginny grabbed his hand and held it tightly in her own. “If I recall correctly, you promised me you would stay safely at the observation point where you could direct the team and call for backup if your Aurors needed it. I never made you promise to stay back at the office because you would never feel comfortable not being a part of the action. That’s part of what I love about you, Harry; your ‘saving people thing,’ as Hermione is so fond of reminding me,” she said.
Harry snorted. “Did you have to remind me of that?” he asked. An embarrassed smile flitted across his face, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Yes, I did, sweetheart,” Ginny said, “because we’re Gryffindors, the brave and true, who want to see justice done so badly that we need to be in the thick of things just to make sure things are done right. The promise you broke last October was one I knew would be hardest for you to keep. To be honest, it hurt so much when the hospital called me to tell me you’d been admitted again, but in a way, I was also proud that you went down fighting.”
Harry held her close. “Does it bother you that I was finally hurt so badly that I’ll never fully recover?” he asked.
Ginny shook her head. “No, Harry, it doesn’t. What the Matron did to you could have turned out so much worse; I’m not a widow, and as hard as it’s been the last few months, I thank my lucky stars every night that your mind is intact and that you aren’t a permanent resident of this hospital.”
Harry pulled her close again. “Then I’m glad, too,” he whispered, “I really am.”
Ginny closed her eyes and laid her head on his shoulder. A moment later, Harry’s cheek was resting comfortably on her head.
*
0332 hours
Ron stood in the doorway to the waiting area and ran a tired hand through his hair. He hated to wake his sister and best mate up, but the news he had for them was too good to wait. Walking slowly and quietly, he approached Harry and Ginny and gently laid a hand on each of their shoulders.
“Harry… Ginny… It’s Ron. I have good news,” he said.
The two woke with a start and his sister giggled with embarrassment.
“Is Mary Beth all right?” Harry asked, looking hopeful.
Ron smiled tiredly. “I’ve just come from talking to the healers,” he explained, looking directly at Harry. “Thanks to your quick thinking, they were able to save her. She’ll make a full recovery and will be going home in a few days.”
Harry pushed Ginny’s legs off his lap. When he looked up at Ron again, there were silent tears coursing down his cheeks, something that surprised Ron because his best friend was usually not one to be emotional. “That’s such good news, Ron,” Harry choked out. “Is there someone with her now?”
Ron nodded. “Her family arrived a half hour ago and witnessed her awakening. Thanks for staying, mate. You, too, sis,” he said.
Ginny covered a yawn with her hand. “You going home now?” she asked.
“Can’t,” Ron said with a sigh. “One of the suspects is on his deathbed and I need to stick around because I promised I’d be with him at the end.”
“Who? Why?” Harry asked.
“One of the Matron’s assistants, the one who killed the forensics team, turned himself in Friday afternoon while we were on surveillance and turned Minister’s Evidence. He made a full confession and gave us some valuable evidence against his colleagues, all because the Matron used him as a pin cushion and was slowly poisoning him.”
Harry whistled softly. “You’ve recovered the Pensieve memories to go with his statement?” he asked, sounding like he was back as the Head of Department.
Ron scowled, feeling annoyed. “Yeah, we have, Harry,” he said. “Whenever the Wizengamot gets around to trying the Matron and the others, everything he gave us will be admissible. Robards made sure of that because we don’t want them to get off on a technicality.”
“Neither do I,” Harry said. He tilted his head to one side as if considering something. Then, the added, “I’m sorry, Ron. I had no right to ask about the memories. You’ve done a brilliant job closing this case, something I failed to do twice. Forgive me?”
Ron nodded and stood up. “I’ve got to get back,” he said. “Oh, do you know how Scorpius is?”
Harry smiled and gazed into Ginny’s eyes. “Last I saw, he was surrounded by his family,” he said. “I think with time, he’ll be just fine.”
Ron said, “Glad to know that. Draco’s raised one courageous kid.” And on that thought, he left the waiting room for Tim Dawson’s bedside.
*
1021 hours
It had been hours since he’d been given leave to go back to Auror headquarters to complete his report. He’d finished it a few minutes ago and turned it in to Robards, who had dismissed him to go home. However, he wasn’t ready to face the empty walls of his flat, the pictures of Emily on his mantle or the empty space in the wardrobe in his room that used to hold her clothes. Brodie sighed. The logical place to unwind was his favourite pub, but the idea of drinking alone at ten o’clock in the morning–even if it was after work for him–didn’t sit right. Still not sure where he was going to end up, he cleared his desk, secured his file cabinet and left the Auror Office.
He wandered the streets of Muggle London aimlessly for nearly an hour, not really paying attention to where he was going, still too keyed up from the mission to go home. Eventually, he bought a paper cup of tea and a sticky bun at a small caf and continued on, finally meandering his way back to the front entrance of St Mungo’s. He stared at the derelict building for a few seconds before he realized what he was looking at.
He stepped up to the manikin. When she asked his business, he stated he was an Auror checking up on a patient. He was admitted immediately and found himself staring at the lines of chairs occupied by the hexed and the sick who were all waiting to see the healers or be admitted to the hospital. Once inside, though, he had no idea where he wanted to go, although he knew it felt right to be here. He took a seat in a corner by the door and sat down to finish his tea.
“Brodie, mate, I thought I sent you home hours ago!” a familiar voice exclaimed a few minutes later.
Brodie looked up to see Ron Weasley and his wife–he’d forgotten her name–standing before him. Ron looked sad more than tired and Brodie fleetingly wondered why.
“You did,” he answered, “but I can’t go home just yet. My flat’s felt empty since Emily died.” There. He’d said it, admitted to himself why he wasn’t at home, comatose from lack of sleep the last few days.
“You came back to check up on Dawson, then?” Ron asked.
Brodie shrugged. “I just started walking and ended up here after I finished my report,” he said. He stood up. “Might as well go up and see the git and find out why he killed Emily and her team. I’ll see you later.”
He stepped towards the back of the waiting room, but Ron caught his arm, stopping him. “You can’t, Brodie. It’s too late,” he said.
Brodie stared at him, unable to understand why it was too late. “I… I don’t understand.”
“Dawson’s dead.”
It felt as if the bottom had dropped out of his world. Dawson dead? Bloody HELL! How was he going to find out the reason behind Emily’s death now? Turning towards the wall, Brodie slammed a fist into the nearest support column repeatedly as the pain of discovering her dead seared through his mind. He let out a string of swear words and would have said a few more, but a warm hand on his shoulder stopped him.
“Brodie,” a soft voice said soothingly, “come home with us.”
He turned his pain-filled eyes on Ron’s wife who gathered him into a hug and he held on, willing the pain away, until Ron cleared his throat. Brodie let go and stepped back, glancing at Ron sheepishly.
“Come on, Brodie. Hermione’s better at fixing plaster dents than I am.” Ron gave his wife a quick one-armed squeeze and then gestured for Brodie to follow him.
Brodie hesitated, looking at Hermione. “You’re sure you want me at your house?” he asked.
Hermione turned from where she was contemplating the rather large hole made by Brodie’s fist. “Go on, you two. I’ll be along in a moment,” she said reassuringly as Ron jerked his head towards the door. Brodie murmured his thanks and followed Ron out onto the street.
Five minutes later, he and Ron appeared in the foyer of the Weasley’s home and Brodie could only stare. “You… you live here?” he asked, completely overwhelmed by the spacious room. “Why are you an Auror?”
Ron chuckled, “Welcome to Weasel’s Keep. And yes, I live here.” He hung his robes and cloak on a hook by the door and held out a hand for Brodie’s cloak. “Harry, Hermione and I were Gryffindors at Hogwarts during the Second War. Hermione calls it my ‘saving people thing’, although the term applies more to Harry than it does me, I suspect. So yeah, that’s why I’m an Auror.”
He couldn’t help but smile as Ron led him into the kitchen and lounge area. “You’ve made all this money as an Auror?” Brodie asked, still incredulous.
“Heck no, my brother George owns Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes and before I went to the Auror Academy, I spent five years after the war helping him get back on his feet. We made a tidy profit and the rest, well, the rest is history,” Ron said modestly. He stuck his head in the cold cabinet and pulled out two beers, tossing one to Brodie. His face lit up as he remembered something. “Brodie, come see this. Hermione gave it to me for Christmas.”
He led the way through the lounge into a small sun room and stopped before an enormous model of a Quidditch pitch. Raising his wand, Ron muttered a couple of spells to animate the miniature figures. They began flying through the moves of the Cannons’ last match, a spectacular upset over the Tutshill Tornadoes. “Isn’t this a beauty?” Ron asked.
Brodie popped the top off his bottle with a charm. “Erm… It’s amazing!”
“What’s amazing?” Hermione’s voice came from the direction of the kitchen.
“The Quidditch set,” Ron called. He took a long pull on his bottle, then flicked his wand at the pitch again. This time the players froze mid-action. “Want to play two-a-side? I’m going to need to practice if I’m going to beat Hugo at Easter.”
“Sure, what do I do?” Brodie asked as Hermione brought in a bowl of crisps and another of popcorn. She told them when lunch would be ready and then left them to their game.
The time flew by. Since neither Ron nor Brodie was any good at manipulating the players they scored against each other very quickly. They also fouled each other on a regular basis–resulting in frequent, high-scoring free shots–but it was Brodie who saw and caught the Snitch before Ron, just as Hermione called them to the table.
Over a meal of spaghetti marinara with meatballs, garlic bread and green salad, the three compared their years at Hogwarts and told stories of their travels. Brodie was on his second glass of wine and third helping of spaghetti when he realized he was having fun for the first time in months and immediately felt guilty. He pushed his plate away, suddenly no longer hungry.
“Brodie, are you all right?” Hermione asked, a concerned expression on her face.
“I’m fine,” he said evasively.
Hermione crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair, looking him over suspiciously. At length, she turned to Ron and said, “Methinks we have another Harry on our hands.”
Ron grinned. “Brodie, Brodie, Brodie, you have no idea how many times we’ve heard those exact words from Harry,” he said. “It won’t do you any good to give us that answer because we’re not going to believe you.”
“You won’t?”
“Nope, absolutely not. There’s a certain tone of voice Harry used to use with those two words and right now, you sound exactly like he did, so we know something’s bothering you or you're hurting in some way, or both. You might as well just tell us,” Ron said matter-of-factly.
Brodie sighed. “You’re going to think I’m a nutter,” he mumbled.
“Try us,” Hermione said encouragingly.
He looked from one to the other and when he saw they were serious, Brodie sighed heavily and gave in. “For the first time since Emily died I’m having fun, and I’m feeling guilty about it,” he nearly whispered.
Ron put down his fork and took a sip of wine. “I know how that feels, mate, and so does my brother, George. It took us both a long time to get over Fred’s death, and the first time the two of us realized we hadn’t thought about him for an entire afternoon, we felt guilty for days.”
“Good to know I’m normal,” Brodie muttered into his wine glass. “But how do I stop feeling guilty?”
“Just let time take over,” Hermione said. “That’s what we finally ended up doing. And we talked about how we were feeling, about the conflicts we were dealing with internally. Just the act of talking about them helped, or at least it helped me.”
She caught Ron’s eye and he seemed to agree with her because he asked Brodie, “Has telling us helped?”
Brodie sighed. “Maybe a little,” he hedged.
“Good.”
They returned to their meals, but every bite seemed to sit like a ball of lead in Brodie’s stomach. Finally, he pushed his plate away and excused himself, enquiring about the location of the toilet.
When he found it, he locked the door and stood with his hands braced on the marble slab surrounding the sink. Then, he let the tears of frustration and anger course down his face. He was angry at Tim Dawson for dying before he could answer his questions. He was irritated with himself for not going directly to the hospital from the Ministry, and he was frustrated because he had wanted Dawson to pay for his crimes and now there was no way he would. Brodie let out a frustrated growl and banged his fist on the marble hard enough to make his hand hurt.
A knock on the door made him jump. “Brodie, are you all right in there?” Hermione’s voice called through the door.
Damn! I forgot the Silencing Charm, Brodie thought. “Yes, everything’s cool,” he called aloud.
The quiet sound of a foot tapping on the floor reached him. “Erm, Brodie, you forgot to Silence the room. You’re acting like Harry again,” Hermione called to him. “Come out and talk to us, please. It’s the only way we’ll know how to help you.”
Brodie closed his eyes, cursing silently, and unlocked the door after splashing his face with water. He found Hermione waiting for him in the passage and before he fully comprehended what was happening, he found himself in her embrace again. Two hugs in three hours… he hadn’t felt this sort of human contact since Emily’s funeral and it was his undoing. Great, body-shaking sobs wracked his frame as Hermione rubbed soothing circles on his shoulders. It took a while, but she finally persuaded him to go back to the lounge with her.
As they entered, Ron handed him a small glass of Ogden’s Finest. “To Emily,” he said, raising his glass and Brodie returned the salute, feeling the spirit burn on its way down to his stomach.
Hermione led him to the sofa after Ron refilled his glass, but Brodie didn’t drink it. Instead, he set it on the table next to the sofa and sat down with his face buried in his hands. Hermione sat next to him and began rubbing his back again. He shrugged her hand away.
“Brodie, I know you’re hurting,” Hermione said. “Please talk to us.”
He lifted his head, unashamed of the tears still rolling down his cheeks. “TIM DAWSON IS DEAD AND I NEVER HAD THE CHANCE TO CONFRONT HIM!” he yelled.
“Yes, he is,” Ron acknowledged quietly from the wing chair he was sitting in. He waited a moment and then asked, “If you’d had the chance to speak with him, what would you have asked?”
“Why?” Brodie blurted. “Why kill Emily? Why kill the forensics team when they had done nothing but answer the summons to help with the investigation?”
“I did ask him that,” Ron said calmly.
Brodie stared at him. “You did?”
Ron nodded. “I did, and Dawson said he did it on a whim, a spur of the moment idea. He had no clue that he’d killed all four people until it was announced in the Prophet the next day,” he said.
“A whim?” Exasperated, Brodie stood up and began pacing. “A whim. Merlin, it’s so senseless!” he exclaimed, pulling at his hair. “He ruined so many lives with just that one act! If he weren’t already dead, I’d kill him! I wanted him to suffer! Suffer just as much as I and the other victims’ families have and now we’ll never get to see Dawson pay for his crimes!”
Ron stood and blocked his path. “I beg to differ there, Brodie,” he said quietly. Brodie stared at him, one eyebrow raised questioningly. “Dawson might not be paying in the way you wanted him to, but he’s paid with his life. Shirley Gorman poisoned him two weeks ago with one of her poison metal fragments because his actions displeased her. I watched him die this morning and it wasn’t pretty. In the end, he was in great pain because his organs failed one by one and he had no motor control over his limbs. However, his mind was cognizant to the very last moment: he knew exactly how and why he was dying and that’s punishment enough in my book.”
Brodie shoved his hands in his pockets, thinking. At last he asked, “Did he… did he show any remorse at the end?”
Ron reached up and put a hand on his shoulder. “Tim Dawson apologized to each and every one of his victims before he died. He made a full confession yesterday, giving us valuable testimony that, when coupled with the other statements and evidence we’ve gathered, will help the Ministry convict Shirley Gorman, Beda Bardsley and Ogden Sperry several times over,” he said. “I’d say he showed plenty of remorse and suffered just as much as you are, Brodie.”
Brodie turned away and walked out of the lounge into the Quidditch room where he stood gazing out over the snow-covered garden. The floor creaked a little as Ron followed, coming to stand beside him.
“Will Dawson suffer even though he’s dead?” Brodie asked.
Ron shrugged. “I’d like to think so, at least for a while. But then again, I’m not sure I want him to. I… I think he’s suffered enough.”
Brodie couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “How?” he managed to sputter.
“You didn’t see him at the end, Brodie,” Ron said. “You didn’t see his eyes; they were filled with physical and mental pain so great that even the most powerful spells and potions weren’t alleviating it. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, especially not on someone who was trying to apologize for the things he’d done.”
Turning away from Ron, Brodie sighed. “I suppose wherever he is, Dawson is getting his just desserts and I’ll just have to accept that. And you’re right, death by poison isn’t something I’d wish on anyone either.” He yawned, suddenly too tired to hold himself up. He turned to see Hermione standing in the doorway. “Thanks for lunch. It was delicious. I’m glad you invited me over.”
Hermione smiled. “You’re welcome, but Brodie, you’re not going anywhere except upstairs to the guest room. You’ll Splinch yourself if you try to Apparate home,” she said practically.
Realizing she was serious about him staying, he acquiesced with a mumbled “thanks” and followed Ron upstairs to the guest room. As with the rest of the house, the room was spacious and comfortable-looking with an enormous four-poster bed in the middle of one wall. Suddenly, it was all Brodie could do not to throw himself on it fully clothed.
“There’s an en-suite through that door,” Ron said, pointing. “If you put your Auror robes and clothes in the laundry chute, they’ll appear in the wardrobe when they’re clean.”
Still somewhat amazed by the house, Brodie thanked him and shut the door, leaning on it briefly to steady himself before he stumbled to the bath where he found a pair of pyjamas waiting for him. That was all the invitation he needed. Half an hour later, warm and relaxed, he fell onto the bed just awake enough to pull the covers over himself.
*
1558 hours
Scorpius was screaming. He knew he was still in the cave surrounded by dead corpses and his only thought was to escape, but when he reached for his wand in its special pocket, he couldn’t find it and the idea of being wandless terrified him more than the bodies did. He screamed in frustration and began thrashing about, trying to knock himself out of the air, even though it meant falling on his head.
“Scorpius! Scorpius!” a voice called urgently. “Wake up, son!”
He felt gentle hands in his hair and on his shoulders, shaking him awake. Someone was patting his leg while his right hand was clasped tightly in someone else’s. He finally opened his eyes, completely confused by the sight of his parents and grandparents standing over him with concern in their eyes and expressions of fright on their faces.
“What is it, son?” his father asked. “What did you see?”
Scorpius shuddered violently, not wanting to speak of the terrible dream. “I… I… can’t,” he whispered. His throat felt raw and his head was pounding, but worst of all, his body was trembling and he couldn’t make it stop.
“Look at me,” his father requested. When Scorpius did, he continued, “Don’t bury your fears. Whatever you dreamed about was your body’s way of coping with your kidnapping and telling us what you saw will help your mind heal. I need you to tell me what you saw, even if it’s only a few words.”
Scorpius looked away. He couldn’t tell, he just couldn’t. His grandmother handed him a goblet and he took it gratefully, gulping the warm liquid that soothed his throat and sent tendrils of heat into his stomach. He felt better now that the dream was fading. He asked for more water as his father repeated his request. Scorpius drank deeply, still deep in thought, then handed the goblet back to her.
Finally, he whispered, “I was in the cave.”
“Were you alone or was someone there?” his mother asked.
Startled by the fact that she’d asked the question, Scorpius answered, “I was alone in my cell surrounded by dead bodies.”
“Dead bodies?” Grandfather asked.
“Yeah, the torture victims who died in the chains attached to the wall,” Scorpius said as he fought to suppress the image that rose in his imagination.
“That must have been terrifying,” his father said.
“Yeah, it was.”
“You’re safe now, Scorpius. No more dead bodies, no more caves,” Grandmother said. “We’re not going anywhere. Do you think you can sleep again?”
Scorpius shook his head. He was afraid to close his eyes and go back to sleep so soon. “Not yet,” he said.
Grandmother held up the book she’d been reading. “It’s a soppy romance, but if you want, your mum and I will read to you,” she said.
“I’d like that,” Scorpius said, which made his family relax and sit back in their chairs.
Grandmother marked her page and opened the book to the first chapter. “’The wind blew steadily across the moor as Lady Abigail Woodley stood grasping her handkerchief and surveying the smoking ruins of the grand mansion,’” she read.
Scorpius closed his eyes and let his mind drift on the soothing cadence of her voice. Pretty soon, his mother took up the reading and her voice helped him relax even more. Scorpius sighed contentedly, remembering the many nights when she had read to him when he was little and how safe he felt snuggled against her side while she read. Finally, he succumbed to sleep once more.
Chapter 34: 34: Memory
Author's Notes: When I started writing the closing chapter to this story, I thought I’d be done zip, bang, boom in one rather long chapter. Not so, because when I looked at how detailed my list of loose ends was—and what I wanted to do with them—I realized that the Aftermath would not be one chapter, but four and maybe even five chapters long! It’s important to me that issues I’ve brought up in this story be neatly packaged up so that no one and nothing is left hanging unintentionally because I’ve read long fics where the authors leave their readership wondering about why this happened or what would become of that character... and it's frustrating to me! I can’t do that, so this is the first chapter of the Aftermath section of the story.
There are two people I really need to thank for the ideas I’ve included in this section of the Aftermath. The first is Cardgirl91 who wanted to see a Pensieve viewing for Scorpius prior to his going back to Hogwarts. I may not have made it the laughable incident she wanted, but I hope she knows that I valued her suggestion enough to use it. The second is RSS, one of my pre-betas, who suggested the content I used in this chapter. I had written the first and second sections and was absolutely stuck as to which memories to have Scorpius view and emailed her in a panic. Her ideas allowed me to show Scorpius healing a little from his ordeal and for that I’m grateful to her. Thank you both for the brilliant ideas.
Finally, I extend my standard thank yous go to my pre-beta team of Miz636, Mutt n Feathers, RebeccaRipple, Rosina Ferguson, and RSS. I gave them three days in which to get the chapter back to me and all five came through with their wonderfully helpful comments and suggestions. And Aggiebell, thanks for making me rewrite the discussion about accidental magic… I think the rewrite turned out better than the original.
Aftermath Part 1
*
2140 hours, Tuesday, 12 January 2021
Albus clutched the letter Snitch had brought to him just minutes before as he raced down the stairs to the Gryffindor common room. He was looking specifically for Rose and James, but would settle for Lily if he had to, he was so excited. He was bursting to share with his brother and cousin the contents of his father’s letter, the unclassified details of Scorpius Malfoy’s rescue.
“Where are you going in such a hurry?” his friend Kenneth asked as Albus started to barrel past him.
“Common room,” Albus asked, pausing when Kenneth wouldn’t let him by. “Have you seen James or Rose?”
Kenneth tilted his head to one side, a gesture he often used to annoy Albus when they both knew Kenneth wanted to take the mickey.
“Come on, Kenneth, where are they?” Albus impatiently began tapping his foot on the step he stood on until Kenneth grinned and said, “They’re both at the long table at the back of the common room.”
Albus punched him gently in the arm and Kenneth stepped aside. “Took you long enough to remember. Thanks, mate,” he said, smiling, and he resumed his headlong dash towards the entrance to the common room.
James and Rose were indeed sharing the table, or more accurately, Rose had commandeered a corner of James’ table, having pushed several piles of books and parchments in his direction so she had a small space in which to work. Albus sat beside her in the only chair that wasn’t filled with James’ possessions and took several books off one stack and put them on the other. He peered through the gap as James growled in frustration, “Leave me alone, Albus.”
In reply, Albus thrust their dad’s letter through the gap and sat staring at his brother until James put down his quill and glared at him. Albus gave him a go-on-and-read-it look. With a sigh, James picked up the letter. “Who’s it from?” he asked.
“Dad. It’s about Scorpius’ rescue. It’s quite interesting,” Albus replied as blandly as he could.
James raised an eyebrow and began reading, with Rose trying to peer over his shoulder at the letter. He elbowed her out of the way and she sat back in her chair, pouting with her arms folded across her chest, until he finished it and passed it over to her. She snatched it and began reading avidly; Albus couldn’t help the snicker that bubbled up inside him because it was nice to see Rose interested in something more than just doodling hearts filled with “RW + SM = RM” on her History of Magic notes–yes, Albus had been sitting next to her yesterday when she’d drawn that one.
“How come they’re keeping Scorpius in hospital so long?” she asked when she finished.
“Dad said he was pretty dehydrated and slightly hypothermic when Auror Carmichael took him to St Mungo’s. I’m guessing the healers are watching him closely to make sure he’s doing well enough before sending him home,” James replied.
“Do you think he’ll be coming back to school soon?” she asked.
Albus exchanged looks with James. “I doubt it,” he said. “You read what Dad said: your dad arranged it with the school so that Scorpius could do all his lessons at home until he was ready to come back. That doesn’t sound to me like Scorpius will be back at Hogwarts any time soon.”
Rose scowled. “But why? If he wasn’t hurt by those people, why can’t he come back?”
James threw Albus a look and the younger boy knew what his brother was thinking about. He nodded, letting James tell the story because he usually told it better, being a year older and able to understand more at the time than both he and Rose. James smiled tightly.
“Rose, do you remember that mission our dads were on together about six years ago, the one where the healers kept them at St Mungo’s several days longer than usual because of the curses they were hit with?” he asked.
“Maybe,” she answered. “Who were they trying to catch?”
“That wizard who was hurting the little kids,” James said. “I remember it because it was the only mission Mum kept us home from primary school for several weeks prior to it occurring. She even took an unpaid holiday to stay with us until Dad sent her a Patronus message saying they’d finally caught the wanker.”
“My mum did the same thing,” interrupted Rose. “But what does that have to do with Scorpius?”
“I’m getting there,” James growled. “Anyway, both of our dads took a few days to get over the curses they’d been hit with during the ending duel and they were physically fine to go home after that, but the healers still kept them in hospital because they weren’t sleeping the required amount of time each night.”
Rose gasped. “I remember that,” she exclaimed. “You’re thinking that Scorpius is having nightmares about his kidnapping.” James nodded. “If that’s what’s happening, I don’t think Madam Pomfrey would let him come back for fear he’d wake the rest of his roommates every night.” Her eyes lit up as the words came tumbling from her mouth, reminding Albus of his Aunt Hermione when she was excited about an idea. Like mother, like daughter, he thought as Rose rushed on, “Oh, poor Scorpius! I’m going to write a letter to Dad to see if it would be all right to correspond with him until he decides to come back to school. I bet he’s lonely in that big house all by himself with just his parents. But what if he doesn’t want to write back to me? I don’t want to spend the time writing to someone who won’t read what I’ve written. I think it’s safer to have Dad ask Scorpius if it’s all right for me to write to him.”
With that, she rummaged in her bag and pulled out several small pieces of light blue parchment with frilled edges and a stylized ‘R’ printed at the top. As Albus took his Dad’s letter back from James–who rolled his eyes at their cousin behind his mountain of books–she began writing at top speed, so that little splatters of ink flew from the end of her quill and landed on the essay she’d been writing earlier.
James reached over and put the books Albus had moved earlier back on their proper pile, saying, “Go away, Albus. I need to finish this essay.”
Albus smiled at his brother’s book pile and stood up. “Good night, you two,” he said, and headed for the stairs. It didn’t bother him that the two at the table were ignoring him. His mind was already occupied with something else: his own letter to Scorpius Malfoy.
*
0439 hours, Wednesday, 20 January 2021
Officially, he’d been home for a week, but it felt like a month. All the time he’d been in the cave, he’d dreamed and wished he was home playing chess by the fire with his father or strolling through the countryside with his mother–she called it strolling, but what they’d really done was hike in Muggle clothes and sturdy, dragon hide hiking boots. Unfortunately, once he was rescued, he couldn’t get the terror of the experience out of his head and would wake several times during the night screaming bloody murder.
Tonight was such a night, and for the fourth time since he’d crawled into bed, Scorpius found himself being gently shaken by his father.
“Scorpius, wake up, son,” Father repeated over and over, his voice betraying how tired he was. “You’re having another nightmare.”
Scorpius opened his eyes and stared blankly at his father. “Where… where am I?” he asked in confusion, for he was convinced he had just been yanked upside down by the sadistic witch and then Cruciated. He could still feel the curse burning his every nerve.
Father answered patiently, “You’re at home, Scorpius, just as you have been for the last seven days. Can I get you anything? A drink of water perhaps?”
After a few seconds consideration, Scorpius requested, “A drink of water, please.” His father conjured a glass and filled it. Scorpius accepted it gratefully just as he in the cave. He really wasn’t thirsty, but sipping the cool liquid gave him a few more seconds to think about his father’s reaction to his real request. Finally, he chanced asking, “Would you light my lamp, please? I’d like to try sleeping with it on.”
With a flick of his wand, Father lit the lamp on the bedside table. The concerned expression on his face gave Scorpius no indication of what he was thinking
“Thank you, Father. I feel safer already,” he said, meaning every word.
“Good night, then, son,” his father said between two enormous yawns. “I hope the lamp works for you.”
Scorpius disentangled himself from his rumpled covers and then pulled them up to his chin. “I do, too,” he said. He closed his eyes as his father left his room, leaving the door open.
Scorpius sighed. His room was one of the bigger bedrooms in the house, light and airy and sparsely furnished because he had enjoyed riding his toy broom in here on cold winter days when he was younger and his mother wouldn’t let him go outside; the only bedroom larger was the master suite which had been closed for longer than Scorpius could remember. Still, despite the fact that it had no resemblance to the cell in the cave, Scorpius insisted that the door be left open just so he didn’t feel like he was locked in. He closed his eyes and tried to relax even though his heart was still racing and he was shivering despite the layers of blankets and eiderdown.
Sleep did not come easily, but it finally did and Scorpius was surprised to find his door partly closed when he woke up several hours later. He wondered what had awakened him and lay listening to the house until he finally located the source: his parents’ voices drifting across the passage from their private sitting room.
“… at my wit’s end. I cannot work on so little sleep,” his father was saying.
“Draco, you know I’ve told you several times I’ll sleep on a camp bed so you can Silence our bed so you can rest,” he heard his mother reply.
“I know you have, but I don’t think that’s the answer to Scorpius’ nightmares. Healer Stilwell told us when we brought him home that he must face his memories either by talking about them or viewing them in a Pensieve. He’s not been willing to do either and I’m very concerned,” Father said.
“Which do you think would be the best approach, then?” Mother asked. “Forcing him to talk to a stranger or finding someone with a Pensieve?”
Footsteps echoed through the house as his father paced the room. Finally, they stopped as he said, “Let me contact a few people about the Pensieve. We could use mine, but I think we need an expert’s advice on how to use it effectively and who is allowed to see the memories.” There was a long pause accompanied by more pacing and then, “Asteria, I think it might help him if we could actually see what went on rather than having someone listen to him relive the experience.”
“I agree. Would Healer Stilwell be the one to ask?”
“No, I think Harry Potter and maybe Auror Carmichael would be the best to ask. I think Harry has more experience using a Pensieve for this purpose than I and Auror Carmichael is the one Scorpius trusted to take his statement at the hospital.”
Upon hearing this, Scorpius couldn’t remain in bed any longer. After thrusting his feet into his carpet slippers and donning the warm dressing gown he’d thrown over the footboard of his bed last night, he walked across the passage to his parents’ room. He didn’t bother knocking before he entered, startling his parents into speechlessness.
He stood just inside the room, his hand resting on the smooth plinth of the marble bust of his great-great-great-grandfather Malfoy. His mum scowled at his hand and eventually he let it drop to his side. “Mum, Dad, if you’re going to make me discuss the time I spent in the cave, I’ll tell you now that I’d rather show you than talk about it. I’ve already given Auror Carmichael my statement and I don’t want to talk about what happened ever again.” He focused on his father as he said, “I’ll drag anyone you choose into a Pensieve with me, but don’t make me talk about it.”
Father nodded once. “Very well. I’ll see what I can do.”
Several hours later, Scorpius was struggling to stay awake while reading his latest History of Magic assignment–his teachers agreed with his parents that it would be best if he completed his school work at home while recovering rather than let it pile up–when his father knocked on the study door before entering. Scorpius closed his book gratefully and leaned back in his chair as his father approached the desk.
A small smile appeared on his face as he said, “If I didn’t know you were revising, Scorpius, I’d say you looked the very image of a young business wizard going over the family accounts. How goes the revision?”
“If there is a way to make the Goblin Wars of the sixteenth century more exciting, I’ll gladly welcome it,” Scorpius replied with a long-suffering sigh. “I can’t understand why Professor Binns is allowed to continue teaching when a living professor would make the subject so much more dynamic.”
His father chuckled. “Professor Binns has been a thorn in many a Hogwarts headmaster’s side, son. There seems to be no more of a way of exorcising that ghost from the post of History of Magic teacher than there is of making the Goblin Wars any more interesting, so I sympathise with your predicament. I have an idea. In a week or two, might you be interested in going to see some of the battlefields where the wars took place? Some of them are very well preserved.”
Scorpius considered the proposition. “Maybe, but right now I’m content to stay here at the Manor.”
A disappointed look passed fleetingly over his father’s face before he nodded his acceptance. The bald, terrifying truth was that Scorpius wasn’t ready to venture outside the comforting confines of the family estate… at least not at the moment. He knew he was physically ready and able to go on the outing with his father, but mentally, that was another story.
He cleared his throat and asked, “What did you want to see me about, Father?”
His father perched on the arm of one of the chairs facing the desk. “I’ve talked to Healer Stilwell, Mr Potter, several other healers at St Mungo’s and the head of the Aurors at the Ministry. Mr Potter will be coming to see you tomorrow morning, accompanied by Auror Carmichael and possibly another Auror.” At this Scorpius couldn’t help smiling. It would be good to see Auror Carmichael again. His father went on, “You may choose how we view your memories–either above the Pensieve or immersed in the memories–as well as how many and who will see them with you. No matter what, though, it’s important for you to confront at least one memory tomorrow.”
Scorpius closed his eyes, thankful that he was being allowed so many choices. “Thank you, Father. Please know that I want you there with me,” he said when he opened them again to find his father standing next to him.
The concerned expression on his father’s face softened as he placed a hand on Scorpius’ shoulder, squeezing gently. “I’m glad you do, son,” was all he said before he turned and headed out the door, again leaving it open. Scorpius sighed and opened his book again, but didn’t begin reading for several long moments.
*
0855 hours, Thursday, 21 January 2021
“There are visitors to see you, Master Scorpius,” Mabel, their house-elf, announced as she Apparated into the sitting room after breakfast the next morning. “Mr Harry Potter, Auror Garrett Carmichael and Auror Ronald Weasley.”
Mother’s eyebrow rose a fraction of an inch as she asked Father, “Why is Ron Weasley here?”
“You may recall that he heads the investigation of the witch they call the Matron, the one who kidnapped Scorpius,” Father explained stiffly, his face a stony mask. As Mother inclined her head, Scorpius wondered if there was still something amiss between Auror Weasley and his father still or if the mention of the Matron was making Father angry.
“Send them in,” Father said brusquely. Mabel acknowledged his request with a quick smile and left the room as quietly as she had come in.
Mother must have picked up on Father’s demeanour, too, for she said, “I thought you and Auror Weasley patched up your differences over a month ago.”
“We did,” Father replied, “I promise to keep a civil tongue in my head.”
A small smile twitched at Mother’s lips as she returned to her embroidery. “Now tell me why you’re scowling.”
“I’m about to see the witch who kidnapped our son for the first time and just thinking about her makes me very angry,” Father admitted, surprising Scorpius with his frankness.
Before any more could be said, Mr Potter and the two Aurors entered the room behind Mabel. Scorpius put down the Transfiguration book he had been reading and rose to greet his visitors.
“Thank you for coming, gentlemen,” he said stiffly as he tried to remember the proper etiquette for greeting Ministry officials, even though he was on a first name basis with one of them. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught his mother’s pleased smile and his father’s approving expression.
Mr Potter rolled forward and shook Scorpius’ outstretched hand. “Scorpius, it’s a pleasure to see you again,” he said. “You look so much better than the last time I saw you.”
“I’m afraid I don’t remember much about your visit, sir,” Scorpius said, feeling his ears heat up.
“It’s perfectly all right,” Mr Potter said gently. “No one remembers much about the first hours they spend in the Non-Magical Injuries Ward at St Mungo’s.” He patted the large wheels of his chair. “I know I don’t remember much about the first few days.”
The admission startled Scorpius, who could only mumble, “Oh!” Then, Auror Carmichael’s large hand was thrust forward and he automatically took it. The two exchanged a meaningful look over their joined hands. “It’s all right to hug me, Auror Carmichael. You know I won’t break and after what we went through together…” Scorpius let the thought stop there as Auror Carmichael pulled him into a hug. Strangely enough, his nervousness at what was about to happen vanished as he willingly stepped into the embrace. It was brief, but when he stepped back, he felt calmer and finally ready to share one of the memories he’d been trying to squash since he’d been rescued.
Now Auror Weasley greeted him. “You’re Rose’s dad!” Scorpius exclaimed as he realized who he was shaking hands with. “How is she?”
Auror Weasley studied him for a moment as if wondering how to approach a particularly nasty problem. Then he grinned, putting Scorpius a little more at ease. “Very eager to have first-hand news about you. She made me promise to ask you if she could send you a letter or two, so is it all right if she does?”
Scorpius grinned back. He couldn’t help it because he suddenly realized he wanted to correspond with Rose very much. “It would be very nice to receive a letter from her, Auror Weasley,” he said, trying to regain his formal demeanour and failing miserably: it was hard to do because he’d wanted to ask Rose to go with him the next time there was a Hogsmeade weekend and knowing that she wanted to correspond with him was all the encouragement he needed. “I’ll send her a letter this evening, in fact,” he said, while studying Rose’s father’s face.
Auror Weasley’s expression became a little more businesslike. “Then I’ll reply to her note in the affirmative,” he said. He seemed to remember something then, and fished in the pockets of his robes for a moment, finally pulling out a small blue envelope, which he handed to Scorpius. “Erm, this came with her letter to me,” he explained.
“Thank you, Auror Weasley,” Scorpius murmured as he felt his ears warm. He took the envelope and put it in his own pocket, thinking it would be impolite to read Rose’s message in front of company.
Father now cleared his throat. He was holding a small Pensieve that Scorpius knew was usually stored in his father’s office. “Scorpius, these gentlemen are here to help you, not exchange pleasantries about their families. Shall we get started?”
Scorpius sighed as a tight knot began forming in his stomach. “Yes, Father.”
Mr Potter asked, “Where would be the best place to view your memories, Scorpius? Where are you most comfortable?”
Scorpius looked around the sitting room. “Let’s go over to the sofas,” he suggested, pointing to the group of chairs and sofas arranged around a low table on the other side of the room where his Mother liked to serve tea. “Father, I think the table will be the best place for the Pensieve. Mother, you can pull the curtains closed over there and I think there is enough room for Mr Potter’s wheelchair.” He looked nervously over at Albus’ father, hoping his comment hadn’t offended the older wizard. “Will that be all right with you?”
Mr Potter smiled. “I can pretty much fit anywhere in this room, so lead the way.”
Once the group was settled, Auror Weasley stood before him with his wand ready and Scorpius concentrated on the memory that had been plaguing him the last few nights. When he was ready, he nodded and felt a slight tingle as Auror Weasley lifted the silvery thread away from his temple. It dangled precariously on the wand tip until Auror Weasley gently lowered it into Father’s Pensieve where it swirled slowly, as if waiting for someone to view it.
Scorpius glanced apprehensively at the adults who gazed at him with encouraging expressions. It was unnerving to be the centre of their attention and he breathed in and out several times while trying to stop his hands from shaking. Finally, just to break the awkward tension, he said, “The cave was always in shadow, even with the torches burning.”
“I remember,” Auror Weasley said quietly. “The place gave me the collywobbles.”
This admission made Scorpius feel better.
Mr Potter cleared his throat, drawing Scorpius’ attention to him. “Why have you picked this memory, Scorpius?” he asked.
“It’s been waking me up the last few nights,” Scorpius replied quietly, somewhat ashamed that a memory would do this to him.
“Let’s see if we can help you with it, then,” Mr Potter said gently. He gestured towards the Pensieve and Auror Weasley prodded it with his wand. The image of himself hanging upside down rose from the memory. The group watched as memory Scorpius reacted to something and stuck his fingers in his ears, murmuring over and over that he wanted something to stop.
Scorpius stiffened and waited for the entire scene to materialize. When it didn’t, he said, “Looks like we’re all going to have to go in. You need to see everything to understand why I’ve been having this show up in my nightmares.”
The adults all nodded. “I’ll go first,” Mr Potter volunteered. “I don’t know if my chair will come with me and I don’t want anyone hurt by it if it does.” Before anyone could respond, he dipped his nose into the Pensieve and both he and the chair disappeared into the memory. In rapid succession Scorpius, his parents, Rose’s dad and Auror Carmichael followed him until they were all standing in a back corner of Scorpius’ cell, staring at their surroundings. The sight of himself hanging in the middle of the room triggered a panic attack and Scorpius suddenly wanted out of the memory.
“Son, calm down, tell me what’s about to happen.” His father’s voice in his ear was soothing enough that Scorpius managed to regain a little of his composure.
“The man in the blue robes is going to come to the cell,” he explained as he tried to remain calm. Unfortunately, he couldn’t control the pounding of his heart or the fact that he had broken out in a cold sweat. His mother must have sensed his shaky control because she stepped close and put her arm around his waist, allowing him to lean on her a little. As had happened many years before when he was much younger, Scorpius felt a little less afraid with his parents so near, so he chanced a look around the cell.
To his front was the wall of bars and the cell door, to his left was the partition wall between the cells and to the right was… Oh, Merlin! He was going to vomit! He wrenched away from his mother and somehow managed to get out of the memory before his stomach started heaving. There was a thump as someone followed him out of the Pensieve and a moment later, the pool of sick soaking into the worn carpet of the sitting room vanished and a warm hand began rubbing soothing circles on his back. Scorpius glanced up, expecting one of his parents, but was startled to find himself staring into Auror Weasley’s blue eyes.
“That’s a sight to turn anyone’s stomach,” he said, sounding sympathetic. He conjured a glass of water and handed it to Scorpius who sipped at it cautiously. His stomach clenched, but did not heave, as Auror Weasley continued, “I’ve seen several memories like this one and it never gets any easier to look at.”
“How do you keep from getting sick, then?” Scorpius whispered.
“I remind myself that what I’m seeing is something that happened in the past and that I’ll only be in the memory for a little while. It helps, too, to remind myself that the people in the memory can’t be hurt again, that they have lived through the experience,” Auror Weasley replied. Scorpius nodded. “If it’s my own memory,” the older wizard went on, “then I remind myself that I’m visiting it to find out what has frightened me or if there might be a hidden purpose for reliving the memory. Sometimes, I even discover that my mind has exaggerated one element into something so frightening that I believe what I’ve imagined is real. It’s a relief to know that I’ve sort of been lying to myself.”
Scorpius considered this, knowing that the next thing Auror Weasley was going to ask him was if he was ready to go back into the memory. He liked the idea of telling himself that what he was seeing was only a memory. Finally, he sat up and said firmly, “I think I’m ready to go back in now.”
“It’ll be just us inside, then, because the scene was starting for the others as I left,” Auror Weasley said.
“I thought so. Maybe it will be easier for me now,” Scorpius said, feeling hopeful. And before he had second thoughts about going back in, he lowered his nose until it touched the memory and he was sucked back in the cell.
Immediately, as soon as Auror Weasley stood beside him, Scorpius turned to look at the back wall and the gruesome scene that had made him leave: the sight of one of the Matron’s victims chained to the wall by his wrists and ankles. The man, whose body was naked from the waist up, hung in his shackles, battered and bloody. He looked worse right side up than he had upside down.
“We found the remains of a disfigured body half-submerged in the boat slip,” Auror Weasley said. “Do you know anything about this man?”
“I do,” Scorpius replied, “but someone’s coming.”
Auror Weasley nodded and turned his attention to the scene again.
A moment later, the wizard in blue robes appeared on the other side of the bars. He stopped half-way between the far wall and the door and stood glaring at his two prisoners. Scorpius watched his memory-self twisting to swing towards a side wall so he didn’t have to look at either adult; he didn’t get very far before the chained man let out a piercing scream. Scorpius put his hands over his ears to drown out the sound and was startled to feel Auror Weasley laughing beside him.
“Look at yourself,” he said and Scorpius looked to see his memory-self doing the exact same thing.
“Why are you laughing?” he asked, somewhat confused. The Auror’s reaction didn’t seem appropriate at all. “I heard that scream every time the witch and her friends came to the cave. I still hear it in my sleep.”
“I know, Scorpius, but if you can find small things to laugh at, memories like this are more bearable, I think.” He stopped talking and put his own hands over his ears, elbows sticking out to the sides; he did look a bit ridiculous…
Scorpius considered this and decided maybe Auror Weasley was right. He forced himself to chuckle and the positive sound made him feel ready for the rest of the memory.
The blue-robed wizard cackled, “You’re a coward, that’s what you are! I haven’t even cast the spell yet!”
“Please! Please don’t cast the spell!” begged the shackled man, but the other wizard raised his wand and flicked it at him. Instantly, blood-curdling screams filled the air for as long as the spell was applied and when it was over, the shackled man hung against the wall gasping and whimpering while his tormentor addressed Scorpius.
“You’re next, mate,” he cackled, rubbing his hands together. “We’ll send you back to your father in worse shape than that one over there.” He pointed to the man on the wall.
“You leave my father out of this!” memory Scorpius yelled. “You let me go!”
“Your father’s lies to the Aurors are what landed you here, you little toerag,” spat the wizard. “He didn’t know when to keep his big mouth shut, so I torched his warehouse. He still blabbed to the Aurors, that same day, in fact, so we took you to scare him into staying quiet. If the Matron has her way, he’ll never see you again.” These last words were said with unconcealed glee that were as chilling now as they had been when Scorpius had first heard them. His stomach lurched uncomfortably.
“Easy there, now, Scorpius. We proved him wrong, didn’t we?” Auror Weasley asked, drawing Scorpius’ attention away from the scene.
Scorpius couldn’t help grinning. “Yeah, we did,” he agreed as his stomach calmed down again.
The blue-robed man now Summoned a bowl and a goblet and walked to the door, which he opened. Scorpius watched his memory self track the man’s movements and lick his lips, remembering how unbearably thirsty he’d been during his captivity. The man flicked his wand at his dangling victim and lowered him until his head was touching the floor. Scorpius remembered feeling confused by the careful treatment; at the time he had wondered why the man hadn’t simply dropped him on his head the way he dropped his legs upon ending the suspension spell.
“Get up and relieve yourself. You have five minutes to eat after that,” the man barked.
Scorpius watched his memory self struggle to stand: his legs ached in sympathy as he remembered forcing himself to ignore the pins and needles coursing through his body as the blood returned to his feet. This was followed by the humiliation of being unable to relieve himself as commanded.
“You’re too scared of me to pee!” snickered the man. “I thought you’d wet yourself the first chance you had.”
Memory Scorpius buttoned his trousers and faced his tormentor. “Give me more to drink and I will,” he challenged.
“Not a good thing to do,” commented Auror Weasley. “Gets a victim in trouble more often than not.”
“Tell me about it,” Scorpius agreed as he watched the man cast the Cruciatus Curse on his memory self. He glanced at the man with the wand and was startled to see him holding it with both hands. “Look how he’s holding his wand. I never noticed that before.”
“Scorpius, this man, the one victimizing you, was a victim himself,” Auror Weasley said. “He was Imperiused and poisoned by the witch and most likely, she’s commanded him to Cruciate you. That spell takes a lot of hatred and a lot of power to cast. At this point, a few days before his own death, I really don’t think this man had the will to hurt you like this on his own.”
“You sound like you feel sorry for him,” commented Scorpius.
“I do,” replied Auror Weasley. “Dying from poison is not pleasant and this man suffered horribly at the end. We can talk about this later if you wish.”
“I’d appreciate that,” he said as the memory faded and quickly came back looking a bit different.
Memory Scorpius was once again suspended by his ankles. He hung there clutching his stomach above a pool of sick.
“What happened?” Auror Weasley asked.
“I ate the gruel and drank the water too fast because I was given only five minutes to eat before the man hung me upside down again. I tried hard not to vomit, but it’s almost impossible not to when something you’ve just eaten is trying to slide out of your stomach.”
“That explains Auror Bones’ report that you refused the food she offered you that day,” Auror Weasley commented.
“Yeah, it’s not fun when vomit gets in your nose,” Scorpius said with a shudder.
When Auror Weasley didn’t comment further, Scorpius looked to see what had caught his attention.
The cave was still dimly lit with the flickering torches that cast long shadows everywhere. It would have been a less frightening scene had the air not been filled with the agonizing screams coming from deeper in the cave. Above the screams he could hear two witches cackling and the delighted guffawing of the wizard who didn’t tend the prisoners. The memory seemed to blink several times before the screaming stopped and footsteps were heard approaching the cell.
“What caused the flicker?” Auror Weasley asked.
“I sort of skipped several hours of screaming to get to what happens next,” explained Scorpius.
“I see,” murmured the Auror. “Did you ever get to drink anything more that night?”
“No, I didn’t. I was given food and water twice a day and if I couldn’t keep it down I didn’t get more,” Scorpius said, turning to look back at the memory as Auror Weasley growled disapprovingly.
A body was now being floated past the bars to the door by the blue-robed man. He dropped the victim on the floor and used his wand to unlock the lock before levitating him once again and bringing him inside the cell.
“Got a new fella to keep you company,” the wizard sniggered as he chained up the victim. “He ought to be awake in a bit. Have fun, Mr Malfoy. He’s not done screaming yet.”
He left the cell and walked away, yawning. Scorpius shivered and felt Auror Weasley’s hand on his shoulder. The shivering stopped.
Behind memory Scorpius, the chained man whispered loudly, “He gone?”
Memory Scorpius twisted around. “Yeah, he is. Why?”
“I can’t last much longer, mate,” the chained man said. “That witch, she done unspeakable things to me. Will you tell the Aurors if you’re rescued?”
Memory Scorpius whispered back, “I will. What did she do to you? How did you get here in the first place?”
“I tried to buy the young witch a drink at one of the pubs in Knockturn Alley. The other bloke who was with her didn’t like me doing that, so when I left, they followed me and stopped me in a dark alley. Before I knew it, they were dragging me in here.” He coughed and spat a dark substance on the floor. “Kid, I’m full of pieces of metal they threw at me. That witch is mental, sick in the head! Said she was treating me for my rheumatism, that the potion she’d soaked the metal in would help me get well. Hah!” The odd attempt at laughter made him cough again and he hung for a few moments from his chains, breathing harshly. “That stuff is poison, I tell you. It’s eating me alive every time they cast that damned spell,” he whimpered at length.
The new arrival stirred, letting out a strangled sob. The chained man glanced over at him as did Scorpius and his memory self. “Tell the Aurors what those horrible creatures did to Kenward Rankin. Tell them I have a wife named Sara and two kids going to Hogwarts next year. Tell them… tell them… I’m sorry.” The man’s head sagged, his body went limp and the cell went quiet as Scorpius felt himself being tugged out of the fading memory.
He emerged from the Pensieve to find himself enveloped first in his mother’s embrace and then his father’s. The three of them stood together holding each other until someone behind them finally cleared their throat.
“Scorpius,” Mr Potter said, once he had their attention, “Are you all right?”
Scorpius nodded. “Why don’t I feel scared of that memory any more?” he countered with a question of his own.
“I think you know why,” Auror Carmichael said, making Scorpius and his parents look in his direction. “By showing us that last part, you’ve given us some valuable clues for a missing person’s investigation one of the other Auror teams is conducting. I think you were experiencing that nightmare so much because you needed to fulfil your promise to Mr Rankin.”
“And now that I have, it won’t bother me so much?” asked Scorpius.
“I believe you have put that memory to rest,” Mr Potter said, smiling. “How do you feel?”
“Drained. Relieved. Sad,” Scorpius admitted. “Hungry.”
This last comment made the adults chuckle. Mother moved away and a moment later Mabel appeared. She listened intently and then disappeared again. Mother joined the group.
“Come, sit down everyone. Lunch will be served in a few minutes. I think we could all use some refreshment after what we’ve seen,” she said.
Scorpius sank gratefully onto the sofa facing the windows. The heavy curtains were still drawn and he suddenly frowned, wishing they were open. Instantly, the curtains parted, flooding the room with light.
“Scorpius! What have I told you about controlling your magic when you’re upset?” Mother hissed in dismay. “We have Aurors in the room! Do you want to get in trouble?”
Scorpius cringed. “I’m sorry. It was an accident. I don’t want a letter from the Ministry,” he said.
“You won’t be receiving one,” Auror Weasley spoke up.
“It’s perfectly understandable that a kidnap victim would want to be surrounded by light,” explained Mr Potter, looking at Mother, “especially someone like Scorpius who was kept in the dark for so long. They crave the ability to see everything instantly upon opening their eyes because the captors used darkness as an intimidation factor. I don’t blame Scorpius for wishing the curtains open.”
“So he’s not going to get in trouble?” Father asked.
“No, he won’t because although the Ministry can detect the magic, they don’t who did it,” answered Auror Weasley. “This is a magical household where magic goes on night and day.” He glanced at Mr Potter who gave him a ‘you-wouldn’t’ look before he added, “It would be different in a home where a magical child was being raised by a Muggle family. Then, the Ministry would know absolutely who performed the magic.”
However, Mr Potter shook his head and murmured so quietly that only Scorpius could hear, “Not necessarily.”
Curious, Scorpius asked, “Why not?”
Mr Potter leaned over and answered, “I’ll tell you the story some other time,” so Scorpius let the subject drop and turned his attention to his parents and the two Aurors.
During this exchanged, his father murmured something that sounded like, “True,” and left it at that, but Mother pressed on, “I don’t understand why Scorpius is doing so much accidental magic. He hasn’t done any since he began at Hogwarts and now… now it’s happening so frequently it scares me.”
“It’s because he’s a kidnap victim who is still adjusting to what occurred during his captivity,” Auror Weasley replied gently. “He’s probably opening curtains and keeping doors open and lighting lamps without using his wand, correct?”
Mother’s eyes widened as she answered, “Yes! But why?”
Auror Weasley smiled sadly. “It’s his mind’s way of helping him cope with what he’s seen and heard as well as his need to control his environment. All freedom was taken from him, Mrs Malfoy. Most prisoners are allowed to prowl their cells, but your son was hung upside down, unable to do more than twist in the wind. It’s enough to drive a person insane, but Scorpius–” He stopped and came over to squeeze Scorpius’ shoulder, which felt wonderfully comforting. “Scorpius didn’t give up hope that someone would rescue him. He even tried to escape and when that didn’t work, he sent information that helped us find him, even though he was scared and probably greatly discouraged. Mrs Malfoy, your son is an incredibly brave and resourceful person. I think that with time and support from you and his father the incidences of accidental magic will disappear. Does that put your mind to rest?”
Mother sighed and for the first time since he’d begun doing the accidental magic, Scorpius thought she looked relieved. “I suppose.”
Scorpius glanced at his father who asked, “And if he does receive a letter of reprimand?”
“Send me a copy and I’ll get it taken care of,” Auror Weasley requested. Father nodded, seemingly satisfied. “We’ve already made note of his reaction to the closed curtains,” Auror Weasley added.
Mabel chose that moment to enter the sitting room with two lunch trays floating in front of her. Mother had her put them on the table where the Pensieve sat and Scorpius’ mouth began to water as he decided what he wanted to eat. Etiquette called for the guests to fill their plates first, so Scorpius waited–somewhat impatiently–for the adults to select what they wanted before making a sandwich for himself.
When they were done eating, Auror Carmichael stood up. “Scorpius, I am continually amazed by what a brave young man you are. I think the names you gave us will be helpful not only to the prosecution of Shirley Gorman, but with the investigation of several other cases as well. I’m going to take the information back to headquarters.” He looked at Mr Potter and Auror Weasley. “I’ll see you two later, perhaps?”
Both men nodded and he excused himself, leaving Scorpius, his parents and their guests talking quietly. They conversed a while longer until Auror Weasley and Mr Potter had to leave as well.
That night, Scorpius sat propped up in his bed, chewing on the end of his quill and staring down at the words he’d written on his piece of parchment:
Dear Rose,
That didn’t look right, so he grabbed his wand and siphoned away the greeting while the ink was still wet. He tried again.
Hi Rose,
He didn’t like that either and again erased the greeting. Finally, he settled on writing just her name at the top of the page.
Rose,
It was nice to get your note this morning. I’m doing much better, thank you, but I’m not ready to come back to school just yet. I think your dad told you I still need some time to get over what happened to me. We viewed one of my memories in a Pensieve today and he helped me to understand why I was remembering it so vividly in my dreams. I have some other “issues”–Mr Potter’s term–to deal with before I go back to Hogwarts, but I want you to know that I miss you and my other friends and think it would be great to correspond with you.
He had the same problem with his closing salutation, finally deciding to end his letter with
Your friend,
He signed his name and called his owl, Mephistopheles. The eagle owl entered his room with a loud, “WHOO!” and settled on Scorpius’ bent knees, eyeing him expectantly.
“Take this to Rose Weasley at Hogwarts,” Scorpius requested as he tied the rolled-up message to the owl’s outstretched leg. “Make sure she gets it tomorrow at breakfast, please.”
Mephistopheles gave another loud, “WHOO!” and left the room, flying out the open bedroom door. Scorpius sighed and watched him go, wondering when he was going to get over needing to always leave doors open. He extinguished his lamp and twitched the curtains around his bed closed a little more. He waited, staring at the top of the canopy, for the sensation of being trapped to manifest itself. When it came, though, it wasn’t a bad as it had been last night. With another sigh, he opened them again. “Maybe when I find a way to laugh at myself again,” he thought as he drifted off.
Chapter 35: 35: Firsts
Author's Notes: This is a happy chapter, one that fairly flowed from my fingers and seemed to write itself. Many of you have wanted to see the scenes in this chapter and it pleases me to grant your wishes!
Many thanks to my pre-beta team of Miz636, Mutt n Feathers, RebeccaRipple, Rosina Ferguson and RSS who scrambled to read and comment on this chapter. I am grateful to you all for the comments and suggestions you generated on such short notice. I also thank Aggiebell for taking time out of her super-busy schedule this week to add her two Knuts worth so I could post the chapter on time. Thank you, too, to you, my readers for continuing to stick with the story as it winds down and you have to wait extra long for the next update. I appreciate your loyalty and look forward to reading and responding to your reviews.
Aftermath Part 2
*1135 hours, Thursday, 4 February 2021
On a snowy morning after his therapy session, Harry sat across Healer Stilwell’s desk from him and looked at his friend, feeling a profound sense of gratitude. Not only had he come to realize that he and Payton had come to trust each other more than just their patient/healer relationship, they had a shared experience that would bind them together for all time, one born of pain and comfort and mutual support that no one else could share. What made this moment so significant was the fact that the healer had just told him that the blood vessels in his brain were no longer leaking and that his brain was no longer swelling. For all intents and purposes, his brain injury had finally healed.
“Harry, you have regained ninety-seven percent of your peripheral vision. You now have only a three degree deficit to the left now,” the healer explained. “I am certain you have reached your new normal, vision-wise, which means you will always need to compensate for the vision loss when driving, moving through a crowd and flying on a broom. I also think that now that your vision has stabilized, you will find reading much easier.”
Startled, Harry asked, “How did you know I wanted to ask about going up on a broom?”
“You told me about how happy it made you when your sons and nephews modified your wheelchair on Christmas Day.”
“Thank you. I had almost given up hope that I’d ever mount a broom and fly again with my sons and daughter.”
“Just be careful about how much you rely on your legs to help you stay on a broom, Harry,” Payton cautioned. “I think you’ll have to take a few practice flights to determine just how much control you have.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Harry said, smiling. “It may be harder to convince Ginny that I can ride a broom than it will be to actually fly one!”
“Good luck to you, then.” Looking as if he was trying to squash a smile, Payton cleared his throat. “Now back to business… I am also clearing you to drive your van and any other Muggle vehicle equipped with hand controls.” Harry sighed silently, feeling disappointed because he now knew he’d never drive his Ferrari again, at least until he broke down and had someone modify the controls for him. Payton had noticed Harry’s momentary lack of attention, for he now said with a hopeful inflection in his tone, “If your therapy continues to on the course it is, Harry, I could very well fully discharge you with the clearance to drive unassisted.”
Harry nodded, hardly daring to hope for such a thing, but knowing he would use that wish as a motivator when he became convinced he wasn’t making any progress. (That had happened about a week ago when he’d reached a plateau for a few days. The feeling of levelling out had left him rather discouraged until Silvia had modified his exercises.) He switched the subject, sensing his friend had more to discuss with him, but needing to bring up some issues of his own. “Healer Stilwell, before you go on, I have two things to ask you about,” he said, switching from the familiar to a more formal form of address because what he needed to ask was very important to him.
“Yes, Mr Potter?” Healer Stilwell asked, also making the switch.
“I, erm, I was wondering if you thought I was strong enough to visit the Ministry or take day excursions with my family away from The Groves.”
Healer Stilwell smiled at him. “Harry, we seem to be thinking alike these days. Would you find it acceptable if I cleared you to go to work part time on a regular basis each afternoon?”
Harry felt his face break into a grin. “I–I’ll–yes! Yes, that’s more than acceptable, Payton! I’d like that very much!” he managed to sputter. Then, rational thought took over. “Erm, I’ll need to talk to the Minister about whether that’s an acceptable arrangement.”
“I’ve already done that, Harry,” Payton said. “The Minister impressed upon me that your position is usually not a shared one, but he’s willing to make certain concessions in order to help ease you back into your job. He agrees with me that it will be easier for you to assimilate back into the real world if you go back to work half time for a period of three or four months. That way you would be building up your stamina as well as being available to continue your therapy in the mornings.”
Harry could hardly believe the news. “Do I need a letter explaining that to the Minister and the Personnel department, a medical excuse stating why I’m only coming back half days?”
“Yes,” Healer Stilwell said, fishing a piece of parchment out of his folder. “Read this before I sign it. If it meets your approval, you can take it with you when you leave.”
Harry read the letter and couldn’t stop smiling. When he finished reading, he thanked the healer before saying, “Erm, I have a second request.”
“What’s that?”
“I’d, erm, I’d like to have Ginny spend the night with me in my room at weekends, perhaps Friday and Saturday nights?” he asked as he pocketed the letter.
Payton chuckled. “I’ll do you one better, Harry. I’ve already decided that you need to start spending your weekends at home. It’s high time you and Ginny started spent more time together.” He stopped and then said in a low tone, he deadpanned, “Besides, I’m running out of excuses for why I’m giving you two access to the therapy pool at such odd hours of the night.”
Harry felt his face and ears heat up. “Thank you for that,” he mumbled, since his tongue suddenly didn’t seem to be working. “When can we begin?”
“Tomorrow night sounds like a good time to me. Will this give you enough time to notify Ginny?”
“Of course it will! Thank you!” Harry couldn’t believe his good luck.
Payton closed the folder he’d taken the letter from. “Then stop grinning like an idiot and go call your wife!” he chuckled. “Oh, you need to be back here after dinner on Sundays, since visiting hours end at half seven that day.”
Harry, his face still feeling hot, couldn’t stop grinning. “I can abide by that rule, Payton,” he said. “And Ginny will be so excited about this since it was her idea to ask about ‘conjugal visits’ in the first place. Thanks.”
His friend made a shooing gesture as he said, “Go on, then. I have work to do and you and Ginny have plans to make.”
With one last wave, Harry propelled his chair swiftly out the door and into the lift, heading down to the Post Room to send an owl with a note to Ginny.
*
0126 hours, Saturday, 6 February 2021
The fire had burned down to glowing embers over the last two hours and now the first tentative fingers of flame began licking at the pieces of tinder that had just been floated onto the grate over the hottest coals, mirroring the earlier, slowly building passion of the occupants of the bed. The romantic mood had been further enhanced by several strategically-placed candles which continued, even now after the two had spent themselves, to cast a soft yellow glow that seemed to encourage closeness.
From her place snuggled against Harry’s side, Ginny sighed contentedly and tightened her grip around his middle.
“Are you cold?” he asked. “Should I add more wood?”
Ginny smiled up at her husband. “I’m just fine, love. I’m comfy right where I am. You?”
“Mmmm-hmm, I’m more than fine,” he answered, pulling her closer and lowering his lips to hers in a tender kiss. They shared a few minutes of languid snogging before she laid her head back on Harry’s chest and listened contentedly to the comforting thumping of his heart.
“Ginny,” his voice rumbled in her ear, making her smile, “when’s the St Mungo’s auction? Have you made reservations for it yet?”
Startled, she raised her head to look at him. “It’s Saturday, March the twentieth and no, I haven’t put in my reservation yet. Why do you ask?”
“I want to go, Ginny. I want to share a special evening with the loveliest witch in all of England.”
“Oh Harry, that’s so sweet of you to want to go,” she said, feeling pleased and dismayed at the same time. “But I’ll be so busy circulating the room you won’t see much of me and… and are you sure you’re ready for the Wizarding public to see the new you?”
“I’ve only been more certain of one other thing in my life, Ginny, and that was my love for you on the night I proposed to you,” Harry said. “Besides, the auction is the best place to introduce the public to the new me, because if it hadn’t been for the medical miracles performed on me that night last October by the healers at St Mungo’s, we wouldn’t be here discussing why I want to support your fundraising endeavours that evening.”
She hugged him, feeling pleased he wanted to go. “Then I’d be honoured if you’d accompany me to auction,” she said with a smile as she bit back a mild retort about his treatment that night.
Harry hugged her back. “Good. I’m looking forward to the evening out with you,” he said.
The flames in the grate reached hungrily for the newest log that now floated into place and as the wood caught, they seemed to burn brighter than they had a few minutes before.
*
1815 hours, Friday, 12 February 2021
“Kendra, James, your rooms are this way,” Brian said as he led the way up the stairs, his body floating backwards, only inches from the treads.
James couldn’t help staring at his friend and wondering how he was propelling himself. Finally, because it was obvious that he was staring, he asked, “How are you doing that? A spell or a Muggle invention?”
Brian smiled. “Professor Ackerley helped me create the spell. As long as I have my wand in my pocket I can cast it and maintain it until get up the stairs. That way, my hands are free to balance my body and my chair,” he said, sounding pleased with himself as he patted the pocket of his jeans where the handle of his wand was visible. The movement caused him to wobble a little, but Brian quickly compensated. “I want to complete my education at Hogwarts, which will require me to use the stairs to get to my lessons. Since the castle doesn’t have a lift, I needed a way to go from floor to floor. Right now, the spell exhausts me if I use it for very long and I haven’t the magical strength to levitate both my body and my chair together yet. Melissa, my PT, tells me I’ll be strong enough magically to get through the day by September. I just have to be patient.”
“It’ll be good to have you back at Hogwarts,” Kendra said. She nudged James with her elbow and he glared at her in an I’m-going-to-say-something-nice manner as he felt his ears heating up.
“Yeah, I’m glad you’re going back,” he mumbled, making Brian snort with laughter at their antics.
“You two look like an old married couple,” Brian chortled, adding to James’ embarrassment.
They reached the top of the stairs and Brian sat on the top step, reached into his pocket and pulled out his shrunken wheelchair. He enlarged it and then manually hoisted his body onto the seat while James fought the urge to help him. He refrained from offering to help because he remembered what his father had said at Christmas about needing to do things for himself, so he took the opportunity to study the wall of family portraits at the head of the stairs until Brian was done.
Kendra, who had followed him over to the photos, now asked, “What do you mean that you’ll be strong enough magically? I thought you were doing really well.” She sounded as confused as James was, even though he thought he understood what Brian was saying.
Brian turned in his chair and looked over at them. “After the Matron attacked me, Healer Stilwell discovered that the potions she’d introduced into my body had the side effect of depleting my magical energy. In a healthy person, they’d just make the person feel very tired, but because my body was trying to heal from the original injury plus the new damage, my energy reserves became dangerously low.” He sighed and James thought he detected a note of sadness in Brian’s voice as he continued his explanation. “In fact, the potions I’d been taking to regenerate the severed nerves stopped working altogether for a few days and Healer Stilwell had to give me another potion until he could figure out what went wrong. Once I stopped using magic, even for little things like Summoning a book from the floor, I felt better and made more progress.”
“So you’ve just started using magic again?” Kendra asked.
Their friend stopped in front of a bedroom door and pushed it open. “Kendra, this one is yours. You can put your things in the wardrobe if you want,” he said. She smiled as she stepped past him and quickly put her two bags away. When she came back, Brian went on, “I’ve been performing basic spells for about three weeks now. I didn’t know how much I missed it until Mum gave me my wand back and started reviewing first year spells with me.”
“Why start with first year spells?” James asked as they continued down the passage. “I know my dad had to use first year spells at first because of his brain injury, but I didn’t think you’d hurt your head.”
“I didn’t. First year spells don’t require the magic or the control needed by fifth year spells, so they’re used to help the body become acclimated to using magic and to build its magical reserves again after injury,” Brian said. “I had no idea it took so much energy to heal, even with the help of potions that work with the body’s natural healing. Besides, it’s great review for OWLs. I’m now reviewing third year Transfiguration and Charms. I’ll start on third year Defence next week.” Brian opened another door and gestured for James to leave his book bag and satchel inside.
“Did you have to remind us of those exams?” Kendra groaned as James deposited his bags in the wardrobe.
Brian smiled wickedly. “Of course I did. They’re just three months away, and if I’m going to take them with the rest of our year, I need to start some serious revision if I’m going to catch up to the rest of you.”
“What? You think we’ve been revising all year?” James asked incredulously. “I’ve hardly cracked my previous years’ texts because I’m having a hard enough time keeping up with this year’s homework!”
“You’ve had time, James,” Kendra teased, poking him in the ribs. “You’ve just spent most of it researching pranks instead of writing your essays.”
James felt his ears grow hot. “I haven’t pranked anyone since Albus’ birthday and you know it,” he retorted indignantly.
“Why did you prank Albus and what did you do?” Brian asked. He opened another door and rolled into the room. “Welcome to my room,” he added as he slid onto his bed. “Have a seat.”
Since there was only one chair next to the desk, James let Kendra have it. He took a Knut from his pocket and waved his wand at it, transfiguring it into a metal patio chair that looked suspiciously like the ones his mum put out on the library terrace each summer. He hoped he wouldn’t end up being dumped on the floor when his spell fizzled out; Al was better at stuff like this and it embarrassed James that he couldn’t maintain his transfigured objects as long as his little brother could. The patio chair landed on the floor with a soft thump. He settled into his creation and began telling Brian about the pranks he and Lily had sprung on Albus and the other students until Mrs Nelson called the three to dinner.
“I wish I’d been there to join in the fun,” Brian said, sounding wistful as they made the trek back downstairs to the dining room.
“I think you would have enjoyed the song Lily and James made your house sing,” Kendra said.
“What was it?” Brian asked.
“It’s an old rock song called The Wall by the Muggle band Pink Floyd,” James answered, grinning at Brian. “It’s one of my dad’s favourites. He sings it to tease us sometimes.”
Brian grinned back. “I’ve heard that song. It’s pretty cool,” he said, making the others laugh.
Later that night, as they parted at James’ door, he asked Brian, “Are you excited about going to see the match tomorrow?”
“I can’t wait,” Brian answered, grinning hugely. “Good night.”
The three were up with the sun the next morning, even though the match between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor wasn’t until half past twelve. Mrs Nelson cooked a full English breakfast, insisting that James eat seconds and even thirds because he was going to need the extra calories if the match took more than three hours to play.
“Are all mums alike?” he asked Brian when her back was turned. “Yours sounds an awful lot like my mum and my Grandmum Weasley.”
“I think it’s the ‘mum gene’ kicking in,” Brian snickered. “She’s always been like this with me before a match.”
The three shared a quiet chortle and went back to addressing their breakfasts.
When it was time for James to go back to Hogwarts, he gave Kendra a quick kiss on the cheek, thanked Mr and Mrs Nelson for their hospitality and stepped into the fireplace to take the Floo back to Professor Longbottom’s office. The last he saw of Brian was his friend sitting next to Kendra.
*
0945 hours, Saturday, 13 February 2021
Brian sighed happily as his chair shot out of Professor Ackerley’s fireplace, bouncing a little as it came to a stop against the teacher’s desk. He was relieved and grateful to James’ dad for all the helpful tips he’d shared about Floo travel in a wheelchair. He’d heard about Mr Potter’s disappearance from The Groves via the hospital gossip chain on the day Scorpius Malfoy had been rescued and had wondered what it was like to sit while spinning.
The sensation wasn’t entirely pleasant, but Brian’s stomach calmed quickly as his father, mother and Kendra stepped out one after another to be greeted by Brian’s head of house.
“Greetings and welcome back to Hogwarts,” the professor said enthusiastically. “You couldn’t have picked a better day to view a match.” He turned to Brian. “How are you doing with your charm? Are you able to control both yourself and your chair yet?”
Brian shook his head. “Not yet, Professor. I’ll have to Levitate myself downstairs without my chair.”
“You’re going to attempt seven flights of stairs?” Professor Ackerley asked incredulously.
“There’s no other way, is there?” Brian asked, already knowing the answer. When the professor shook his head, Brian said, “My dad’s going to carry me down.”
Professor Ackerley frowned. “That’s an awful lot of stairs with a big potential that one of you will get hurt. Please let me do the honours of floating you downstairs. I promise not to drop you.”
After a hasty conversation using only nods, shakes and raised eyebrows, Mr Nelson said, “That will be fine, Professor.”
The professor glanced at the clock on the mantle. “Very good. Now… if I remember correctly, you’re early for the match because you were going to join Ravenclaw House for lunch in the Great Hall.” Brian nodded and murmured the affirmative. “Then, we need to get going,” added Professor Ackerley.
“I need to shrink my wheelchair, professor,” Brian reminded him.
“No problem,” the professor said. “You can shrink it once you’re floating.”
It was an odd sensation to be doing magic on his wheelchair while someone else was performing it on him, but the task was quickly completed and before he knew it, the entire group was gathered around the empty plinth of a departed suit of armour (one that had perished in the Second War, according to Professor Binns) that Professor Ackerley had deposited him on. Brian quickly transferred himself to his chair and then the adults had him lead the way into the Great Hall.
As he rolled through the doorway, the diners fell silent. Brian could feel the stares of every single person in the room and wondered sadly if he should have skipped lunch with his friends. Then, a single bench at the Ravenclaw table scraped the floor as the two students sitting on it stood up and began to clap. They were joined in rapid succession by the rest of his year and then the rest of his house. The wave of sound multiplied as the Gryffindors followed the Ravenclaws’ lead. The Hufflepuffs were the next to stand and clap with the Slytherins and professors bringing the ovation to a thunderous end.
“Welcome back, Brian!” his roommates cried over the din as they hurried to group around him.
Completely overwhelmed, all Brian could do was stare and smile until his face hurt. “Why?” he managed to croak through the tidal wave of emotion coursing through him.
“You’re a hero.”
“We’ve missed you.”
“Library discussions haven’t been the same without you.”
“You’ve been so brave, nearly Gryffindor-like! Are you sure you were Sorted into Ravenclaw?” (That one made him laugh.)
Eventually, Brian and his parents bid Kendra good-bye for the time being–she slipping off to eat with the Gryffindors–and found places across the table from his roommates. It felt so wonderful to sit at the familiar table and discuss familiar subjects and catch up on house gossip that he was a little disappointed when lunch came to an end and it was time to meet Kendra at the stadium entrance.
“I’d like to sit with my house,” he told his parents as they reached the stadium.
“All right. We’ll be sitting with the professors, Brian,” his father told him. “We’ll meet you back here after the match.”
“See you then,” Brian said as he and Kendra turned and hastened towards the stairs leading to the Ravenclaw bleachers.
“Do you want help up the stairs?” she asked, “or would you like to try it yourself?”
“Let me try it first to see how tired it makes me,” Brian answered. “The levitation spell is tiring, but the only way I’ll get stronger is to push myself.”
They started up the stairs, Brian floating backwards ahead of Kendra. He made it up four levels before he asked for her help. After he had her practice the incantation a couple of times, they started up the last two levels and found seats on the aisle about halfway up the bleachers. As they waited for the stands to fill up, several of his housemates joined them.
“Have you been up to the tower yet?” a boy in fourth year asked.
Brian shook his head. “Not today. I have some… erm, things to learn still before I can propel myself up to the common room,” he said, feeling a bit sad because it would have been nice to recline on his four-poster for a few minutes after lunch.
“Does that mean you’ll be coming back with us in September?” Fern Ives, one of the other fifth years asked.
“My therapist says that I’ll be ready to return to school with everyone on the Express on September first, yes,” he said.
Fern laughed as she said, “I think you’re going to have to enlarge your compartment to include places for all of our year to sit with you, then. Some people are already trying to elbow everyone else off the list of who gets to sit in your compartment.”
“That could be a problem,” Brian remarked. “I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings.”
“Maybe if we took down the door and the front wall of your compartment more people than just your house could join you,” Kendra suggested.
“We might want to do that to two adjoining compartments. You know, take down at least the bottom part of the separating wall to create a big communal seating area and do it without getting caught,” Fern added.
“We should consider both of those modifications,” Brian said thoughtfully. To his fellow Ravenclaws, he said, “I believe we have our project for the summer.”
His housemates grinned and began whispering amongst themselves until the match started.
Brian enjoyed himself immensely during the first half hour of the match. The Gryffindor team was just as good–maybe even a hair better than–as the Ravenclaw team. Since the players were fresh, the tempo of the match was quite swift, and even though only two goals were made–one each per side–he couldn’t help marvelling how well his replacement fit in with the other two Chasers.
Then, forty-five minutes in, the announcer cried, “And the Ravenclaw Seeker, Perry Hereward, has seen the Snitch!”
At this, every single student sitting in front of Brian stood up, blocking his view, and all he could do was listen, catching bits of commentary through the screams and chanting of his fellow spectators.
“Go, Perry, go!”
“Gryffindor Seeker, Wesley Freeman, has seen it too, but he’s all the way over on the other side of the pitch.”
“Get that Snitch, Perry!”
“…stretches out flat on his broom, zooming towards the Snitch.”
“Don’t let him have it, Perry!”
“They’re neck and neck…”
“Go, Perry, go! Go, Perry! Go!”
“Oh! Close call! Too bad the Snitch got away. That Bludger wasn’t meant for–”
Brian slumped in his seat, disappointed and frustrated that he couldn’t see the action, even though he was sitting on the aisle. As the students took their seats again, the girls around him began giggling. Annoyed, he tried to focus on the match again, but he was distracted by a nearby conversation between two girls.
“Did you see what happened to Brian just now?”
“I know, but what can we do? I feel so sorry for him.”
“Me, too. Should we offer to Levitate him?”
“That would be fun! We’d have front row seats with a view! He’s always had such a cute arse!”
Disgusted, Brian turned around. “I’m trying to watch the match. If you have something to say to me, say it. My ears still work,” he said. “I’ll thank you to keep your opinions to yourself.”
The girls seemed shocked that they’d been caught, but they didn’t look very sorry he’d heard what they’d said. That annoyed Brian even more. He turned back towards the pitch, scowling and wishing ill on the Ravenclaw Seeker.
He felt Kendra’s hand on his elbow. “Just ignore them,” she advised.
“Ignore them,” he repeated to himself as he turned back to match. He tried to concentrate on the action, but he couldn’t get the girls’ pity out of his head. Is this what I’m going to have to put up with for the rest of my life? he asked himself. He knew what the obvious answer was and it soured the elation he felt at being back at Hogwarts, sitting in the stands, watching a Quidditch match.
“Budge over, Brian. I need a place to sit.”
Startled out of his self-pity, Brian glanced to his right to see Lily Potter standing in the aisle. She looked as frustrated as he felt. Automatically, he scooted over to make room for her, as did Kendra.
“What are you doing here, Lily?” Kendra asked James’ sister.
“I need someplace to watch the match where I won’t have to put up with my roommates,” Lily growled.
“What are they doing?” he asked curiously.
“If I have to listen to one more comment about how big James’ muscles are or how dreamy Albus looks in his Beater’s uniform, I’m going to be sick!” exclaimed Lily.
“So you came to see us?”
“Yes, because I know you two are actually paying attention to what’s going on on the pitch!”
“And your roommates don’t?”
“Nope. Those girls have never gone to a Quidditch match to watch the action; all they want to do drool over the players! Where’s their respect for the game?”
“Obviously not where it’s supposed to be,” Brian remarked, glancing backwards at the two girls who had offended him.
Lily picked up on his gaze. “Them, too? I’d like to Bat Bogey the lot,” she said.
Brian couldn’t help it. He chuckled. Maybe, with James’ sister sitting next to him, he could concentrate on the action.
Lily proved to be a good seatmate. She obviously knew more about Quidditch and the Chasers’ roles than any girl Brian had ever sat next to before. She was appreciative of both teams’ moves, too, and kept up a running commentary about what she observed that was actually more interesting than the announcer’s.
“Did you see that? That move was brilliant! ” she exclaimed over the perfect Porskoff Ploy the newest Ravenclaw Chaser had just pulled off.
“Too bad the Quaffle was under-thrown,” Brian said.
“Gravity helped, but she’ll learn to gauge distances better with practice, I think.”
Five minutes later, she commented, “Evan, the Gryffindor Keeper, flies like my Uncle Ron does.”
Curious, Brian asked, “What do you mean?”
“Look at him. Do you see how he’s staying mostly in front of the middle hoop and isn’t protecting all three?”
Brian studied the Gryffindor Keeper as the Ravenclaw Chasers approached him. Lily was right; Evan flew in a vertical figure eight pattern that would only allow him to quickly move to the right or left hoop if the handle of his broom was pointed in the correct direction. Brian took the risk of saying, “That’s good for us, then.” He pointed to the ball carrier. “Iden’s going to go for the left hoop, I think.”
“No, he’s not; he’ll go for the right one,” Lily disagreed. “Look at where his broom handle is pointed. He’d have to throw a reverse pass back to your replacement to get the timing right and she’s too far out of position to make a decent catch; she’ll have to fly by those two opponents to get it through the hoop. It’s not going to happen, not when Ravenclaw is so many points behind.”
Three seconds later, the Quaffle sailed past the Gryffindor Keeper’s outstretched hands and through the right hoop. Brian shook his head, amazed by the fact that she was correct. “Lily, how come you can read the players so well?”
Lily blushed slightly as she said, “I have two Quidditch-crazed brothers, both of whom expect me to play two-a-side with them whenever they have an odd number of friends over. Plus, my mum’s been reading moves from her Quidditch play book to me–instead of bedtime stories–for as long as I can remember.”
Brian grinned. “That explains it!”
They next debated the Quidditch Cup points battle and speculated about which two teams would be playing each other at the end of the season. It all boiled down to which team won today’s match. If Gryffindor won by only ten points today, Ravenclaw would be in the final match because they had thirty more points going into today’s match than Gryffindor. But… if Gryffindor lost to Ravenclaw by ten points, and they won the Gryffindor-Slytherin match by twenty or more points next month, both teams would play each other if Ravenclaw won its match against Hufflepuff in March. However…
The two kept up their debate until Kendra poked Brian with her elbow. “Snitch,” she said, pointing.
“Where?” asked Brian.
People were already rising to their feet as the three tried to track the little golden ball from their seats. Brian tried to stand, but his legs wouldn’t move, couldn’t support his body weight, and he slumped back onto the bench in defeat.
Lily’s voice in his ear made him look up at her. “Is there anything we can do to help you see the Seekers?” she asked.
Brian hesitated. It was a mad idea, but he thought it might work. Besides, he trusted both Kendra and Lily… but if one of them stopped concentrating on her spell… No, he had to take the chance. “Would you and Kendra Levitate me?” he asked. “I want to see who catches to Snitch.”
The girls exchanged nervous glances. Finally, Kendra said, “All right, but just until the chase ends.”
Brian grinned. “Thanks, you two. Which spell will you be using?” he asked, looking at Lily because she wasn’t as conversant as he and Kendra were in Charms due to her being a second year. “I’ll cast it, too.”
Lily named the charm she knew best and the two girls drew their wands. On Brian’s count they cast their spells simultaneously and he rose slowly off the bench until he could see between the heads of the two people in front of him. Quickly, he searched for the two Seekers, who were flying high overhead diagonally across the pitch. He glanced at the announcer’s box and could just make out the score: Gryffindor 140, Ravenclaw 100.
The announcer’s voice caught Brian’s attention. “Seekers Hereward and Freeman are neck and neck, racing handle to handle for the Snitch. A lot of bumping and banging going on there folks. Watch out for those elbows, boys. I wouldn’t want Madam Hooch to penalize you two for cobbing.”
Suddenly, with an extra burst of speed, the Ravenclaw Seeker drew ahead of his opponent and stretched out his arm, letting the sleeve of his robes puff out in the wind. A second later, the Snitch disappeared, having been scooped up in the loose material.
As the announcer cried, “Ravenclaw win! Brilliant use of the Plumpton Pass!”
Brian pumped a fist in the air and let out a whoop of joy. The sudden movement shifted his weight, causing him to tip dangerously backwards so that he grabbed Lily and Kendra’s shoulders to keep himself upright.
“Careful there, Brian,” Lily cautioned at the same time Kendra reacted with, “We’ve got you.” Both girls moved closer to him and linked their free arms behind his back, still keeping their wands trained on him.
Brian said shakily, “I’ve had enough. Please put me down.”
The girls lowered him to the bench and sat down with him as the commentator announced the score–Ravenclaw 150, Gryffindor 140. All around them the Ravenclaws left the stands and began surging onto the pitch.
“Are you all right?” Kendra asked.
He nodded. “Give me a moment.” When his hands stopped shaking, he looked up to see Lily and Kendra had put their wands away. “That was a stupid thing to do.”
“What happened?” Lily asked. “I thought you knew what you were doing.”
Brian hung his head. “I did, but I got carried away and shifted too much. I would have fallen if you two hadn’t caught me,” he said.
“We wouldn’t have let you fall,” Kendra said.
“We’d be in a heap of trouble if you were hurt again,” Lily said, “and I would have never heard the end of it from my dad since it was my idea.”
“So would I because I went along with it,” Brian said.
Kendra was now looking at the mob of Ravenclaws surrounding the players down on the pitch. “Want to go down there?”
“No. My chair will just get stuck in the mud,” he said, pointing to the myriad muddy prints in the dead grass. “Let’s go find my parents instead.”
The girls agreed and stepped aside to let him pass. He cast his climbing spell to lower himself down to the walkway and eased his body down the steep stairs. At the bottom of the steps, he enlarged his wheelchair and transferred to it. Then the three went to find his parents
“Did you have a good time sitting with your housemates?” his father asked a few minutes later.
Brian smiled. “Yeah, I did. Thanks for bringing me back for the match.”
“You’re welcome, dear. We’ll come to the next Ravenclaw match if you want,” his mum said. “I quite enjoyed this one.”
“I’d like that,” Brian said, knowing that he really did want to come back despite the difficulties his disability had presented.
“We need to get going,” his father said. He extended a hand to Kendra. “You and James will join again us next time, I hope?”
Kendra smiled. “I’ll tell James you’ve invited us.”
Brian had seen Lily hanging back a little as Kendra talked to his parents. He now rolled over to her.
“Thanks, Lily,” he began.
“What for?”
“Erm, for talking to me during the match and not about me.”
“Oh,” She seemed surprised. “It was nothing. Really, I thought I’d talked too much.”
“I needed the distraction. I wasn’t having much fun listening to those girls and you… helped me enjoy the match again.” He hesitated and then asked awkwardly, “Will you write to me? I–I’d like to write to you.”
Lily turned red from her neck to her forehead, but she was grinning like crazy. “Yes, I promise to write back, Brian. I had a good time today, too.”
“Brian, we need to leave,” his father called.
Reluctantly, Brian bid Lily and Kendra good-bye and followed his parents out of the stadium and over to a horseless cart that was waiting to take them back to Hogsmeade. As the cart passed through the gates, he turned around for one last look at the castle.
“It won’t be long before you’re back here for good, dear,” his mum said.
Brian sighed. “I have a lot of work to do before that happens, though,” he said.
“You’ll get it done, Brian. I know you will.”
The cart turned a corner and the castle slipped from sight.
*
0545 hours, Monday, 15 February 2021
Ron knew he shouldn’t be nervous, but he was and he wondered whether Harry felt the same. They’d talked about this day quite often in the last few weeks, not only because Harry needed to be briefed on what was happening in the department, but because he was determined to reinsert himself into his job as if he’d been gone on a long holiday rather than in a sickbed for four months. Ron knew it was important to Harry to show his friends and co-workers that he was still quite capable of leading the department, even if his mobility was now limited.
“Ron, aren’t you supposed to meet Harry for lunch today?” Hermione enquired over their morning tea and scones.
Ron smiled. “Yes, we’re going to that new Muggle fish and chips place near the Visitor’s Entrance.”
“Why on earth would you take him there?” Hermione asked. “This is his welcome back lunch.”
“You know Harry. I think he’s still stuck back in the nineties right after the war, when George and I didn’t have more than a Knut to our names,” Ron said with a shake of his head. “Besides, I think he misses eating stuff like that. The dining room at The Groves only serves healthy food. The times I’ve eaten lunch with him, our plates have been heaped with fruits and vegetables. The cooks seem to be allergic to grease!”
Hermione poured more tea into her cup and took a sip. She looked at him over the rim of her cup as she said, “By all means, go enjoy your grease.”
“I ‘ill,” Ron said around a mouthful of scone.
The morning flew by and before he knew it, Ron found himself sitting in the Transportation Office of The Groves, making small talk with the guard while waiting for Harry.
The door opened, admitting two small wheels followed by a pair of trouser-clad legs, and finally all of Harry and the rest of his chair, including a new carry-all that was strapped to the back rest. “Sorry to be late, Ron,” he apologized. “Therapy ran a few minutes late and then I couldn’t get my tie knotted correctly. I think my fingers forgot how.”
“Like they always did on the first day of lessons at Hogwarts?” Ron asked, chuckling.
“Uh-huh,” Harry agreed. He pulled at the collar of his shirt. “Damned neck tourniquet.” Ron chuckled in agreement.
The guard opened the inner door for them. “Have a good day, gents. Mr Potter, I should be expecting you around six?”
“Most likely,” said Harry. “I’ll send word if I’m going to be late.”
“Very good.”
The door closed behind them and Ron turned to Harry. “Side-Along or Floo?”
“The Floo, mate. I don’t want to be Splinched on my first day back,” Harry commented as he threw a cloak over himself. The garment was big enough to cover both the wheelchair and Harry’s body. It also had a hood, which Harry pulled over his head. When Ron raised an eyebrow, Harry explained, “Soot finds the most inconvenient places, so Ginny thought this might help keep the chair clean until Silvia and Healer Stilwell clear me to Apparate.”
“And I bet not even Ginny’s charmed clothes brush can find all the soot on your chair,” Ron agreed.
“Tell me about it,” Harry groaned as he rolled into the biggest fireplace, shouting, “Ministry of Magic.”
Ron found Harry–minus the big cloak–waiting for him in the Atrium and the two made their way to the Visitor’s telephone booth and out onto the street. As they made their way to the fish and chips shop an uncomfortable thought occurred to Ron. Would Harry be expecting him to open the shop door for him? He decided to wait for Harry’s cue.
When they reached the shop, Harry opened the door himself and rolled over the threshold just as if he’d been walking next to Ron and reached the door first. Ron sighed in relief and followed his friend into the shop.
“I’ll get us a table,” Harry said, turning his head so Ron could hear him over the murmurs from the other diners. “I think it would be quicker if you ordered for me.” He gave Ron his order and Ron joined the queue, realizing that in the crowded shop Harry would have difficulty balancing his meal on his lap. With the offer to find the table, Harry had finessed an awkward situation into one they both could live with.
The queue moved quickly and before he could become bored with waiting, Ron had paid for their food and was scanning the room for Harry’s chair. He found his friend sitting next to a window and took their paper cones and fizzy drinks over to the table.
“I’ve waited so long for this!” Harry exclaimed happily as he unwrapped the newspaper surrounding his meal.
Ron bit into a vinegar-smothered piece of fish. “You had a good idea, Harry. Hermione thought we should go some place fancier, but this hits the spot,” he said appreciatively.
Harry shoved a chip in his mouth and murmured agreeably. “Let’s come here again next week,” he suggested.
Half an hour later, Ron led the way out of the lift and waited for Harry. The two had lingered over their meal and now it was time to get Harry settled in his office. As they entered the Auror Department, Harry’s and Robards’ secretaries each greeted them from their desks.
“It’s good to be back,” Harry said to Ione, his secretary, with a huge grin on his face.
She returned the grin, but then frowned and pointed farther into the big room. Ron knew what was going to happen and played along with her. “I’m not sure you’ll be happy in a couple of hours,” she said.
“Susan’s brought the files you’ll be reviewing this afternoon,” Ron joined in, doing his best to hide his smirk.
Harry turned his chair just in time to see Susan rounding the corner, carrying an enormous stack of file folders. She also carried a scroll that had unrolled over the leading edge of the top file. Every few steps, she had to kick it out of the way. “You’ll need to review all of these by four o’clock so we can meet with Robards. I expect he’ll want your opinion on all of them, Harry,” she said.
Ron nearly choked on his laughter as Harry’s jaw dropped. He shut his mouth with an audible snap and managed to sputter, “You’re… you’re sure he wants to review them at four?”
“Of course, Harry. Welcome back to the mad house,” she said sweetly and Ron caught the laughter in her eyes as she added, “I’ll take these to your office for you.”
As she led the way towards Harry’s office, Mary Beth jogged past, carrying an armload of scrolls, and caught up with her. “Susan, where do you want these?” she asked breathlessly.
“Harry’s office,” Susan replied, soliciting a groan from Harry.
“Ron, are you sure all those files are for me?” Harry asked. He looked rather discouraged. “I thought you said there were only three cases I needed to review today, not thirty!”
“All you need to do is sign them,” Ron said. “You’ll be done with that in about twenty minutes.”
“Ron, I won’t sign a file until I’ve read the entire report,” Harry said, sounding dispirited. “You know that.”
“I do, but we had an incredibly busy morning,” Ron told him by way of explanation.
Harry sighed and pushed his chair ahead of Ron, going to meet Susan and Mary Beth who were standing by the door to his darkened office trying to manipulate their burdens in order to open the door. “I’ll get that for you,” he told them.
“Thanks, Harry,” Mary Beth said, smiling sweetly. “You can go in first.”
Ron stood back as Harry opened the door, rolled into his office and waved his wand to light the overhead sconces. As soon as the lights illuminated the room, Ron joined the rest of the Auror Department staff in yelling, “SURPRISE!” and “WELCOME BACK, HARRY!”
That morning, Harry’s office had been expanded magically for the party. Ron had helped enlarge the conference table and set up extra chairs around the room to accommodate everyone who could participate. Then, everyone on the hospitality committee had pitched in to magically decorate the room with gold and red streamers and a large banner over the fireplace which read, “Welcome Back, Harry!” while others arranged the food and punch bowl on the conference table.
Susan now deposited her stack of files in Harry’s in-box and Ron watched his friend closely as the pile shrunk from thirty to the three Ron had reviewed with him yesterday. Harry seemed to sag in relief as the scrolls in Mary Beth’s arms morphed into a huge card, which had been signed by everyone before the party.
However, instead of laughing at the prank and going over to sample the food and have a piece of cake, Harry turned his tear-stained face on his assembled co-workers. “Thanks, everyone,” he choked. “I’m at a loss for words because I wasn’t prepared for a party. You have no idea what this means to me.”
Ron walked up behind Harry and rested his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Harry, you’re the reason this department runs so smoothly. You’ve worked hard to give us the good opinion the public has of us and you have made our jobs easier through the policies you’ve implemented. We were all devastated when you were hurt and this is our way of letting you know how much your presence means to us here in the office. So welcome back, Harry.”
Someone handed Harry a handkerchief and a cake knife. “Thanks,” Harry sniffed as he dabbed at his eyes.
“Let’s get this party started!” someone else called. “I’m hungry!”
With an embarrassed laugh, Harry rolled over to the table and enchanted the knife to cut slices of cake. The noise level rose as people paired of into groups of three or four and soon everyone was enjoying the party.
A while later, as the Aurors began filtering back to their cubicles, Harry rolled over to where Ron was chatting with two of the younger Aurors.
“Whose idea was it to throw me a party?” he asked.
Ron looked at the other two and shrugged. “I don’t think it was anyone’s idea specifically. I think we all just came to an agreement that we needed to let you know how much you were missed these last months and how glad we are to have you back,” he explained as the others nodded.
“I walked into the break room sometime last week and there was a notice on the board about when you were coming back. Two days later, it was full of scribbles relating to what people would bring for a welcome back party,” said the first Auror.
The second Auror added, “It started out as just cake and coffee in the break room, but it soon turned into this big planning sheet with everyone passing the word that the location had been changed to your office and that it was to be a big surprise.”
Harry seemed to accept their explanations without comment. Then he asked, “What about Susan and Mary Beth’s prank? Whose idea was that?”
“Mary Beth’s, believe it or not,” Ron chuckled. “I think she’s turning into the female equivalent of Fred and George.”
Harry grinned sheepishly. “Well, she and Susan had me going for a while.”
“That was the idea, mate.” Ron looked at his watch. “I’d really like to stay, Harry, but I have a few things waiting on my desk. I’ll tell the clean-up crew you’d like to have your office back.”
“Thanks,” Harry said. Ron watched him roll over to his desk, get out his slide board and settle into the big chair behind it. The sight of his best friend back where he belonged left a lump in his throat and he could only wave as he closed Harry’s door.
It was good to have Harry back in the office.
Chapter 36: 36: Homecoming
Author's Notes: It's been a month since I last posted and even though I've been silent, my fingers have been flying about the keyboard creating the last few chapters of this story. I hope you enjoy this one. It's pretty much a stop-gap, fluffy chapter that shows the passage of time, but it's essential for the lead-in to the Matron's trial, which will be in the next chapter. I know many of you are anticipating that chapter and I hope to post it in two weeks, three at the most. It's mostly written but I still want to make sure I have everything just the way it should be before I post it.
So... hang in there and enjoy Chapter 36. I look forward to answering you reviews.
Aftermath Part 3
0805 hours, Tuesday, 23 February 2021
The grey and white owl landed next to her breakfast plate and stuck out its leg to her, nearly knocking over Lily’s goblet of pumpkin juice. She smiled as she immediately recognized it as Brian’s Northern Hawk owl, Ollerton. The poor bird looked exhausted, because he seemed to be flying non-stop between Hogwarts and The Groves these days.
“Another letter from Brian?” asked one of the other girls in Lily’s year.
Lily wiggled happily in her seat as she fed Ollie a kipper. “Yes, Isabel! When he asked me to correspond with him, I had no idea we’d be writing to each other quite so often,” she admitted. She broke the seal and began reading, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she read.
“So what’s he say?” Arlene asked, leaning in and nearly putting her tie in her porridge. Isabel reached over and pulled Arlene’s bowl away from their friend who looked down with a small “Oops!”
Lily shrugged, not really wanting to tell her friends just yet. “Oh, not much. Just that he’s started a new group of exercises designed to strengthen his lower back, stomach, and side muscles.” She glanced down at the letter. “I quote, ‘Melissa says she thinks the new exercises will keep me from sagging and leaning over too far in my chair. This will be the last thing we try to strengthen my core muscles before we resort to bracing spells. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life dependent on a spell or a Muggle metal brace to keep me upright, Lily. I just don’t. I want to sit up as tall as possible, on my own, but it’s hard work and I get terrible backaches by the end of the day if I’m not careful.’” Lily sighed and then added, “I hope the exercises work for him.”
“That’s nothing to smile about,” Isabel said sympathetically.
“Come on, spill! We know he’s written something that’s making you smile,” Arlene urged.
Lily felt her cheeks warm a bit as she said quietly, “He’s looking forward to coming back to Hogwarts for the Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff match on 6th March and wants me to sit with him again.” Across the table, Arlene and Isabel grabbed each other’s hands and bounced up and down in their seats, making Lily laugh. “I’m supposed to meet him in Professor Ackerley’s office before the match. Brian says there’s something he wants to show me before we go over to the stadium.”
“Erm, that’s nice,” Arlene said, glancing at Isabel. “Are we included in your group?”
Lily shrugged. “I’ll ask him if you want me to, but I think he just wants to show me. He might say yes to you two sitting with us if you’re nice to him; if you treat him like he’s fragile or something to gawk at, we’ll find somewhere else to sit.”
“Maybe it’s best if we don’t sit with them,” Arlene said to Isabel. “They may want some privacy… to… you know…”
Lily wondered what they were talking about as she went back to eating her breakfast. Her two friends continued to eat, but as they had their heads together, she knew they were talking about her.
Several minutes went by as the girls finished their meals. “So… are you… Has he…” Isabel finally asked slowly, innuendo thick in her voice.
Surprised, Lily scowled at her friend. “Are we what? Has Brian what? Spit it out and stop wagging your eyebrows at me! We’re just friends!” she hissed. She could feel her ears and cheeks growing molten as she cast furtive glances to the right and left trying to gauge whether or not the other students in the vicinity had heard them talking.
Arlene poked Isabel with her elbow. “See, I told you they were just friends. So get your mind out of the pig pen.”
Isabel stuck her tongue out at Arlene and then asked Lily, “So you two aren’t boyfriend and girlfriend and you two haven’t snogged in the broom cupboard on the sixth floor?”
“Where did you hear that?” Lily demanded. “If you heard it from my brothers, they’re going to wish they had never started that rumour.”
“Not them,” Arlene said, her eyes on her plate. “It’s just that all of a sudden you’re getting letters nearly every day from a bloke who’s three years older than we are and… and we just wondered if you were keeping anything from us.” She looked up at Lily, and then, including Isabel, Rebecca, Martha, Andrea, Ebba, and Ramona in her glance, she continued, “We want to know whether we can trust him.”
Taken aback, Lily asked, “Why should you need to trust Brian? He’s my friend.”
Rebecca joined in for the first time. “But you’re our friend, Lily. We’re worried that you’re getting in over your head and that Brian will think he can do what he wants with you.”
Lily folded Brian’s letter and put it in her book bag. “I appreciate your concern, but you can trust him. My parents do.” That brought a round of giggles from the girls across the table from her. “Hey, it’s not what you think. Brian isn’t looking for a girlfriend; he just wants someone to treat him like a regular bloke and not someone to be pitied. All right?”
Rebecca was the first to answer. “I understand, at least I think I do.”
Isabel persisted, “So you didn’t do anything in the broom closet the last time Brian came to a match? I know you left our section of the stands half-way through.”
“I left our section because of they way you were talking about my brothers!” Lily laughed at their expressions as her friends realized what she was talking about. “Anyway, when would Brian and I have had time for a snog? I only met him that day and Kendra was with us the whole time until she left to go find James after the match. Then we were with his parents until the three of them left that day.”
“And he hasn’t come to Hogwarts any other times since then for a quick tryst?” Arlene asked, looking pointedly at Isabel.
“No, he hasn’t, so stop thinking like that. I know he’s older than we are, but like I said, you can trust him,” Lily said evenly, even though she was tiring of the conversation.
“Then we will,” Rebecca said, emphasizing the last word and looking pointedly at Isabel who muttered, “Sorry, Lily.”
Ebba called from where she was sitting several places down the table, “I think she’s been reading too many Olivia Lovelace romance novels, Lily!”
“And listening to too many Celestina Warbeck songs on the wireless,” Lily added, eliciting a chorus of “Eeww! Not hers” from the other second year girls.
As she stood to go to her first lesson of the day, Lily asked Isabel and Arlene, “So you’re all right with me writing to Brian?”
Arlene reached over and put her hand on Lily’s. “Yes, we are. And you’ll share his news with us so we won’t worry about you?”
“As much as I can without breaking his trust in me,” Lily told her honestly.
“Good,” Arlene said, getting up as well. “I’ll see you in Transfiguration. I forgot my essay and need to go back upstairs for it.”
Lily waved at her two friends and left the Great Hall feeling a little overwhelmed by their concern, but also happy that they were accepting of her friendship with Brian.
*
1010 hours, Saturday, 6 March 2021
“They’re here!”
James heard the simultaneous announcements from his seat on one of the sofas facing the Gryffindor common room fireplace. The first person to express his joy was his brother who stood at the window overlooking the long curving drive from the front gates of the school. The second excited voice belonged to his sister as she crawled through the portrait hole.
James grinned and pulled at the neck of his Weasley jumper, feeling as if the day was starting off quite auspiciously because Brian Nelson was back for another visit and today was the day that Scorpius Malfoy was finally returning to school, according to Albus and Rose. He wondered why he felt so excited about Scorpius’ return, because he didn’t know him at all. Maybe the good feeling was because one of Hogwarts’ own was finally back where he belonged for good. It made sense, really, because so many of his brother’s friends had been affected by Scorpius’ absence. Then again, maybe he was just happy that Brian was back for another visit.
As Albus flew past his seat, heading for the portrait hole to greet Scorpius and his parents in the Entrance Hall, he yelled, “Come on, Rose! Come on, James! We’ll miss them!”
Rose threw down the copy of the Daily Prophet she was reading and dashed after Albus. A moment later, the portrait slammed shut with a sigh and all within the common room heard the Fat Lady grumble something about out of control fourth years.
Lily came to stand in front of James. She extended her hand, saying, “Come on, big brother. Let’s go see Brian before the match.”
James took his sister’s hand and pulled himself to his feet. He shook his head. “You can go see Brian without me. I promised to meet Kendra at the stadium instead,” he said. “We’ll meet you in the Gryffindor stands a little after eleven. We need to save an aisle seat for Brian, right Lily?”
Nodding affirmatively, Lily said, “Yes. We’ve decided to see whether the girls in Gryffindor are less catty than the Ravenclaw girls. By the way, how did you know Brian was here anyway?”
James chuckled as he pushed open the portrait hole. “You’ve been camping out in the corridor across from Ackerley’s office since breakfast,” he said. “I’m surprised you haven’t worn a hole in the floor with your pacing.”
“And you know this because…”
“I put one of those sound-activated Notification Spells Dad taught us last summer on Ackerley’s door. If anyone walks or talks within twenty feet of the spell, it makes my wand buzz, and it’s been buzzing non-stop since breakfast. You’re quite the pacer when you’re worrying about something, Lily.”
They approached an intersecting corridor as Lily chuckled. “I know; I can’t help it when I’m excited. Hey, see you later, James.”
James raised his hand and waved at his sister who was already sprinting towards the door to Professor Ackerley’s office.
*
Lily knocked on Professor Ackerley’s door immediately upon her return to his office. Inside, she could hear multiple voices, one of whom belonged to Brian. Now, the voices stopped and the professor called out for her to come in.
“Hi Brian, hello Mr and Mrs Nelson, hello Professor,” she said as she walked into the professor’s office. Then she stopped, her mouth forming a perfect ‘O’ in surprise.
Brian beamed. “Like it?” he asked, indicating the floating chair he was sitting in.
“It’s… wonderful!” Lily squeaked, not knowing what to say. “Is this the surprise you wrote to me about?”
“It is. Come with me to Ravenclaw Tower. I’m going to see if I can get my chair up the staircase,” he said, sounding nervous.
Lily looked at Professor Ackerley. “Am I allowed in the tower?” she asked.
The professor smiled. “As long as you’re with a member of Ravenclaw house, you’re permitted in, Miss Potter.”
Lily grinned at both Brian and the professor. “Then I’ll be glad to,” she said.
Brian led the way to a part of the seventh floor Lily had never been before. However, she really didn’t pay much attention to how they went because she was too busy watching Brian manoeuvre his flying chair. At last, they stopped in front of a narrow spiral staircase.
“Are you sure you’ll fit?” she asked apprehensively.
“That’s one of the things I’m testing this morning,” Brian answered. “I’m also testing whether it’s wide enough to let someone pass me if we meet on the staircase. If not, the professors will need to enchant the staircase to let that happen.”
“What can I help with?” Lily asked.
“For now, just stay where you are,” he directed. “I’m going up backwards.” He positioned his chair at the bottom of the stairs and murmured a spell. It took a moment for anything to happen, and then the flying chair began inching its way from step to step.
“You can do it, Brian,” Lily whispered over and over as she watched her friend strain to magic himself and his chair up the steep spiral. Finally, after about half a storey, he gave up and guided the chair downwards until it came to a stop at Lily’s feet.
“That was wonderful!” she cried, bouncing up and down.
“No, it wasn’t,” he grumbled, sounding discouraged. “I didn’t even make it half way up, and this chair weighs considerably less than my wheeled one.”
“I say, Mr Nelson, I’m impressed with your progress,” Professor Ackerley joined in. “You’ve had this new chair less than three days and already you’ve mastered the basics of controlling it, including the stair charm. I don’t think we’ll need to do the second test.”
Lily and Brian both raised their eyebrows as Brian’s parents each asked, “Why?”
Professor Ackerley continued, “It was obvious to me that what is needed is a double staircase, one going each way, which will facilitate ingress and egress to the tower. Even if someone wants to push past you going the same way you are, Brian, there’s very little room, and with the number of students trying to get to lessons and meals on time, it would benefit our house if we had a means to facilitate the comings and goings of the students and be less dangerous for you.” When all four looked at him questioningly, he explained, “Ravenclaw house has needed a better staircase for centuries, but no one has done anything about it until now. Headmaster Wolcott has already approved any modifications I wish to make to the stairs. Shall we go back to my office to brainstorm the plans?”
Lily looked at Brian. He was wistfully looking upward towards the door to his common room. “Professor, is there time for Brian to show me his common room?”
Professor Ackerley smiled. “Of course there is, Lily.”
With the professor’s permission, Brian floated back to the stairs and slid onto the third step. “Lily, will you shrink my chair and bring it up for me?” he asked.
Lily took out her wand and whispered the Shrinking Charm she’d learned a few weeks ago, trying not to look to the Charms Professor for approval. It took a moment, but the chair slowly became small enough for her to pick up and pocket along with her wand. Then she followed Brian up the stairs.
“I’ve become much faster than I was three weeks ago,” Brian said as he floated backwards up the staircase.
“James told me about your spell. He was quite impressed,” Lily said.
They reached the top and Lily enlarged Brian’s chair with another spell she’d recently learned. Then the two of them faced the door and the eagle knocker.
“Don’t be surprised when it talks to you,” Brian said as he knocked once on the door.
A moment later, the eagle opened its beak and asked, “In the Muggle world, what is deaf, dumb and blind but always tells the truth?”
Brian looked at Lily, grinning. “Do you know the answer to that one?” he asked.
Lily thought a moment, thinking about Muggle objects her grandfather cherished. Finally, she nodded. “I think it’s a mirror because the qualifying word in the sentence is ‘Muggle’. Our mirrors all talk back,” she said, looking at Brian. “Did I get it right?”
“The only way to find out is to answer,” he replied.
“All right.” She looked directly at the door knocker and said firmly, “I think the answer is a mirror.” Then she waited, holding her breath.
“You must be familiar with Muggle objects, young Gryffindor,” said the eagle. “You and Mr Nelson may enter.” The door swung open and Lily released her breath, which made Brian laugh as he passed her.
Lily had heard from her Aunt Audrey about the dcor of the Ravenclaw common room, so she knew what to expect, but it was much more impressive in person than to hear about it second hand. The circular room reflected the house colours of blue and bronze in the hangings, carpet and ceiling paintings. As expected, there were bookcases on all the walls between the tall arched windows. Lily ran over to one to inspect the view as several of Brian’s housemates greeted him.
A few moments later, he called, “Lily, is it all right if I go upstairs for a bit? I won’t be long.”
Since one of Brian’s letters had talked about how he longed to see his dormitory and sit on his bed, Lily waved him away, saying, “Go on. I’m enjoying the view.” She watched him shrink his floating chair and then inch his way upward, followed by several of his friends.
“Thank you for being such a good friend to my son,” a female voice said in her ear.
Lily turned to see Mrs Nelson standing next to her. “He’s a good friend to me, too,” she said. “I really like receiving his letters.”
“Lily, I’ve read some of the letters Brian has received from the girls in his house in the last few weeks. Some of them haven’t been very nice, because they keep asking him why he just doesn’t cast a spell on himself and get up and walk. There were a few others who wanted him to give them a ride on his lap. Those angered me, but yours never do. He reads them often enough that the creases are becoming quite worn, and he asked me to put a preservation spell on them,” Mrs Nelson said quietly. “Is it all right if I share something only a mother can see…”
Lily looked at her expectantly.
“You and your letters make Brian happy, because you’ve accepted him as no other girl has since his accident, not even Kendra.”
This surprised Lily. “Is it because Kendra is James’ girlfriend?” she asked. “She’s always been accepting of everyone, even if they’re a bit different from the rest of us.”
Mrs Nelson smiled. “That’s exactly it, Lily. She’s given her heart to another and while she seems to like my son, I think she still feels a little uncomfortable around him. I don’t think you do, and neither does your brother. I’m grateful to you both.”
“Then as Brian’s true friend, can I ask you something?” Lily asked.
“Of course.”
“Would it be all right if my brothers and I make a special broom chair for Brian?” Lily asked boldly, crossing her fingers behind her back. “We have a Quidditch pitch at our house and over the Christmas hols, my brothers and cousins rigged my dad’s wheelchair to fly instead of roll. He was so happy to be flying again, and I think Brian misses being on a broom more than he lets on. We’d only make the chair for him with your permission,” she added quickly.
“Brian’s asked about going flying several times, but we’ve always avoided the subject, Lily. Let me talk to Mr Nelson. I think I can persuade him to give you permission to make the broom chair,” she said smiling.
They spoke no further on the subject because Brian came downstairs at that moment. He was smiling from ear to ear even though he seemed surprised to see his mother standing next to Lily.
“What are you doing up here, Mum?” he asked.
Mrs Nelson laughed. “I answered the question correctly, dear. The eagle even remembered me, so he let me in.”
Brian looked at his watch. “I’m glad he did,” he said, “but we need to hurry if we’re going to see the beginning of the match.”
“That time already?” Lily asked, looking around and finding the common room completely deserted.
“It is. I’ll go down first if you’ll follow me with my chair,” he answered.
They exited the common room and started down the steps. The journey took a lot less time because Brian was letting gravity help him with his spell. In no time, he, Lily, and his parents had reached the seventh floor and soon were exiting the castle, Brian having slithered down every staircase by himself. The four of them went their separate ways at the entrance to the stadium, Lily and Brian reaching their seats next to James and Kendra in the Gryffindor section just as Madam Hooch released the balls.
*
Albus and Rose had raced headlong down all seven staircases to arrive in the Entrance Hall puffing like the Hogwarts Express. It was deserted except for the five boys Albus recognized as the ones who had been riding in Scorpius’ compartment on the day he was kidnapped. They greeted Albus and Rose with excited smiles.
“Rose, Albus, glad you’re here,” Preston called.
“Why wouldn’t we be here?” Rose queried as they skidded to a stop in front of the group and Albus gasped, “We told–Scorpius–we’d meet him here–didn’t we?”
Shrugging, Preston answered, “It wouldn’t feel right to serenade Scorpius with the songs from your birthday prank without you.”
Albus crossed his arms and tried to look tough, but couldn’t stop laughing. “You’re really going to repeat those ridiculous songs?” he asked once he’d recovered his breathing well enough to speak coherently.
Rose nudged him with her elbow. “Of course they are, and I’m going to help them–someone has to keep you on pitch. You can join in, too, if you want,” she said, grinning.
“I’ll sing with Ben, then. I’m in for a good nursery rhyme or two,” Albus chortled, walking over to where Ben was standing and flinging an arm across the Slytherin’s shoulders. Ben threw him a grateful look and muttered his thanks.
“I’ll start the singing with Evan,” Rose said, her voice taking on a somewhat bossy tone. “What was the order again?”
“I think it went Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff and then Ravenclaw,” Neal said as Scott nodded in agreement.
Rose looked thoughtful and then grinned. “Let’s stand the way the house tables are arranged. If Evan and I stand here, then you and Ben need to make room for Scott, Neal and Preston, Albus.”
The boys exchanged eye rolls, but let Rose line them up. She had just scurried back to stand beside Evan when the castle door opened to reveal Scorpius and his parents silhouetted against the late winter morning. Rose held up a hand and counted down on her fingers, beginning to sing “Happy Birthday” when she closed her fist. The boys let her get through one chorus before starting on their own house songs and by the time Preston joined in with “The Wall,” the Entrance Hall was ringing with discordant notes and Scorpius and his parents were grinning from ear to ear.
“That was brilliant!” he exclaimed, coming up to the group. “This was what James and Lily made every one do at breakfast the day I was rescued?”
Albus nodded, feeling suddenly serious. “Rose’s dad, my Uncle Ron, gave me another birthday present,” he said. “He rescued you that day.”
Scorpius’ eyebrows shot up. “He rescued me on your birthday? I didn’t know that,” he said, sounding awestruck.
“I don’t think he remembered Albus’ birthday until after you were safe,” Rose said. “He seemed shocked when we told our parents about the prank.”
Albus scuffed the toe of his trainer against the flagged stone floor. “I didn’t mind,” he said quietly. “Getting you out of there safely was more important than my fifteenth birthday.”
“Maybe the two of you can celebrate the day together next year,” Mrs Malfoy suggested. “You both will have something to commemorate that day.”
Startled, Albus glanced over at Scorpius and saw that he was grinning. “That might be a good thing to do, Mother,” Scorpius said.
Preston cleared his throat. “Erm, Scorp, do you need to put your things away before we head over to the stadium?” he asked.
“Father sent my trunk and book bag ahead of us from the Three Broomsticks,” Scorpius replied. “I’m ready if the rest of you are.”
With a whoop that made the Entrance Hall echo, Albus and the rest of Scorpius’ friends started for the Quidditch stadium. There was a slight scrum at the door while the boys vied for who had the honours of opening the door for Mrs Malfoy, and after she and Scorpius’ dad went through, they tumbled out onto the front steps, pushing and laughing until everyone was outside. It was then that Albus noticed that Scorpius had hung back and was now walking very close to Rose. The two had their heads together and when he looked closer, he could swear that his friend and his cousin were holding hands.
Good for them, he thought, and he raced ahead to join his friends, leaving the two lovebirds to find their own seats for the match.
*
Scorpius had thoroughly enjoyed watching Hufflepuff beat Ravenclaw. He and Rose had found seats together at the top of the stands, many rows back from the rest of his friends. It didn’t bother Scorpius that he wasn’t sitting with them. In fact, he had been happy to sit quietly conversing with her until the race for the Snitch began. In the meantime, it had been really nice to just sit and talk about this and that and not have the pressure of someone asking how he was doing every half hour–like his mum did. They had even lingered in their seats until well after the other students had left so he didn’t have to be part of the crowd exiting the stadium. Rose had seemed so content to sit with him that he finally confessed that big crowds bothered him. She had squeezed his hand then, asking if he was avoiding potential confrontations with curious reporters, and told him he was brave to go to the match. When they had finally ventured back into the castle, he thanked her for a brilliant afternoon and had repeated his request that she go with him to the village the next time there was a Hogsmeade weekend. She had agreed again and he was actually a bit sad when they parted at the Great Hall doors to go sit with their respective houses at dinner.
Now, forty minutes before curfew, Scorpius sat in a corner of the Slytherin common room staring at one of his textbooks. He hadn’t turned a page in nearly a twenty minutes, so deep was he in thought. He jumped when Ben dropped his book bag on the floor and flung himself into the chair nearest to Scorpius.
“Hey, Scorpius, revising for the Astronomy test we’re having on Friday?” he asked.
Scorpius sighed and closed his book. “Nope. I know it already,” he said. He hesitated and then mumbled, “I don’t think this is such a good idea.”
Ben raised an eyebrow. “What’s not a good idea?”
“Me coming back for good.”
“What do you mean?”
“I still wake up screaming sometimes.” The confession came out in nearly a whisper.
Ben inched his chair closer to Scorpius’. “Don’t let Goyle and Harper hear you say that,” he muttered. “They’ll have it broadcast through Slytherin in no time and the whole school will know by breakfast.”
Scorpius leaned his elbows on the table, his face in his hands. “Don’t I know that?” he groaned. “But how am I supposed to keep everyone from waking up? My mum’s been casting Silencing Spells on my room so my dad can sleep.”
“I think I can help,” a voice said, making Scorpius jump.
“How so?” Scorpius asked as a boy named Brent walked up to the two friends and sat down across from Scorpius.
“Your dad talked to our head of house about your nightmares, Scorpius,” Brent said in an undertone. Scorpius recognized him as the fifth year Prefect. “Professor Pritchard told me after dinner and made me promise I’d cast a Silencing Spell each night for as long as you want one. I also promised not to tell anyone I was casting it for you.”
Feeling relieved, Scorpius said, “Thanks.” He yawned deeply, suddenly more tired than he cared to admit. “Could you cast it now?”
Brent smiled and stood up. “I’ll be right back.”
Ten minutes later, Scorpius lay down in his bed and pulled up the covers. He could faintly hear the sounds of Ben rummaging around in his trunk, but he knew nothing would escape his four-poster. Boldly, he closed the curtains closest to Ben’s bed and left a six-inch opening in the curtains closest to the wall. The faint green glow slipping through the opening was reassuring, even though it let in a cold draft. He knew he was making progress; it would only be a matter of time before he would be able to close the hangings completely. In the meantime, he sighed in contentment, thankful for Brent’s solution to his problem. He turned on his side and fell asleep, thinking about his new friendship with Rose.
*
2247 hours, Sunday, 7 March 2021
Rain pounded against the family room windows as Hermione, deep in thought, stared at the drops running pell-mell down the glass.
“Shall I throw another log on the fire?” Ron’s voice broke through her reverie, making her jump. “Sorry, love,” he said. “You’re a thousand light years away.”
Hermione sighed. “I’ve a lot on my mind,” she said over the rim of her tea mug.
Ron tossed another log on the fire and returned to the sofa. “Nervous about tomorrow?”
“That obvious?”
“The last time you were this distracted, you were going to be interviewing for the Department Head’s position,” he chuckled as he reminisced, “and you aced the interview. That was over ten years ago.”
She came to sit next to him, snuggling into his side and laying her head on his shoulder. He automatically put his arm around her. “You’re right, as usual, Ron,” she said. “I can’t stop thinking about the trial.”
Ron began stroking the back of her neck. The massage felt wonderful as it chased away the beginnings of a headache. “Hermione, you’ve sat through lots of proceedings in the last ten years. What’s so different about this one?” he asked, his fingers gently soothing her tension away.
Hermione pulled away a little in order to see his face. “For one thing, I’ve always sat with Harry in the Wizengamot box. Unfortunately for me, he’s excused himself because he’s testifying and because he’s too intimately involved in the case to pass judgement fairly,” she began.
Ron scowled. “You’re just as ‘intimately involved’ because he’s your best friend and relative by marriage and the chief investigator is your husband,” he said. “Up until now you’ve been determined to see justice done, no matter how many family members are involved. Why let that get in your way now?”
“Because I’m suddenly having second thoughts on my ability to pass judgement fairly, that’s why,” she shot back, standing up and beginning to pace in front of the fireplace. “You see, this is the first trial where the major players–the Aurors and the plaintiff–are too close to me to see the whole picture objectively. I know personally what the defendant’s actions have done to the victims. I’ve watched Ginny crumble under the pressure, comforted all three of their children and watched Harry claw back to some semblance of normal life all because someone had an agenda that didn’t discriminate between head of department and minion. I’m not sure I can separate my personal feelings enough to look at the facts in the case without prejudice.”
Ron stared at her for a long moment before he said, “I’ll give you the same advice you gave me six months ago.” He came to stand before her and took both her hands in his. “If you feel in your heart that you can judge fairly and see justice done, you need to participate in this trial.”
Hermione closed her eyes and nodded, acknowledging his words.
He continued, saying, “All of the members of my investigative team were close to or old friends of Harry’s, love. At times it was difficult to put our personal feelings aside, but we did it because our desire to stop the Matron was stronger than our feelings.”
“I know they were, Ron, and I’m proud of you for persevering,” Hermione murmured with a small smile.
Ron grinned back at her. “The trial will be hard, but I know you’ll do what’s best for the Wizarding public and for Harry and the other victims,” he told her.
Hermione threw her arms around Ron’s neck, pulling him into a fierce hug. “Thanks for reminding me,” she whispered.
He hugged her back asking, “So you’ll be sitting in the Wizengamot’s box tomorrow?”
She sighed and nodded her head against his collar bone. “I will be, Ron, I will be.”
*
A/N: I nearly called this chapter “Friendship” for several reasons. First, it’s the friendships between Lily and the other second year Gryffindors, Brian and Lily, and Rose, Albus, Ben, Preston, Evan, Neal, Ben, and Scorpius that are predominant this chapter. Second, it’s those same friendships that are helping Brian and Scorpius assimilate back into the Hogwarts student population. Of course the two boys could have managed it by themselves, but having someone to talk with about their fears, frustrations and joys makes the task a little easier. Third, it’s my friendship with Miz636 that ultimately helped me to get this chapter written without the fear that I was making Lily and her friends sound like grown-ups. It’s been a long time since I was a teenager and I seem to have forgotten what it’s like. Miz636 was a wonderful help to me because she was willing to give her expert opinion on the importance of Lily’s friends being able to trust Brian. She also reassured me that twelve-year-old girls do talk like Lily’s friends do, and finally, she helped me understand who Scorpius might confess his lingering fears to and why he would choose one person over another. Thank you, Miz, for helping to make this chapter what it is.
I have other thank yous to say, namely to Mutt n Feathers, RebeccaRipple, RSS and Rosina Ferguson for their corrections and comments which helped me prepare the chapter before I sent it to Aggiebell. You ladies are wonderful! And Aggiebell, thank you for the additional commas as well as your comments. I’m glad I was able to make you get all sappy over Scorpius’ return to Hogwarts!
Chapter 37: 37: Prosecution
Author's Notes: When I sat down to write this chapter, I found myself faced with a rather daunting task, that of deciding what to call the person presiding over the trial. As I pointed out to Aggiebell, the person presiding over the Death Eater trials in Dumbledore’s Pensieve and Harry’s own hearing are identified by name and not by title: in the 1980s trials it was Barty Crouch, Senior and at Harry’s hearing Cornelius Fudge actually ran the show… and both wizards had specific titles due to their jobs in the Ministry. I started digging through the various internet sites and discovered the title of “Interrogator”. The problem I now faced was that the “judge” in my trial was the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and how to interpret his role in the chapter because I also provided the defence and prosecution with lawyers.
What this long-winded explanation is meant to do is clarify why I’ve chosen to call the person presiding over the trial “the Interrogator.” As a writer, I know I have the freedom to give a character any title I want; however, since I’m working with someone else’s creation, I feel it’s important to stay true to titles they’ve established. So… whether the Interrogator asks questions of the witnesses or not, the title stays.
I’ve had a lot of help with the proceedings in this chapter and two of my pre-betas, Rosina Ferguson and Mutt n Feathers, have been particularly supportive. Thank you for listening, rebutting and providing valuable internet links which have enabled me to sculpt this trial into what it is.
I also want to thank Miz636, RebeccaRipple and RSS for taking the time to read, comment and suggest things that ultimately made this chapter the best it can be. You three rock!
I hope you enjoy the chapter enough to let me know your opinion. I look forward to replying to your reviews.
Aftermath: Part 4
Tuesday, 9 March 2021
The trial of Shirley Gorman, or the Malevolent Matron as the Daily Prophet had labelled her, was to begin its second day as Harry rolled into Courtroom Ten. The courtroom hadn’t changed much in the twenty-six years since he'd first been in it: the stone walls were still as dark and foreboding as they had been back in 1995, but several brightly lit chandeliers had been added to the torches on the walls which did away with the numerous shadows Harry remembered from that first hearing. Unfortunately, the door still clanged ominously behind those entering the room and the chair for the accused still sat in the middle of the polished marble floor, its binding chains at the ready.
Harry paused to take it all in again, acknowledging the ghosts of the past, even after all these years: Cornelius Fudge, Dolores Umbridge, Professor Dumbledore, Amelia Bones, and Arabella Figg–no matter how many times he entered this room, whether to testify for or against the defendant as the head of the Auror Department, or to sit in judgment in the Wizengamot, they never ceased to make themselves known to him. Yesterday, which had been taken up with the reading of the charges against Shirley Gorman and the prosecution’s opening statement, hadn’t been much different since he’d had to convince himself that the Interrogator standing behind the podium wasn’t Cornelius Fudge.
However, before the trial could even begin, there had been a big delay due to the discussion by and decision of the Wizengamot to allow Hermione Weasley, who represented the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, to sit in judgement as part of their body. The defence had been concerned that Hermione would be biased towards the prosecution side because she was so close to one of the victims as well as the Aurors. The same concern had been brought up about Bill Weasley, who had taken over his family’s seat several years ago when Arthur had stepped down upon his retirement from the Ministry, and also Draco Malfoy, who filled the Malfoy family seat. In the end, it had been decided that Bill and Draco would sit out because Bill had too many family members in various capacities involved in the trial and Draco was father to one of the victims. Both men had then taken places in the spectator gallery while Hermione remained with the Wizengamot.
At the end of the day, the defence counsel was heard complaining to the press about how unfairly they were being treated because Hermione Weasley remained on the jury. Much to Harry’s disgust, Tuesday morning’s Daily Prophetwas trumpeting in the editorial section that the Wizengamot was biased against the defendant because of her presence. It seemed as if the paper wanted the best of both worlds: a criminal they’d given a moniker to and a way to make the Wizengamot look bad.
The courtroom was crowded, not only with what was left of the full Wizengamot, but with packed press, witness and spectator galleries as well. Last night at dinner, Harry and Ginny had agreed that she would arrive earlier than he did this morning to save him an aisle seat on the end of one of the spectator benches closest to the witness section.
“Harry, up here!”
Harry looked up to see Ginny waving at him from her place on the lowest level right next to the stairs to the witness and spectator galleries. It was very conspicuous seating, but Harry knew his wife had picked that location for two important reasons: one, Harry was a victim, and two, he couldn’t safely leave his wheelchair in the aisle–the prosecution wanted it left where all could see–so he had agreed to leave it on the main floor of the courtroom when he was seated in the gallery.
Ginny left her seat and came down to assist him, levitating both him and his chair up to the landing next to their seats. Harry made quick work of sliding onto the bench, after which Ginny brought the chair down to the main floor and secured it with a spell. Harry had a feeling his wife had left it where she did because from what he could see, the defendant couldn’t miss it from her seat in the middle of the room. If Brian’s chair joined his–and Harry expected it would–he suspected their presence would be a little unnerving, at least it would be to him.
“Have you talked to Hermione this morning?” Ginny asked as she took her seat again.
Harry shook his head. “No, but I did see Ron. He said she took the Wizengamot’s decision quite seriously and so far is dealing with the pressure well. Erm, he also told me they’re going to call Payton Stilwell first so he can explain his history with Mrs Gorman,” he told her.
“I see,” she murmured. “Oh, I saved three places one bench up for Brian and his family. Keep a close eye out for them, will you, Harry?”
“Of course, love. More strategic manoeuvrings by the prosecution?” he ask.
Ginny just grinned a calculating grin and tipped her head in the direction of the Wizengamot. “Miss Midgen wants the jury to be fully aware of the consequences of Mrs Gorman’s experimentation and all that entails,” she said.
Harry just nodded, his suspicions confirmed.
The other witnesses began to filter into the courtroom. Mark Huntley arrived first and upon spotting Harry and Ginny came over to greet them.
“Auror Potter, Mrs Potter, it’s so nice to see you,” he said with a genuine smile. “You both are looking much better than the last time we met.”
Harry shook the proffered hand while smiling sheepishly. “You have the disadvantage over me Mr Huntley,” he said. “I vaguely remember you from the NMI Ward and everything I learned subsequently was from Ron Weasley. I take it Ireland and the Irish division of The Groves is agreeing with you?”
Huntley smiled. “It’s beautiful there and the patients are so appreciative. I can’t thank Healer Stilwell enough for arranging the position for me.”
“Are you working with magical or Muggle patients?” Ginny asked.
“A mix, just like at the English hospital. It makes for an interesting day,” Mark said, smiling.
“And your health?” Harry asked. “Any side-effects from the Matron’s potions?”
Huntley’s expression darkened. “Some. You’ll learn about those when I’m up on the stand.”
Ginny reached over Harry and grasped Huntley’s hand. “I’m sorry you can’t be completely free from her,” she said looking between the two men.
“I have to look at it from the point that I’m luckier than Tim was,” Mark said. “I’m alive and thankful to be so.” He shook himself as if to rid his mind of something, then he asked, “How are your children? I thought perhaps your oldest son would have wanted to watch the trial.”
Harry spoke first. “We talked about it as a family and as much as James wanted to take part in the proceedings, we decided that it wouldn’t be fair for one to watch while the other two stayed at school. Besides, James has his OWLs coming up and he needs the time to revise.”
Mark grinned as he asked, “And will he use the time to revise?”
Ginny laughed. “He’d better. He’s trying to earn back the privilege of owning one of Harry’s school items, and he’s promised us he’ll stay out of the broom cupboards with his girlfriend in order to get it back.”
“Maybe his girlfriend will keep him on task, then,” Mark said as he looked over his shoulder at the witness gallery, which was filling up quickly. “I’ll talk to you later perhaps?”
“Sounds good,” Harry said as Mark left them.
George and Angelina Weasley stopped by next. As they passed, Angelina reached over and put her hand on Ginny’s shoulder. “Hang in there, kiddo,” she said, and Harry was surprised to see a single tear slide down his wife’s face.
“Thanks. I will,” she whispered as she dug in her hand bag for a handkerchief. Harry handed his wife his.
“What was all that about?” Harry asked as his sister-in-law went to sit with her husband.
“Girl stuff,” was Ginny’s answer.
They sat watching the crowd for several more minutes as the clock slowly ticked off the moments until the trial was scheduled to begin. Then, at the very last minute, Brian Nelson floated through the doorway in his new flying chair, followed by his parents. A murmur ran through the galleries as people noticed him. He ignored the murmurs, pausing as if looking for someone and then waving in Harry’s direction. Harry waved back.
“Thank you so much for saving us the seats,” Jocelyn Nelson said as she sat down behind Harry.
“Why don’t they want us to shrink our chairs?” Brian asked. “Everyone has to walk around them.”
Harry traded glances with Ginny as he answered, “I think that’s the point. Miss Midgen wants the Wizengamot to see the results of what Shirley Gorman has done to us and her other victims. If our chairs were conveniently tucked away in our pockets they wouldn’t have the same impact.”
Brian’s expression changed as he caught on. “Sorta like that saying, ‘out of sight, out of mind’?” he asked.
“That’s the general idea,” Harry said, happy to see his young friend had understood so quickly.
Further conversation was curtailed by the loud boom of the courtroom door closing. The spectators fell silent as movement on the floor of the courtroom signalled the start of the trial. Harry let his gaze wander, taking in the Ministry’s two barristers and the defendant’s lone representative, and remembering how Mrs Gorman had fought to represent herself for over a week before finally giving in and acquiescing to having someone sit at the counsel’s table for her.
While this was taking place, the court Usher opened the door again, admitting the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, the wizard who would run the trial and eventually mete out the recommended punishment, if Shirley Gorman was indeed found “guilty.”
“All stand for Lysander Bailey, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and Interrogator for this trial,” intoned the court Usher as a portly wizard in ornate plum-coloured robes with the Wizengamot “W” emblazoned on the left chest took his place at the podium.
Harry felt conspicuous not standing as was required, but he had been assured by Eloise Midgen that the court knew he and Brian meant no disrespect because they couldn’t stand. Even so, he glanced back at Brian and found him peering raptly between Ginny and the woman next to her. With a rap of his gavel, Bailey signalled everyone to sit.
Next, the accused witch, surrounded by four goblins, was brought into the room. She wore the plain grey robes of someone who resided in Azkaban rather than the chartreuse robes of a healer that Harry had last seen her in. When she sat on the chair in the centre of the room, the chains on its arms and front legs immediately secured her with a loud, ominous rattle that sent chills up Harry’s spine.
Ginny patted his knee, but did not look at him, choosing to gaze at Interrogator Bailey instead. Harry took a moment to locate Hermione who was seated amongst the jury and whose attention was also centred on the wizard presiding over the trial.
“We are here today, Tuesday, the ninth of March, two thousand twenty-one, to hear testimony in the criminal trial of Shirley Yvonne Gorman,” intoned Interrogator Bailey. “Yesterday, eighth March two thousand twenty-one, we heard the charges read against the accused as well as the prosecution’s opening statement. Therefore, Miss Midgen, you may call your first witness.”
Eloise stood and said clearly, “Your Honour, I now call Healer Payton Stilwell.”
All eyes zeroed in on the witness section of the courtroom, where Healer Stilwell was seated in the middle with several other St Mungo’s employees. He rose and followed the usher to the witness’ chair, after which he was sworn in.
However, before Miss Midgen could begin her questions, Interrogator Bailey called her up to the bench. The two talked quietly and then she beckoned to her assistant who scurried to her side. A moment later the assistant crossed the courtroom and walked up to Harry and Ginny.
“The Chief Warlock requests that the two wheelchairs be taken off the courtroom floor,” she said quietly.
“I’ll get them,” Ginny said, rising from her seat and stepping over Harry.
The assistant murmured her thanks as Ginny moved quickly down the steps, shrunk the two chairs and brought them both back to their owners as Eloise addressed her witness.
“Healer Stilwell, what is your relationship to the accused?” asked Miss Midgen.
Payton took a moment to survey the courtroom, his eyes resting last on the defendant’s chair. “I have known and worked with the defendant for more than twenty years,” he began. “When I began my healer training in 1997, Shirley Gorman, who was at that time known to me as Shirley Higgins, was a Potioneer on the Injuries floor of St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. At the time, the Healer-in-Charge and I were treating paralysis cases with conventional potions and not having much success. I sought out Shirley’s help because I had heard she was experimenting with several types of nerve-regeneration potions. In April of 1998, she agreed to work with me and together, over the next four years, we experimented with several potions, one of which has become the main nerve-regeneration potion used in the Non-Magical Injuries Ward.”
“So it took you four years to develop a successful potion?”
“Yes. We began clinical trials in July of 2002 and officially began using the nerve-regeneration potion with every spinal cord injury case a year later.”
“Please describe what this potion does for your patients,” Miss Midgen directed.
“Without going into the chemical details, the potion stimulates severed nerves and causes them to knit together again, thus giving the patient back his or her mobility.”
“Is this potion guaranteed to work on every patient?”
“To some degree, it works for every patient, yes, but no two injuries are alike, so some patients have a lesser degree of success with the potion than others.”
“I see. Have you always worked with the defendant in a healer-potioneer relationship?”
“No. Shirley left St Mungo’s in late 2011. I didn’t hear from her for several years, as she left the potions lab rather angry with me. We had argued over the royalties from the potion’s patent as well as other recognition-related issues and weren’t speaking at the time. The next time I met her was in the autumn of 2015 when she was assigned to my ward, the Non-Magical Injuries Ward, as one of the Matrons.”
“How would you describe your relationship since her return?”
“Professional. When she was first assigned to my ward I didn’t recognize her name because she had married during her absence. It would have been inappropriate for us to have the sort of relationship we’d had before she left the hospital.”
“And what sort of a relationship was that?”
“Close friendship, at one time bordering on the romantic.”
“I see. Did anything become of your relationship?”
“No. I married someone Shirley did not approve of.”
The defence barrister suddenly surged to his feet. “Objection!” he called out, “On the grounds that the witness is speculating.”
The Interrogator turned to Healer Stilwell. “Please refrain from speculating on the defendant’s opinion.”
Healer Stilwell threw an annoyed glance at the defence barrister.
Eloise quickly said, “I’ll redirect.” She turned to her witness. “Healer Stilwell, did your wife and the defendant ever become friendly?”
“Camilla and Shirley were best friends when I met my wife, so yes, they had been friendly for a while,” Payton answered. “Camilla was training on the Injuries floor to be a Matron when I met her and we worked closely together on many occasions. Sometimes during the early years of our relationship the three of us would go to a nearby pub after work and I quickly discovered I was attracted to her.”
“Were you and Camilla sneaky about your relationship in front of Mrs Gorman?”
“Actually, we weren’t. Camilla thought Shirley would be happy for us and at first we thought she was. It wasn’t until we actually became engaged that Shirley began saying disparaging things about Camilla.”
“Why do you think she did that?”
“I confronted her several times about her comments, but she never gave me a definitive answer as to why,” Payton said. “She just became rather distant for a while when we were working together, treated me like one of her house-elves, referring to Camilla as ‘your fiance’ or ‘your girlfriend’ instead of by name. She also stopped talking to Camilla unless it had something to do with a patient.”
“I see,” Eloise said. “Has there ever been a case where the potion didn’t work?”
Healer Stilwell paused, cleared his throat and then said, “Up until three years ago every patient I administered the nerve-regeneration potion to left my ward with greater mobility than when he or she entered it, and that included many spell-damaged patients who had been injured in the war against Voldemort.”
“What happened?”
“Three years ago, several patients who were making very good progress toward a nearly complete recovery suddenly became ill and mysteriously died. It was as if these patients became allergic to the nerve-regeneration potion because their symptoms worsened after every new dose.”
“Did you find a pattern of any sort?”
“At first, there wasn’t one, but then my staff began noticing that the patients were most affected whenever Mrs Gorman was on duty. I changed the times the patients received their potions and the problem resolved itself.”
“I see–”
The defence counsel jumped to his feet again, calling, “Objection! The witness is introducing a correlation not yet entered into evidence.”
“Overruled,” intoned Interrogator Bailey. “The witness is stating a fact about what his staff observed.”
Grumbling under his breath, the defence counsel sat down.
Eloise continued her questioning. “Were there any other problems with the potion after that?”
“Not for a while. However, other departments began sending patients with mysterious paralysis to me about two years ago.”
“Please describe these patients.”
“Most of them were Aurors or Magical Law Enforcement personnel. I admit to being rather befuddled at the time by what was causing their problems. It took about three months and several deaths before it was discovered that the Aurors had been injured by flying shrapnel during duels with certain suspects. The same with the MLE personnel.”
Ginny surprised Harry by suddenly reaching over and taking his hand. “I’m thankful you weren’t one of those deaths,” she whispered.
Harry squeezed her hand. “I am, too.”
On the stand, Healer Stilwell was saying, “Once we–and by ‘we’ I mean the Healers-in-Charge of the various departments–learned about the pieces of metal and glass that were mostly lodged in the victims’ legs, we developed a spell for detecting foreign bodies to be used on any Auror brought into the A and E.”
“Did the spell cure the Aurors or help prevent illness or death?”
“No, it’s just meant to detect objects in the body that shouldn’t be there. Most of the time, we found that the objects extracted from our patients had been soaked in some sort of potion, usually a poison. The trick is to quickly find the antidote to the poison before the victim becomes too ill and dies.”
“So whenever an Auror is brought in to the A and E ward, the detection spell is administered?”
“That is what is supposed to happen.”
“I take it the spell isn’t always administered. Do you recall a time when it wasn’t?”
Healer Stilwell reached for the glass of water, which sat on the arm of his chair and took a sip before answering. As he did so, his eyes found Harry and then moved over to where Brian sat. “Yes, the most recent incident was on the morning of Monday, twenty-seven October two thousand-twenty. The victim was Head Auror Harry Potter.”
The reaction to this bit of news caused a murmur to rush through the spectators and Harry felt every eye fall on him. As an act of self-preservation, he tuned out Healer Stilwell’s testimony as he described what had happened that night and the subsequent five days. He refocused as Healer Stilwell answered another of Miss Midgen’s questions.
“I scheduled Mr Potter for transport to The Groves on Sunday, 1st November.”
“What is the normal procedure for preparing a patient for transport?”
Healer Stilwell smiled. “A bath.”
“Who administered Mr Potter’s bath that morning?”
“Matron Gorman and Matron’s Assistants Dawson and Huntley.”
“Did they report anything unusual happening while they were preparing Mr Potter?”
“His file states that he was given a bath and then levitated onto the trolley by his wife, Ginevra, who had requested a lesson in moving her husband magically.”
“Were there any problems during transfer?”
“No.”
“What about Mr Potter’s first night at The Groves?”
Again, Harry let his attention wander, mostly because he didn’t want to remember how much he had hurt that first evening and then in the days that followed his operation to remove the needles from his back. He momentarily refocused when Miss Midgen produced the vial of needles and the projectile and the spectators’ murmuring became so loud that the Interrogator had to call for silence.
“Let us go forward a month to another case, that of Brian Nelson. Would you briefly describe his stay in your ward, please?”
“Brian was a fifteen-year-old student at Hogwarts who was injured during Quidditch practice late in November of last year. Madam Pomfrey, the medi-witch at the school, sent him to St Mungo’s when it became apparent that his spinal injuries were beyond anything she was capable of curing. Brian had been in my ward for several days, making good progress towards recovery while taking the approved dosages of the nerve-regeneration potion, when he woke up screaming one afternoon.”
One row above him, Harry heard Jocelyn Nelson sniff and her son whisper, “It’s all right, Mum.”
“Was there a reason your patient was screaming?”
Healer Stilwell gave a brief description of what had occurred. Then, he said, “When he screamed from the pain again, I watched him carefully; it was as if he was being tortured, which gave me the idea that he might have been assaulted by someone intending to injure him, just as someone had tried to kill Mr Potter. When I took a closer look, I discovered several infinitesimal dots on the sheet Brian was lying on.”
“Why were these dots questionable?”
“They were the same colours as the potions that had leaked out of the needles I found in Mr Potter’s spinal cord.”
“And what actions did you take after you discovered the dots?”
“I called Brian’s parents and the Aurors before administering the Foreign Body Detection Spell and discovering there were pieces of metal lodged in Brian’s spine that hadn’t been there the last time I’d examined him.”
“And when was that?”
“I had examined Brian, testing his reflexes and reactions to pain, early that morning.”
“I see. What happened next?”
“I was just about to order the preparation of the operating theatre when Brian began screaming again. Auror Weasley, who was with me at the time as a witness, cast some detection spells of his own and was able to arrest a suspect in due course.”
“And what of Brian Nelson?”
“He will never walk again, the damage done to his nerves by the needles inserted into his spinal cord is too great.”
As the crowd switched its gaze from Healer Stilwell to Brian, Miss Midgen said, “I have no further questions, but request that you remain seated for cross-examination.”
The defence counsel stood and walked around his table. “Healer Stilwell, how did you know the potions in the two sets of needles were the same?”
“I didn’t. The colours were similar and made me suspicious. If I hadn’t acted the way I did, my patient might have died and that’s the last thing I wanted.”
“I have nothing further, Your Honour,” the defence counsel said, looking up at Interrogator Bailey before sitting down at his table.
Miss Midgen rose. “I now call Auror Harry Potter.”
Harry released a tension-filled sigh and waited as Ginny stood and went down the steps to the courtroom floor, where she enlarged his wheelchair. She then pointed her wand at him, casting the levitation spell and floating him down the stairs. Harry followed the Usher to the witness chair and slid onto it, leaving his wheelchair conspicuously next to his seat.
“Mr Potter, you are head of the Auror Department. What sorts of problems have you had in the past two or three years with your Aurors falling ill after a duel?” Eloise asked.
“As Healer Stilwell described, our problems began sometime in 2017,” Harry answered. “Mostly, my Aurors fell ill after duelling with certain members of a group of smugglers as well as several contraband potions groups. We lost two Aurors who died unexplained deaths in the Spell Damage ward. At the time, their healer had no explanation for why his normal courses of treatment had caused such an outcome in two perfectly healthy wizards. Three months later, four more Aurors fell ill, but this time exhibited signs of being poisoned. Again the hospital personnel could not find a reason for their symptoms, but managed to find the right antidote in time to save the life of one of the Aurors. Even though the other three succumbed to the poison, they gave us detailed affidavits describing their duels. We learned from their statements that all three had felt a stinging pain in the back of their legs at some point in their duels. When the bodies were examined, the patho-wizard found recently-healed scars which concealed small pieces of metal and glass.”
“You were hurt in such a duel. What happened?”
“I was lead Auror on a contraband potions case eighteen months ago. We were duelling in a wooded area surrounded by bushes. I had my back to the vegetation and at some point during the duel I experienced a stinging pain in my left thigh. This was significant because at the time, I was facing my opponent and the attack was from the back. Suddenly, the wizard I was duelling Apparated away. At the same time, there was a second popping sound from the woods. I suddenly felt sick and had my partner go to investigate. I woke up in hospital a day later; I’d been poisoned, temporarily paralyzed, and nearly killed by the piece of metal lodged in my leg.” Harry stopped and glanced up at Ginny who smiled at him. He smiled back.
“What did your department learn from your duel?”
“That many of these people actually worked in pairs: one duelling and the other in hiding, waiting for the opportunity to throw the projectiles.”
“Anything else?”
“Mostly that whoever was making the poisons had an advanced knowledge of potions, because no two were the same; there was always something a little different, some component that was new. It was frightening to me and my Aurors to think that we were being used to test someone’s potions formulas.”
Miss Midgen paused, looking at her notes. “Let’s jump forward twelve months to last October. Tell us about the night you were hurt, please.”
Harry drank deeply from his glass of water, using the time to organize his thoughts. Then he described how he and his team had decided to raid the house, who had been on the six-Auror team, their assignments that night and what had happened.
When he was done, Miss Midgen asked, “What made you ‘take the point’ as you called it?”
“I’ve been on a fair number of missions, Miss Midgen, and when Auror Bones’ revealing spells failed to work, my instincts took over; I just knew there was something out of place. Therefore, I indicated I would take the point, going first down into the cellar.”
“What happened next?”
“The stairs ended about ten feet from the cellar floor, which was too long to jump and would require us to Apparate into the cellar. I was standing on the bottom step when it gave way with a loud crack and I fell much farther than I expected.”
“And then…”
“What I remember is indistinct, but it involved great initial pain as I struck the ground, the feeling that my clothes were being removed, and more localized pain in several places in my back. I think I blacked out after that.”
“I see. What is the next thing you remember?”
“Waking up in hospital surrounded by my wife and family.”
“Thank you, Mr Potter,” Miss Midgen said. “I have no further questions but request that you remain seated for cross-examination.”
She sat down as the defence counsel stood up.
“Mr Potter, you just said you could feel your clothes being removed after you fell. How is that?”
Harry studied the tiny little wizard with the squeaky voice. “There’s a certain sensation associated with magical clothing removal. I’ve had my Auror robes removed magically several times, mostly in hospital, and one never forgets the feeling of being warm one moment and much cooler the next. That’s how I know my clothes were removed that night.”
“I see. Do you remember anything else about being in the pit?”
“At the time, I was in too much pain to notice much. I’d struck my head rather hard and was fighting unconsciousness.”
“So you don’t remember what happened after your clothes were removed.”
“What I remember mostly is sensations; cold and heat; the feeling of magical movement, as if I was being positioned; mild and intense pain, especially in my back, that sort of thing.”
“All right,” the legal-wizard said. He looked up at the Interrogator. “I have nothing further, Your Honour.”
“Thank you, Mr Potter,” the Interrogator stated. “You may go. We will resume after lunch.”
Harry transferred himself to his wheelchair and rolled back towards his seat.
*
1305 hours, Thursday, 11 March 2021
Hermione sat at her desk in the Wizengamot gallery next to Harry’s empty one with a notepad on her lap, seeming not to be paying much attention to the testimony as her gaze travelled from one face to another. This was not true; she was paying attention, but not in the conventional sense, since she had the luxury of a dicta-quill in her office magically taking down the testimony through the voice recorder disk she wore on her lapel. The current page of her handwritten notes was almost filled with observations of the trial’s participants as were the fifty previous ones. Tuesday, she’d filled fifteen pages with the reactions of others to Healer Stilwell’s relationship with the defendant and the potions they’d developed together. She had a feeling this was a key to the entire case, the reason why the Matron had maimed so many people. She had filled another four pages with notes on Harry’s testimony, even though she knew a lot of it because of discussions she and Ron had had over the last year. However, there were things pertaining to the Aurors she hadn’t heard about because of Ron’s oaths of confidentiality and silence, oaths that every Auror took when he or she joined the Auror Department. The new information had helped her understand quite a bit of what the Aurors had gone through recently. Her notes on the testimony from Brian Nelson, Scorpius Malfoy, Mark Huntley, and Ron’s Auror team members filled sixteen more pages of notes taken Wednesday and this morning.
Now, as she listened to her husband describing the search for Scorpius Malfoy, she couldn’t help feeling extremely proud of him. This case had been the first he’d ever led and to hear him speaking so confidently on the stand, one would think he’d testified as lead Auror many times.
Ron suddenly cleared his throat while picking up the ever-present glass of water from the arm of the witness chair, making Hermione start and realize she hadn’t heard much of what he’d said over the last fifteen minutes, much less written any thing down. Stop that! she chided herself. You can ogle your husband tonight after the trial!
To be continued…
Chapter 38: 38: Defence
Author's Notes: I realize this thank you is long overdue, but I want all of you to know how much I appreciate having this story voted Best New Story for 2011 in the Silver Trinket Awards. Never in my wildest dreams did I think one of my stories would be given such an honour. Over a month after the results of the voting were published, I’m still wriggling with excitement every time I see the red phoenix next to the title of this story and see the banner on my author page. Thank you so much for voting for my story.
Below, you will find the Matron’s version of what has happen in this story. Please keep in mind that she lied about her activities when the Aurors took her sworn statement and now that she’s on the witness stand, she must tell the absolute truth, however gruesome and deranged it really is. Also, I’ve tried to show that while there are certain aspects of the law that have changed for the better in the years since Harry’s hearing in 1995, not everything has and there’s still a lot of prejudice lurking in the attitudes and procedures followed by the Wizarding court.
I will end my remarks by thanking my pre-beta team of RSS, RebeccaRipple and Miz636, for all your helpful comments and suggestions. You three are really great to drop everything to get my chapters back to me in a timely manner. The two people I am very appreciative of are Mutt n Feathers and Rosina Ferguson. These two ladies were the reason I was able to write the format of the trial the way I did; they sent me links to specific websites where I could find the information I needed to make the trial believable and helped me with terminology and sometimes confusing facts. Thank you both for your help. To Aggiebell, I thank you for fighting your family’s computer hogs to beta this chapter when your laptop is ailing. I hope you can get it fixed soon. And to my readers, I hope you’ll like the chapter enough to share your thoughts with me. I enjoy responding to your reviews and learning what you think about my story.
Aftermath: Part 5
0800 hours, Friday, 12 March 2021
Dwayne Campbell, the Matron’s solicitor, was finally able to begin calling his witnesses after the three-day parade of non-stop witnesses for the prosecution. As he rose from his seat, he looked a bit scared and very uncomfortable, as if his client intimidated him.
“I have only one witness to call,” Mr Campbell said, his reedy voice just barely audible.
Beside Harry, Ginny stuck a finger in her ear and then whispered, “Where did the Matron find this bloke? He’s very hard to listen to.”
“I don’t know,” Harry replied. “All I know is that Campbell is the fifth solicitor the Ma– erm, the defendant was assigned to. She fired all the others.”
“Can she do that?”
“Yes, but it’s frowned upon if a defendant goes through more than three. I think the Wizengamot gave her special dispensation because they wanted to get the trial over and done,” Harry replied. Then, he sighed. “It’s going to make some of the more high-profile trials difficult to move swiftly through the court process in the future, though, since certain people will think they can have the same treatment showered on this defendant.”
Ginny nodded. “Will that make extra work for your department?”
Harry shook his head. “Technically, no, as long as the documentation and evidence stays within this building,” he answered. “All of the defendant’s counsel had to view the evidence within the Evidence Office and had to sign for copies of the individual statements taken by my department. If it stays that way, nothing should be lost in future.”
Their attention was called back to the scene in front of them by the clanking of the chains that bound Shirley Gorman to the defendant’s chair. She stood slowly and followed the Usher to the witness’ chair.
“Mrs Gorman, will you tell the court about your early relationship with Healer Payton Stilwell,” squeaked Campbell.
“No.”
Campbell seemed almost afraid as he asked, “Mrs Gorman, aren’t you going to defend yourself? Try to prove yourself innocent of the charges?”
“I refuse to tell the court anything, you idiot!” Shirley Gorman screeched.
Interrogator Bailey banged his gavel. “Mr Campbell, you will restrain your witness or she will be removed,” he instructed.
“Mrs Gorman, please keep your voice down,” Campbell pleaded.
“Why should I?” she yelled. “They already think I’m mad; I might as well have some fun being uncooperative.”
“Usher!” called the Interrogator as the spectators began whispered conversations. “Please notify the court medi-wizard that we are in need of a Calming Draught and a bottle of Veritaserum.”
“Don’t make her take a Calming Draught or Veritaserum,” pleaded Campbell, “it’ll make her say things not in her sworn statement and it took me four days to get her to cooperate long enough to write it down!”
“Overruled,” said the Interrogator. “I want to hear what she has to say for herself. She has the right to her time in the witness chair.”
The Usher was back with the medi-wizard in no time, and Harry thought the man must have been stationed right outside the door just waiting for the chance to be of service, he entered the room so quickly. Silence filled the courtroom as he poured a cup of potion, tapped the cup with his wand and walked over to the witness chair. Mrs Gorman took one look at him and tried to bat the cup from his hand as he held it out to her. The liquid sloshed, but didn’t spill and Harry smiled, knowing that the medi-wizard had charmed the cup to pour only if the rim touched flesh steadily for at least five seconds.
The medi-wizard tried again as the defence counsel pleaded with his client to cooperate. When she just glared at him, he nodded, smiled, and murmured something to her. Finally, she opened her mouth and drank the potion. A few seconds later, the medi-wizard was able to tip the woman’s head back and prepared to administer the Veritaserum.
“Your Honour,” he addressed the Interrogator, “please count the number of drops I administer.”
The drops were counted and the medi-wizard left. “Mr Campbell, please proceed,” instructed Interrogator Bailey.
Mr Campbell hastily stepped in front of the witness chair. “Mrs Gorman, will you please describe your relationship with Healer Stilwell?” he asked nervously, obviously wanting to get this over with and not allowing the potion time to work.
“That rat? I’ll tell you, you nincompoop,” the Matron spat, earning her a scowl from the Interrogator. The Veritaserum began to take effect and she continued in a much more docile tone. “In 1997, I’d been working as a Potioneer on the Injuries floor at St Mungo’s Hospital for two years when a young Healer-in-Training joined the healing staff in the Non-Magical Injuries Ward. He was nothing to look at, but he was nice enough, better than some of the trainees who had passed through the Injuries Floor. The patients seemed to like him, too. It surprised me that he stayed on after his rotation through the injuries wards was over because most healers go for curing the more spectacular maladies found in the other wards. I asked him why he stayed and he told me that he thought his place was healing the mundane, everyday injuries most adults can fix with a spell or two, but are afraid to try. Besides, he wanted to do it better and faster than the Muggles he’d grown up with. That caught my attention and we started taking our breaks together.”
“So you became friends. What happened next?”
“One night, I think it was in March of 1998, Payton and I were having coffee together when we started talking about work and what frustrated us about it. He told me about how aggravating it was for him to mend a patient’s bones, but not give the person back his or her use of the affected limbs because the spinal cord was damaged. He said that someday he would find a way to help the paralyzed get their mobility back. He just knew there was a potion or combination of potions that would do that, he just didn’t think they’d been invented yet.
“What he said about wanting to really cure his patients made me think he was sincere. At the time, I had been working with that same problem from the potions perspective on my own.”
Campbell interrupted his client, “When did you have time to experiment?”
Shirley Gorman looked annoyed at the question, but continued her recitation. “The head of my department had this thing for ‘innovative potions’ and was always going on about how great it would be for our floor to make some sort of big breakthrough that would bring fame and fortune to the hospital. He gave each of us Potioneers an hour or more of free time each day to work on a project of our choice. I had chosen nerve-regeneration potions, mostly because the other Potioneers scoffed at the idea of helping paralysis patients, and was well on my way to making a workable potion when Payton and I had our conversation. Over the next couple of weeks, we continued to talk about the problem and I eventually told him about my experiments. One thing led to another and about a month after our initial conversation, I agreed to work with him.”
“When was that?”
“April of 1998.”
“Why did you agree?”
“The hospital had been getting more and more patients whose backs were broken by the Death Eaters, either through the Cruciatus Curse or other violent spells. The Non-Magical Injuries Ward was overflowing with patients who were leaving just as immobile as when they arrived and the ward staff was becoming frustrated with the course of treatment they were using, especially Payton and the Healer-in-Charge. You can imagine how excited Payton was when I told him about my potion experiments.
“In those early days before the war ended and even six months afterwards, Payton and I researched and brewed our way through four or five different versions of my basic potion. We tested them on nerve fibres we obtained from cadavers until we finally had one that looked promising enough to offer to a couple of desperate patients. We had the patients sign a standard hospital form pertaining to experimental treatments and Payton administered the potion.”
“What happened?”
“Both patients died because we didn’t know the best way to administer the potion to living patients.”
“Were there lawsuits?”
“No, because both patients had signed the forms and because they were near death anyway, their paralysis was so great. We just put them out of their misery a bit faster than normal.”
A ripple of comments flew through the courtroom at this and Harry almost didn’t hear the next question.
“Didn’t it bother you that the patients had died?”
“It did Payton, who wanted to cure them, but not me. I couldn’t have cared less about the patients: I hadn’t obtained the results I wanted, so I let the failure go and went back to experimenting.”
“Why did you choose them instead of healthier patients?”
“If the patients’ nerves had regenerated even a little, they would have found some relief from their injuries. These people were desperate, willing to try anything, even a completely untested potion.”
“What did you do next?”
“Payton and I went back to the cauldron and began a new potion. We also started spending more and more time together both in the lab and out of the work environment. In his own way, Payton was very attractive to me and I enjoyed spending time with him.”
“Were you in love with him?”
“Possibly. We were spending enough time together that the relationship was becoming intense. However, we were determined to find a potion that would be more successful than the first one. It took us another two years and three more unsuccessful potions, but we persevered and began clinical trials with an oral potion in July of 2002.”
“This is the potion that eventually became the standard treatment for paralysis patients in the Non-Magical Injuries Ward?”
“Yes, the one whose royalties were stolen from me.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I’ll tell you why,” Shirley said, scowling. “Because Payton Stilwell hogged all the credit!”
Campbell scurried back to his table and picked up several periodicals. “I beg to differ with you,” he squeaked, walking back towards the witness chair. “These articles all give you equal credit for the potion.”
Shirley Gorman reached for the magazines and newspapers. She held up the top one, a Medicinal Potions. “This is from September of 2003,” she said. “The author did get this one correct and so did the writers of the articles in Today’s Potions, The Creative Potioneer, and The Healing Potioneer.” She held up a yellowed copy of The Daily Prophet. “This is the article I was looking for.”
“What’s it say?” Campbell interrupted his client. “Who’s it by?”
“I was getting to that,” the Matron scowled. “It’s from January of 2004 and is written by Rita Skeeter.”
In the gallery, Harry couldn’t suppress a quiet groan as memories from his fourth year and the character butchering he’d gone through with this particular reporter came to mind. Beside him, Ginny reached over and rubbed his back.
“This can’t be happening,” he whispered. “I thought she was killed by that enraged goblin she accused of stealing from Gringotts.”
“I think that was one of her last articles,” Ginny whispered back. “I think she died in 2005.”
“She did, but no matter what happens, it’s as if she wants to haunt me!” Harry sighed.
Ginny rubbed his back one more time as they returned their attention to Shirley Gorman.
“Handsome Healer and Unattractive Potioneer Team Up,” she said, reading the title of the article. She looked up at the courtroom. “I have never been unattractive! This witch is wrong!”
Interrogator Bailey cleared his throat. “Please stick with the facts, Mrs Gorman,” he said.
Shirley Gorman continued as if she hadn’t been reprimanded. “This Skeeter witch interviewed both of us for about fifteen minutes. She spent five minutes with me, sticking her long, painted nose into my cauldrons and making comments about my job. She never even asked me about the history of the nerve-regeneration potion or what made it successful as the other reporters did.”
Harry nudged Ginny. “That’s so Rita’s style,” he commented.
Ginny nodded. “I know.”
Down on the floor, Campbell had retreated to the defence table. “How long did she spend with Healer Stilwell?”
“About ten minutes, all the while followed by that horrible green quill of hers. She made him tour the ward, telling her about what the potion was doing for each of his patients. She calls him a ‘miracle worker’ and a ‘saint’ for staying in the NMI ward with the hopeless cases and sending most people home rather than to the graveyard!”
“How is this reporter’s wording upsetting to you?”
“I quote, ‘Payton Stilwell has done wonders for the Wizarding community in the last year. The potion he developed, with a little help from a hospital Potioneer, and uses in his ward, heals the paralyzed patient…’” Shirley looked up. “The way she worded her article gave my so-called partner nearly full credit! That’s what upset me then and what is upsetting me now!”
“Why?”
“Because I become ‘hospital staff’ or his helper in every subsequent article written about the ward’s healing success rate! None of the articles between 2004 and 2011 ever mention my name! And because of that, he receives all the money, all the Floo calls from healers around the world wanting to buy the recipe, all the praise every time a patient walks out of the NMI ward; even St Mungo’s only gives me a few Knuts every time a patient gets a dose of my potion. It’s as if the hospital has forgotten me and my work!”
“Didn’t you and Healer Stilwell patent your potion? If you did, wouldn’t you still be receiving money any time someone buys the recipe?”
“No, we didn’t. Twenty years ago potions weren’t patented, like they are now. You need to know what you’re asking before you ask me a question!”
“I did read the history of Wizarding patents! I thought you’d have applied for one for your potion,” Campbell whinged. He sighed. “Is there another reason you’re so resentful?”
“Payton Stilwell didn’t correct anyone! He took all the credit and was paid for fifty or more articles and he didn’t give me anything! I resent the fact that he hasn’t defended me, his partner, or even acknowledged that I’m not receiving the royalties I’m due!”
“Have you talked to Healer Stilwell about this?”
“Yes, and he always swears that he always gives me credit. I don’t believe him because I don’t see the monetary results. If I was given the recognition, the Galleons I know I’m owed, I would be happy!”
Campbell scurried back to his table and shuffled through an untidy pile of scrolls until he found what he wanted. He turned back to his client and handed her the scroll. “Would you read this and then tell the court what is written there, please?”
Mrs Gorman scowled, but complied. “It’s a listing of interviews Payton Stilwell has given about the potion,” she said, sounding as though she was gritting her teeth. “It seems that since these were written for the healing community only the authors were given commissions and Stilwell didn’t get paid for any of them.” She threw down the scroll. “Stuff and nonsense!” she nearly yelled. “Payton Stilwell was paid for those interviews! Every single one of them! Whoever gave you this information is lying!”
Campbell stood before her, cringing, and squeaked, “Why would they lie?”
“Because Payton Stilwell bewitched them into paying him!” she shot back.
The Interrogator rapped his gavel sharply. “Mr Campbell, please stop antagonizing your client and let her finish her testimony.”
Campbell nodded, mumbled a meek, “Yes, Your Honour,” and then added almost defiantly, “She wouldn’t be saying these things if she hadn’t been given the Veritaserum.”
“Mr Campbell, not another word out of you that has nothing to do with your questions,” instructed the Interrogator.
Again, the defence lawyer nodded towards the Interrogator. He cleared his throat and then asked his client, “So instead of fighting for what you’re entitled to, you chose to leave the country?”
“Yes, because after seven years, Payton’s marriage to my former best friend–which I didn’t approve of–and being fed up with the British Wizarding world, I finally decided to do something for myself when Payton successfully healed one of the Death Eaters’ victims after being paralyzed since the Battle of Hogwarts and didn’t say a thing about my involvement in the development of his potion!”
“Were you resentful because he didn’t love you, that he loved another?”
“Hell, yes! We’d spent so much time together I was sure he loved me. When he married Yolanda in 2010 I was crushed.”
“So where did you go and what did you do with yourself?”
“I spend the next four years learning to be a Matron at the Dressler Teaching Hospital in Dresden, Germany. I came back to London in 2015 and applied for a Matron’s position at St Mungo’s and was assigned to the NMI ward.”
“Did Healer Stilwell know you had been assigned to his ward?”
“No, he didn’t because I’d married while I was in Germany. I used my married name when I applied for the Matron’s position.”
“Is your husband in the gallery today?”
“No. He died of heart failure in 2014.”
Ginny leaned over and whispered in Harry’s ear, “How convenient. Want to bet she had a hand in that?”
Harry looked over at his wife. “It’s not part of the case, so I don’t want to know about it,” he answered. “And no, I won’t bet with you because you only make a wager when you’re absolutely certain of something.”
“Spoil sport,” she said, pouting and Harry reached over and patted her thigh.
Down on the courtroom floor, Mr Campbell was continuing his questions. “We heard testimony from Kasey Oswald and Alison Morven about how the three of you became friends and eventually took over a dilapidated house in the Forest of Dean–” He stopped abruptly because Shirley Gorman was shaking her head and muttering. “What did you say?” he asked.
“I said, we didn’t take over the house, you moron! I own it! It’s mine! It’s been in my family for generations, hidden magically until I took down the enchantments,” she explained in an impatient tone. “I’d been living in it since I’d come back from Germany. Don’t you listen?”
Campbell ignored his client’s question. “Oh. So… What led you to go to such lengths to experiment with the potions?” he squeaked, seeming to dismiss this piece of information as Shirley Gorman stuck a finger in her ear and jiggled it as if playing for time.
“Revenge,” she finally said. The look she threw towards the witness gallery where Payton Stilwell was sitting would have incinerated him if looks could kill, Harry mused.
Campbell called out, “Your Honour, I want this statement stricken from the record. The Veritaserum is making my client say things that are not true.”
“Overruled,” the Interrogator said. “The statement will not be stricken from the record. Mr Campbell, resume your questions.”
Looking outraged, disgusted and fearful all at the same time, Campbell asked, “R–r–revenge?”
“Yes. I left Britain in order to learn new ways of hurting Payton Stilwell, sneaky ways that would hurt him as much as he’d hurt me,” the Matron said matter-of-factly. “I told you he didn’t stop the reporters from giving him all the credit for the nerve regeneration potion and the success he attained with most patients and how he pushed me aside and married my best friend! I wanted revenge and I was successful at it. I made some of his patients die with my potions; I used other patients as guinea pigs to find better, sneakier ways of sickening or maiming future patients so he would fail to treat them properly. The house in the Forest was the ideal place to brew new potions and experiment on the Muggles who needed killing because they made the world a dangerous place. Oh, we had fun that first year!”
“Wh–what do you mean?”
Shirley Gorman smiled as she said, “We played the children’s game of ‘tag the naked Muggle’ in the nearly empty rooms.”
At this, a great, collective gasp rippled around the courtroom. Mrs Gorman glanced up before continuing, “Alison, Kasey and I would magically lock the doors and charm the clothes from the night’s entertainment. Then two of us would hide in different rooms while the other would lead the Muggle up from the dungeon and then disappear after telling him that if he could get out of the house he was free to leave.”
“But… but the Aurors found evidence of blood as well as potions…”
Shirley smiled, and it made Harry shiver to look at her expression. “We ‘tagged’ the Muggle by magically flinging metal at him: the Muggle was always ‘it,’ never one of us. We played until we were out of potion and then we settled back to watch it work. Death by poison is so much fun to watch!” Shirley’s face took on a gleeful expression. “I pretended every Muggle we tagged was Payton Stilwell.”
Harry glanced in Healer Stilwell’s direction; the healer looked slightly green around the gills.
“The–the Aurors found t-t-torture equipment in the cellar. Was that part of your game of tag?” stuttered Campbell.
Mrs Gorman rolled her eyes. “Of course not. Not every night’s entertainment was taken up with the game. Several of my associates and quite a few derelict wizards needed to be disciplined for either not joining me or for interfering in my experiments at the hospital.”
“You’re talking about Mark Huntley?”
Shirley Gorman was silent for a moment. “Perhaps,” was all she said.
After a pause and nothing more from his client, Campbell switched subjects. “How–how long did it take you–No, why did you dig the pit in the cellar?”
Shirley cocked her head to one side, looking thoughtful. “We had to bury the dead Muggles somewhere, so we just laid them out on the cellar floor and covered them with the dirt we dug up.”
“But why make it so deep?”
The defendant rolled her eyes at her counsel. “Come on, after burying fifty people the hole was nice and deep. When it came time to lure the Aurors to the house, it was just a matter of digging the second pit and covering it with slabs of rock so I could work from underneath and not be seen by the night’s entertainment,” she said.
“What was your… erm, plan?” Campbell mopped his brow, clearly uncomfortable with what his client was admitting.
“The Aurors had been getting too close recently, scaring off the Muggles and magical beggars whom I usually used in my treatments. I decided to let them closer because I wanted to observe how a healthy person responded to my treatments. You see, the non-magically seriously injured always ended up in my ward, so it went without saying that I would be able to monitor the Auror’s progress. Most of the time, the Muggles and beggars just gave up and died. I didn’t think an Auror would.”
“Did you have a specific Auror in mind?”
“No. I decided I would be happy with whoever fell into my pit.”
“Please describe what you and your assistants did that night.”
Shirley Gorman was thoughtful for a moment. “We met at dusk and cleaned up the cellar as if we were having an ordinary evening, except that we shortened the staircase and weakened the bottom step. We knew we’d be able to Apparate within the house, even if the Aurors cast anti-Apparition spells to keep us inside. Then, we waited. The Aurors broke into the house just after midnight and began searching for us. I was already stationed in the pit. The others were hidden where they could easily see the fun.
“The door to the cellar finally opened, the Aurors came down the stairs and the one in the lead stepped on the weakened step. As he fell, my assistants distracted the other Aurors with spellfire.
“In the meantime, the Auror fell awkwardly and didn’t land quite where I wanted him to. I had to levitate him into place, magically disrobe him from the waist up, insert the needles, redress him and then tell two of my assistants to try to escape, all in less than three minutes. It all took much longer than I’d planned, but the evening seemed successful anyway when my last two assistants and I Apparated away.”
“The Aurors stated that they caught Kasey Oswald and Allison Morven when the two abruptly stopped duelling. Did you do anything to make them stop?”
“Ah, you’re referring to how I communicated with them through the modified Imperius Curse,” Shirley said, sounding smug. “A bit of genius on my part, I think. The original curse was only a one-time command or suggestion. My version allowed me to cast the curse once and then contact the Imperiused person through the spell’s link indefinitely, relaying new commands remotely.”
“What do you mean by ‘remotely’?”
“Tim Dawson had found a way to trigger a spell to work from a distance while he was working at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. He explained it worked like a Muggle remote control toy. Unfortunately, he was unable to copy all the data I needed to make the spell work right away because he was discovered by the shop’s owner.” She stopped speaking and glared in George’s direction.
“Did that stop you from finishing the spell your way?”
“Absolutely not. It’s a brilliant piece of magic that allowed me or one of my assistants to be far away from a victim when we cast the trigger spell. The enchanted needles we used then ripped and tore their way through the victims’ organs or they inflicted terrible, unexplainable pain. The resulting screams were wonderful!”
“Was Auror Potter one of these victims?”
“Yes. I inserted a number of enchanted needles in his spinal cord the day he left St Mungo’s,” Mrs Gorman said, sounding quite pleased with herself. “I also had decided to see if an exploding projectile would stop a person’s heart, so I inserted one in his left lung and instructed Tim Dawson to go to The Groves and cast the triggering spell several times to move the projectile into place.”
Harry couldn’t help it; he shuddered violently and rubbed his lower back as his heart started to pound and he began to hyperventilate. The Matron’s dispassionate recital was just too much to take in all at once.
Concerned, Ginny leaned over and whispered, “Shall we leave for a bit?”
Harry nodded and felt his wife stand up as the defence counsel tried to get his client’s words stricken from the record due to the Veritaserum. He concentrated on calming his mind while she enlarged his wheelchair on the courtroom floor and then gently levitated him down the steps.
“Mrs Potter,” the Interrogator interrupted the defendant’s testimony, “does your husband need a healer?”
“No, thank you, Your Honour,” she said as they paused by the door. “Would you have the Usher check on us in ten minutes, please? We’ll be outside in the corridor.”
The courtroom door closed behind them, blocking out the Matron’s testimony. Harry backed his chair against the stone wall of the corridor and leaned his head back against it. The cool stone felt good to against his head, its solidness calming him a little.
Ginny took his hand in hers. “Breathe with me, Harry,” she encouraged. “In… Out… In… Out… That’s it. Shirley and her associates will be locked up forever after this. Don’t let her vindictive torment haunt you.”
“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered between deep breaths. “I thought I was ready to hear that. Eloise said she thought we’d learn the truth if Veritaserum was used.”
Ginny bent down and gathered him in her arms. “There’s no need to apologize, love. She frightened me, too,” she said as Harry pulled his wife into his lap and hugged her properly.
“Thank you for being here with me,” he murmured in her ear. “I’m not sure I could have lasted that long without you beside me.”
“Oh Harry,” his wife sighed as she pulled him closer. His head rested just above her heart and he could hear its strong, steady beating. The sound calmed him; his own heart ceased its racing and he could breathe more easily now.
The door to the courtroom opened and the Usher stepped into the corridor. “Mrs Potter, Auror Potter, Interrogator Bailey wants to know whether you require assistance,” he said.
Harry released his hold on Ginny. As she sat back, he said, “I’m fine, sir. Tell him we don’t require assistance and that we will be back in shortly.”
“Very well. I’ll come back in five minutes,” the Usher said. He turned on his heel and went back inside.
“Ready to go back in?” Ginny inquired. She slid off his lap and kissed his forehead.
Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair, making his wife smile at the gesture. “Yeah, I am,” he said. Then a thought occurred to him. “I’m surprised Draco hasn’t stormed out yet. As hard as it was for me to listen to the reasons for becoming a human pincushion, it must be doubly hard to hear the reasoning behind the kidnapping of your child.”
As he finished speaking, the door to the courtroom was yanked open and Draco Malfoy strode through it, the expression on his face thunderous. He pulled up short when he saw Harry and Ginny.
Ginny walked over to him and put a hand on his arm. “How are you?” she asked.
Draco closed his eyes and sighed. “I’d forgotten you two were out here,” he said. He glanced at Harry who smiled encouragingly at his friend. “It’s hard to listen to, you know?” he continued. “I managed to get through it, but just barely.”
“Is Asteria here?” Ginny asked, concern lacing her voice.
“Yeah, she’s inside with Scorpius. He did better than I did listening to that woman. She’s truly sick and I don’t know whether she’d be better off in St Mungo’s or Azkaban,” Draco ranted, stepping away from Ginny and beginning to pace in front of her and Harry.
“I’d rather see her in Azkaban,” Harry said quietly.
Draco and Ginny stared at him. “Why?” they asked simultaneously.
“Would you rather she went free or, if there was the possibility she might escape her guards, that she have access to potions and patients, or be stuck on an island in the North Sea? Personally, I want her as far away as possible from anyone she has the potential to harm,” Harry told them with conviction.
Draco resumed his pacing. “Is there any possibility the goblins would let her off early for good behaviour if she was sentenced to Azkaban?” he asked.
“Not a snowball’s chance in H—E—double wands,” Harry said, grinning as he used James’ favourite way of spelling the forbidden word. Ginny giggled behind her hand. “The changes they have made at the prison are more advanced than anything the Ministry ever did when they employed the Dementors. Or even during your dad’s time there.”
“I’m glad you think so. I just hope the Wizengamot feels the way you do,” Draco said with a shiver. “I know for certain there are a few dissenters on the jury who would rather institutionalise Gorman, Morven, Oswald and the other assistants caught in the cave at St Mungo’s than subject them to the depravity of prison. They’ll try to push their preferences.”
“Not with Hermione on the jury, they won’t,” Ginny said. “You know how persuasive she can be, and I know for a fact she’s researched both incarceration options thoroughly. She’s already told me that the best place for Gorman and her associates is Azkaban. She might not be the one leading the jury, but you can bet she’ll be bending lots of ears in order to protect the hospital, its patients and the Wizarding public.”
Draco nodded, looking mollified. “I hope the jury rules for incarceration, then. She’s guiltier than I was when Dobby caught me with my hand in the biscuit tin at the age of four,” he said.
Before Harry could respond, the door to the courtroom opened and the Usher stepped out. “Mrs Potter, gentlemen, Interrogator Bailey is just about to send the Wizengamot to the jury room,” he said.
Harry began pushing his chair towards the door. “Thank you,” he said, “we want to hear what he charges the jury with.”
*
Hermione’s eyes had been roving the courtroom non-stop since Shirley Gorman began speaking and she was nearly out of ink from all the notes she’d been taking. The people within the courtroom were fascinating to watch and because of where her desk was, Hermione could see nearly everyone in the Wizengamot, the galleries and on the floor. Those she couldn’t see by just turning her head, she could view in a special mirror she had in plain sight on her desk; the mirror was magically linked to a second, nearly invisible, mirror which she was flying near the ceiling. There were several of these in the courtroom, and each of their controllers had been given a specific space in which to fly them.
Now, as Shirley Gorman described the reasons for wanting to kill the Auror who fell into her pit using the remote spell and projectile combination, Hermione aimed her flying mirror at a group of Wizengamot members who she knew were apt to oppose her when they went to the jury room. To her surprise, their faces looked slightly green in colour, their expressions nauseated. She smiled to herself. Maybe, just maybe, trying to put Shirley Gorman in Azkaban won’t be so hard after all, she thought as she made note of this.
She had been quite concerned when Harry and Ginny had left the courtroom. Harry had looked as if he were in great pain, an expression she hadn’t seen on his face in months, and she was grateful that Ginny was with him. Hopefully, when they returned, the defendant would be through giving testimony.
She moved her mirror again when the subject switched to Brian Nelson’s attack. The young wizard was leaning forward in his seat, his chin resting on his fists. His angry expression told her he couldn’t believe he’d been used as a guinea pig just because his attacker wanted more data for her twisted experiments.
Hermione moved her mirror a third time in order to watch the Malfoy family during the discussion of Scorpius Malfoy’s kidnapping. She couldn’t see Draco or Asteria from her seat because they were sitting behind a rather tall wizard whose size reminded Hermione of Hagrid. Draco came into view. He was sitting rigidly with his eyes locked on Shirley Gorman, his face expressionless, his grey eyes stormy. Beside him, fourteen-year-old Scorpius had his head on his mother’s shoulder. She had her arm protectively draped around his shoulders and they were both staring at the woman who had caused their family so much pain. Hermione was secretly glad that Draco and Asteria had let their son attend today, if only for the reason of giving him closure to a very scary week of his life. If she had to guess, Hermione thought it would be Draco who left when he couldn’t take the warped reasons for Shirley Gorman’s actions any longer; if it had been Hugo who had been kidnapped and Ron sitting and listening to the defendant’s perverted testimony, her husband would have sat through only as much as he could stomach without becoming extremely angry all over again. Her guess was correct; several minutes later, during a lull between questions, Draco silently stood up and left the courtroom. Shortly after that, the Usher walked to the door and stepped out.
*
As Shirley Gorman was led back to the defendant’s chair in the middle of the courtroom floor, her counsel nearly sprinted back to his table and stood next to it gulping several glasses of water. He looked terrified, sick enough to vomit, and thoroughly disgusted at the horrible things his client had just revealed. Ginny smirked to herself; from what Hermione had said the day before the trial began, the defendant should have stuck to her original statement, which had denied everything she was accused of doing. However, the use of the Calming Draught and Veritaserum had produced a truth much more accurate than Gorman’s statement, and Ginny understood why the Interrogator had allowed her to continue contradicting her submitted statement.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the Wizengamot,” Interrogator Bailey now said, addressing the august body behind him, “You have heard the defendant’s testimony and the prosecution’s refusal to cross-examine the witness. We will now move to the defence’s closing statement. Mr Campbell…”
Mr Campbell grabbed a small piece of parchment and stood behind his table, as if having it in front of him gave him courage because of the visual space it provided between him and the rest of the court. The parchment shook visibly as he began speaking.
“Although the prosecution’s case against my client is full of solid evidence, much of what was presented in the last few days has been hearsay. I call your attention to the Pensieve memories of Timothy Dawson, the deceased Matron’s Assistant at St Mungo’s Hospital. He is not present in the court and even though experts have certified that the memories have not been tampered with, I am doubtful of the truth they represent. We have also heard from four witnesses who admitted to being under the influence of the Imperius Curse. In years past, this curse has been used by the guilty to be proven innocent of all charges because they were not responsible for their actions. I highly doubt the Imperiused witnesses used by the prosecution are reliable.” He stopped, poured another glass of water and gulped it down.
“I have one more objection to the conduct of this trial,” he continued. “My client was forced to ingest a Calming Draught and after that three drops of Veritaserum. I have maintained throughout her testimony that what the potion was making her say was not the truth, but a hallucination, since nearly everything she said contradicted her sworn statement given to the court.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the Wizengamot, I implore you to take pity on my client, who has been forced to endure a tragic life and has been accused of multiple despicable crimes against both Muggles and wizards. She is not guilty of the charges.”
He sat down abruptly, took out a handkerchief and began mopping his brow with it.
Ginny nudged Harry. “Are you convinced she’s not guilty because of that speech?” she asked in a whisper.
Harry ducked his head, turning it in her direction as he murmured, “Absolutely not. She’s been guilty from the get-go and no fancy posturing by that incompetent twit will set her free.”
“Glad we agree, Harry,” Ginny said smugly as she returned her attention to the Interrogator who was now standing and facing the Wizengamot.
“Thank you, Mr Campbell,” he said. “The prosecution will now summarise what we have heard in the last few days.”
Eloise Midgen stood from her chair and began reading from a long scroll. She talked about the various witnesses for the prosecution–Healer Stilwell, Harry, Ron and the Aurors, the Matron’s four associates, Scorpius Malfoy and Brian Nelson–and then reminded the court that there had been only one defence witness, Shirley Gorman herself. Next, she restated the laws which she was accused of violating.
When she was done, she sat down and looked pointedly at Interrogator Bailey who said, “I now charge the Wizengamot with the consideration of the evidence provided and based on that evidence, you will decide whether the defendant is guilty or not guilty of the charges against her. Remember, you don’t have to find the defendant innocent. You may now retire to the jury room to begin your deliberations.”
*
Hermione heaved a silent sigh of relief and cancelled all the spells she had cast; she heard a tiny click as her voice recorder transmitter shut off and saw her flying mirror descending from its place near the ceiling. When it settled on her desk, she picked it and the receiving mirror up and locked them in a drawer. Then, gathering her notes, she followed Andromeda into the Wizengamot’s meeting room.
“I’m glad that’s over,” Andromeda whispered, as she and Hermione found seats at the back of the room.
“I wonder how long this will take,” Hermione mused. “I was watching Parkinson, Goyle and Selwyn during the last part of Gorman’s testimony and I think they were rather repulsed by what we heard.”
“It may not take as long as we think, then,” Andromeda said quietly as the spokeswizard called the Wizengamot to order.
“Before we begin discussing the evidence, I would like us to take a silent vote to see where we stand as a group. Please point your wands at the board behind me and cast the appropriate spells for guilty or not guilty for each of the charges,” he instructed.
Hermione raised her wand and cast her ‘guilty’ votes. Instantaneously, the board registered the results: 47 guilty, 0 not guilty for every count against Shirley Gorman. Incredibly, the vote was unanimous! Silence descended on the room as everyone stared at the board.
“We… we have a decision,” stammered the spokeswizard. “I will inform the Usher.” Abruptly, he stood up and went to the door. He conferred with the Usher on the other side and then waited a moment or two more before saying, “We are to go back inside.”
*
Harry sat up straight as the Wizengamot re-entered the courtroom and silently took their seats so soon after leaving. He couldn’t believe the jury had made its decision so quickly; no one in the courtroom had had time to even leave their seats! Those in the galleries began whispering amongst themselves.
The Interrogator rapped his gavel, calling for silence. The prosecution counsel stood up. “Do you have a verdict?” he asked.
The Wizengamot spokeswizard rose slowly to his feet and answered, “We do.”
The clerk flipped a page in his notes and asked, “Do you find the defendant guilty or not guilty?”
The courtroom was silent as the spokeswizard replied, “We unanimously find Shirley Gorman guilty of stalking Healer Payton Stilwell; guilty of causing bodily harm to Mark Huntley, Auror Harry Potter and Brian Nelson; and guilty of kidnapping Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy.”
Harry closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. It was nearly over. All that remained was the sentencing.
The Interrogator now said, “Shirley Gorman, in light of unanimous guilty verdicts on all charges, I now sentence you to life in Azkaban Wizarding Prison. You will be taken there immediately to serve out your sentence for the rest of your natural life. You are further ordered to pay compensation to the following people: Healer Payton Stilwell, ten thousand Galleons; Mark Huntley, three thousand Galleons; Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy, five thousand Galleons; Harry James Potter and Brian Nelson fifteen thousand Galleons each.”
Harry glanced at the other victims of the Matron’s treachery. Payton and Mark looked relieved. Scorpius and Brian seemed shocked at their good fortune and were grinning at each other, even though their parents just looked tired.
The door to the courtroom opened and eight goblins strode in. They surrounded the defendant’s chair as the chains rattled open, allowing Shirley Gorman to stand. As she was led away, the occupants of the galleries began to cheer loudly.
Chapter 39: 39: Auction
Author's Notes: I had so much fun writing this chapter. There’s a sense of relief and quiet victory in the first section because the ordeal of the trial is over and justice has been done. The rest of the chapter reflects several real-life experiences I had a long time ago and I had a lot of fun calling up the memories that went into the various sections. There are also elements which will lend themselves to possible sequels and one-shots. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it.
Many thanks to my pre-beta team of RSS, Mutt N Feathers, RebeccaRipple, Miz636 and Rosina Ferguson. (Rosina is the one responsible for suggesting the location of the auction and I must admit, it’s a better location than the one I originally used.) This was the quickest, least corrected chapter of the story because it seemed to me that all five were reading for pleasure! To Aggiebell, thanks for your caution with the last section so that I didn’t have to write an alternate ending for the under-seventeens.
Aftermath Part 6
2045 hours, Friday, 12 March 2021
In a corner booth of the Muggle pub, The Seldom Inn, sat two men. No one bothered them, not even to bring them another bottle of whiskey. Not that they needed one; the bottle in the middle of the table never seemed to be empty. To the casual observer, the men poured shot after shot, but the level of the spirit inside the bottle never seemed to go lower than half way. The strangest thing about the bottle was that if one looked away, even for an instant, the bottle would be full again. The barmaid had seen this happen twice and she wondered absently how she was going to charge the men for their whiskey.
The two at the table were watching the barmaid, too, the one in the wheelchair eyeing her over the rim of his glass.
“Erm, Ron, I think we need to cancel the refilling charm,” Harry said without taking his eyes off the woman. “I think the barmaid is becoming suspicious.”
“I’ve refilled the bottle twice, Harry. It’s the equivalent of only one full bottle. We owe her for two. I’ll leave the appropriate amount on the table when we leave,” Ron said.
Harry snorted. “Since when did you become an expert on Muggle money?” he asked. “Do you even know how much a bottle of whiskey costs?”
“As a matter of fact, I do,” Ron answered. “This bottle of Johnny Walker retails at 35.90. With the pub’s mark-up I wager we’re paying 40 to 45 per bottle. Five twenty-pound notes should cover the booze and a nice tip for the barmaid.”
“I’m impressed,” Harry conceded. “Where’d you learn about Muggle money?”
Ron shook his head. “Do you have to ask, Harry? Who am I married to? Where do we take the kids most summers? Honestly!” he blustered, making Harry laugh. He refilled their glasses and held his up. “To my wife, the best teacher this side of Hogwarts.”
“Here, here,” Harry said with a shake of his own head. “Ron, I believe you’re beginning to get pissed.”
“Not yet, Harry,” Ron countered. “If I’d wanted to get pissed, we’d be on our fourth bottle instead of our second.” He drained his glass, but did not refill it. Instead, he sat back and ran a hand through his hair, suddenly looking tired. “Bloody hell, Harry, I’m glad it’s over,” he said after a moment. “Can you believe some of the things that woman said?”
Harry was quiet for so long Ron thought his friend had gone to sleep with his eyes open. “Yes, I can,” he replied at length. “If you think about what her motivations were, what her background was, and how quickly she utilized them to try to get her desired results, you’ll realize she’s someone you’d find in one of our old Auror Academy text books. Shirley Gorman was so set on getting what she thought she was due from Payton Stilwell that she went to extreme lengths to get it. So yeah, as hard as it was to listen to, I can believe every bit of what she said.”
Ron was quiet for a bit as he turned this over in his head. Harry was right, of course, he always was. That’s what made him such a good Auror. Finally, Ron asked, “Do you think I’ll be assigned as lead Auror on another case soon? I’d like to be, but I know Robards only let me head the Matron’s case because I asked him for it.”
“I don’t know about Robards,” Harry said, “but I’ll assign another big case to you as soon as we get one. You and your team couldn’t have done a better job, Ron. The six of you identified the suspects, captured them and brought them to trial far faster than I did.”
“But you were working the case as an illicit potions case, not one involving assault or revenge,” Ron countered. “You were the one to identify the problem in the first place.”
“That really doesn’t matter to me, Ron,” Harry said. “What matters is that you took what I started and finished it. You and the others found a way to get Oswald and Morven to talk, you captured Huntley and took Dawson’s statement and memories and through them, found a way to end the dangerous duels for our department and the illegal potions experiments at St Mungo’s. You did that, not me.”
Ron closed his eyes, grateful for everything Harry’s was saying. “I just wish we’d caught Gorman before she hurt so many people,” he said. “Reading her experimental journals made my stomach churn, but they also made me incredibly angry.”
“Why?”
“Every one of her victims was either labelled M for Muggle or V for vagrant. There were no names anywhere, and towards the end she stopped identifying them as anything but numbers. We’ll never know who to notify as next of kin because she was more interested in watching the results of her potions than decently burying the people she poisoned.”
“I don’t suppose we’ll ever have closure to that part of the case, Ron,” Harry said. He reached over and poured himself another shot. “Some things aren’t meant to be, I reckon.”
“What are you going to do with the money you’ve been awarded?” Ron asked after a moment, changing the subject.
“I don’t want it,” Harry said bluntly. “Money wasn’t what I wanted in the first place.”
“What did you want, then?” Ron asked curiously.
“I wanted my attacker behind bars, out of the public so that no one else would be hurt as I’d been hurt,” Harry said.
Ron grinned. “I think you got your wish,” he said.
“I did, but now I’m saddled with fifteen thousand Galleons I really don’t need,” Harry said.
“So what are you going to do with them?” Ron asked.
Harry was silent for a few moments. “Spend it,” he finally said, making Ron raise an eyebrow.
“You’re really going to spend it?” Ron couldn’t believe this was really Harry speaking.
“Hardly. Most likely set up an endowment to the NMI ward for the families of patients who lose a major part of their income because one of the main breadwinners has to stay home to take care of the patient,” Harry corrected himself. “Payton actually gets more cases like that than he can afford to help personally each year, and they’re not just paralysis cases; they’re burn and stabbing and accident victims from all over the UK. I think putting the money to work that way will benefit more people than just letting it sit in my vault accruing more gold.”
Ron chuckled, feeling glad about what they were talking about. “There you go again, Harry,” he said, “saving people who need it most.”
Harry raised his glass. “And for once, I feel really good about the saving people part.”
Shortly thereafter, the barmaid watched the two men exit the pub. When she walked over to the empty table a few moments later, she found a neat pile of twenty-pound notes and a small piece of very heavy paper upon which was written a message telling her the two gentlemen owed her for two bottles of Johnny Walker. She was to keep the remainder of the money as a tip. Mystified, but happy for her good fortune, she rang up the two bottles and extracted what she was due for just watching the table. She hoped the two men would come back soon.
*
1726 hours, Saturday, 13 March 2021
“Harry, are you still upstairs?” Ginny called from her dressing table in their room at Snidget’s Haven.
“I’m downstairs, love,” Harry called, his amplified voice easily reaching her. “Should I come back up?”
“No need,” she answered. “I’ll get the invitation myself.”
“Don’t bother. I have it in my pocket,” Harry called back.
Ginny smiled. Her husband was always on top of things like this, making sure hours before they left for an event that the car was packed or the children’s trunks were by the fireplace or their tickets were in his wallet. It was the sort of preparedness that spoke of a life on the go, one that wouldn’t let a major setback like becoming paralyzed stop him, one that came from years of habit formed at a young age in a time of great adversity. Harry had learned from Hermione’s organization and had let those lessons become an important part of how he lived each day. Tonight, the one night she was actually nervous, wasn’t any different and this calmed her a little.
With one last glance at the mirror, she grabbed her cloak from where it lay on the bed and exited the room, hoping her attire wasn’t too over the top for this affair. She shouldn’t have worried. Harry’s wolf whistle as she descended to the foyer made her feel all warm and happy inside.
“Ginny,” Harry murmured as she came to a stop before him, “you look lovely.”
She glanced down at the heavily sequined midnight blue dress robes she was wearing and then at her husband’s Muggle tuxedo, which he’d chosen to wear because of his wheelchair. “You look rather dashing yourself,” she said, returning the compliment.
Harry stretched his upper body towards her, a sign she’d learned meant she needed to lean closer. She did and he kissed her tenderly.
“I won’t get to do that the rest of the evening,” he chuckled. “I’m ready. Are you?”
The kiss had put a blush on her cheeks because she knew that at some point in the evening they’d share a glance across the ballroom and inevitably, he’d wink and then point to his watch as if to say he couldn’t wait until they left. The hand gestures, which had grown slightly more elaborate over the years, had started one night early in her Quidditch career at a boring team party. Harry had kissed her so thoroughly in the lift that night that she’d had to find a mirror and fix her hair before they made their appearance at the party. Half way through the party, Harry had caught her eye and gestured to his watch. She’d nodded and smiled, pointed towards the table where Gwenog was trapped talking to an elderly wizard and then over to the door. They’d left shortly thereafter, giggling giddily because they’d managed to get away with leaving together. From then on, the winks and hand gestures had become a tradition between them and tonight, Ginny knew, would be no different.
“Yes, I’m ready,” she answered. “Let’s get this over with.”
With a chuckle, Harry Disapparated with a loud pop, taking Ginny with him.
They arrived in the foyer of Middle Temple in London, which was located on the Embankment side of the Thames. Even though the venue wasn’t a strictly Wizarding location, it wasn’t strictly Muggle either. Ginny had gone to several affairs here during her Quidditch career and when she’d suggested it, Madam Offerman had thought the four hundred-fifty-year-old Hall was a lovely idea and a nice change from the usual venue the hospital rented for the evening.
“Ginny! Harry!” someone cried as they entered the Hall. “Welcome to the auction.”
Ginny glanced towards the voice and smiled. Madam Offerman must have been waiting for her and Harry because the woman’s nervousness seemed to melt from her as she came up to them.
The three exchanged greetings and then Ginny asked, “Has my family arrived yet, Gloria?”
“Yes, I believe they have,” Madam Offerman said as she glanced at a roll of parchment she was holding. “Yes, Ginny, they’re at table fifty-two. One of the chairs has been removed as requested.”
“Thank you, Gloria,” Ginny said. “I’ll be right back,” she added, knowing that the chairwitch wouldn’t calm down completely until they had talked about Ginny’s duties for the evening.
As she and Harry threaded their way between the tables, someone began to clap. The noise spread through the room like Fiendfire and was soon accompanied by cheers and calls of “Bravo, Harry!”
“Did you put them up to this?” Harry asked George as they reached their table where their family had joined the ovation.
“Not this time, mate,” Ginny’s brother answered, “but I think I know who did.” He pointed to a witch dressed in mauve robes, who was making her way over to their table.
“Welcome, Mr and Mrs Potter,” the witch greeted them. She offered her hand to Harry and they shook. “I’m Felicity Nigel, Director of St Mungo’s, and I’m honoured you came with your lovely wife this evening.” She gestured to the elaborately decorated hall and tables. “She’s been instrumental in arranging so many wonderful things for the hospital and this event. I’m just sorry it all started because you are often a patient, especially with what happened during your last stay with us. Will you consent to meeting the healing staff?”
Harry reached for Ginny’s hand. She smiled at him, blinking back a flood of sudden tears, and knowing that eventually, she and Harry would be sitting next to each other during dinner. “I’ve met them already, Harry. I think you met several of the new A and E healers in January when Scorpius and Mary Beth were brought in,” she said.
“I did, and I’d be delighted to talk to them,” Harry said, turning to Madam Nigel.
Ginny took her cue to go back to speak with Gloria Offerman. “Have a good time,” she called as she and Harry went their separate ways.
“Is anything wrong?” Gloria asked a moment later. “You look upset.”
“Not upset, extremely proud,” Ginny answered with a sniff. “The ovation for Harry took me by surprise. It made me realize just how far he’s come since last October.”
Gloria patted her arm. “And with the funds we raise tonight, many more people will heal just as much as he has because the hospital is a better place to heal and work, thanks to your demands, Ginny.”
Embarrassed, Ginny said, “I just hope tonight’s proceeds will be enough to support the new staff.”
“They will, Ginny. I’ve been looking at the silent bids and already we’ll take in ten thousand Galleons and the evening’s just getting started,” Gloria said smiling. “Now let’s go over the plan again. Your Quidditch friends are already circulating through the room…”
*
Harry was happy to see the relaxed faces of St Mungo’s new healing staff as he followed Madam Nigel over to where they were gathered. Ginny had been correct; he’d met many of them in January, and although there had been a sense of urgency about the A and E that day, he hadn’t felt any of the overwhelming panic the overtaxed healers had exuded on his previous visits. Now, seeing them out of uniform, in elegant evening clothes, he could smile and laugh with them in a way he couldn’t at the hospital.
“You’ll probably see me around,” he told the group as he took his leave. “Criminals are never shy when it comes to cursing their pursuers.”
“We’ll be ready for you,” one of Mary Beth’s healers said, grinning.
Harry bade them a good evening and went off to enjoy the party. Ginny had told him a little about the silent auction items and some of the live auction items and he now headed to the silent auction tables, located on a raised platform at the far end of the room, to see the entire selection.
There were five extended tables set up in an elongated, widely spaced ‘E’ design so that the auction items could be evenly spaced on both sides of the tables for easy viewing. Other guests strolled between them, pausing here and there to quietly discuss the merits of one item over another as well as bend down to add their names to the bid sheets. Harry rolled slowly to a table filled with baskets and discovered one he wanted to bid on almost immediately. The items inside the enormous basket had a Quidditch theme, and knowing his family’s penchant for the game, he added his name to the already long list of bidders.
A few minutes after he bid on the Quidditch basket, Harry looked up to see a friendly face bending over one of the bid sheets. He waited until the wizard was finished and then called out, “Oliver! Great to see you, mate! It’s been ages. How’s the family?”
Oliver Wood strode towards him, his hand out and a broad smile on his face. “We’re good, Harry, very good indeed,” he said as the two shook hands. “My son, Hunter, was the last of my three to go to Hogwarts this year.”
“Should James and Albus expect to see him at try-outs come September?” Harry grinned.
Oliver puffed out his chest. “Absolutely! You should see him fly! My daughters never took to the game, choosing Charms Club instead like their mother, but Hunter…” He trailed off with the glazed look on his face that only a truly enraptured parent could pull off.
The two exchanged a few more pleasantries and then Harry went back to scanning the tables for the perfect gift for Ginny. He spotted it on the last table: a multiple-strand pearl necklace, bracelet and earring set from one of Diagon Alley’s most expensive jewellers. Looking about to make sure Ginny was nowhere in sight, Harry wrote his name on the bid card and tripled the current bid. The amount was now well over five hundred Galleons and Harry knew that if he won the set it would be worth every Knut spent.
“Buying something for Ginny?” a voice asked, making him jump.
Harry turned to find Ron and George grinning down at him.
“As a matter of fact, I am,” he said. “Do you think she’ll like the pearls?”
“Nope, they’re too ostentatious. Reminds me of something Dolores Umbridge might wear,” George deadpanned, startling Harry and causing Ron to roll his eyes.
“George, Umbridge wouldn’t wear them,” Ron corrected his brother, “they aren’t pink!”
“Oh, right,” George said. “My mistake.”
“Harry, we thought you’d want to see this,” Ron said, shoving the list of live auction items at him and pointing to three consecutive items.
“Holiday packages in the Bahamas?” Harry asked as an idea began forming in his mind. “Brilliant! Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Yep. Dad and Mum’s fiftieth anniversary was in January and Ron had the idea that if each of us bid on one, we could take the entire family to the Caribbean for a celebration holiday in August just before school starts again,” George explained.
“Sure, I’ll bid. It sounds like fun,” he said, grinning, “especially since it looks like each villa accommodates up to eight people. We’ll probably have to pay for an extra person or two or have some of the children sleep on conjured camp beds, but this sounds like a blast!”
George grinned. “Glad you want to do this, Harry. Now we just have to let Angelina and Hermione know what we’re planning. You’ll let Ginny know?”
Harry said, “Yes, at dinner” and the three went their separate ways, Harry hovering in the vicinity to make sure no one raised his bid on the pearls.
*
Across the room, Ginny was busy chatting up the owner of the Balleycastle Bats, trying to get him to make a large donation to St Mungo’s. Like every other former professional Quidditch player, she knew that his seriously injured players ended up there if the team medi-wizards recommended it.
When he finally consented to write the promissory note, she handed him a charmed form and a self-inking quill. At the top of the form, in block letters, was the warning, “This is a binding magical contract.”
The wizard muttered, “I wasn’t going to renege. Not good for business,” and touched the quill to the form. A minute later, Ginny shook his hand, smiling broadly: he’d doubled the amount he’d already agreed to and at the end of the evening would be talking to the goblins about arranging four consecutive payments of five thousand Galleons. Then she began circulating the room again, sometimes handing out the forms and sometimes just encouraging the people she talked with to bid on the bigger ticket items in the live auction.
“Ginny! It’s been so long!” exclaimed Gwenog Jones as the two hugged.
“Thank you for asking Gina and Gracie to come tonight,” Ginny said. “They’ve been surrounded by fans the entire evening.”
“It doesn’t hurt that Gina experienced the new staffing arrangements in the A and E three weeks ago,” Gwenog pointed out. “They diagnosed her concussion and had her skull fracture healed in half the time it took the last time. She’s been singing your praises ever since because you saw the need and did something about it.”
Ginny felt her face grow hot. “The mistakes the healers made with Harry shouldn’t have happened, and I’m glad the changes I demanded made a difference in Gina’s treatment,” she said.
“They did and she wanted me to give you this,” Gwenog said, handing Ginny one of the promissory notes. It was signed by Gina who was pledging five thousand Galleons to the hospital. On the bottom of the parchment she’d written a note that this was her way of thanking the hospital.
“Please thank her for me,” Ginny said as she Banished the note to the goblins’ table.
“I will, and good luck tonight,” her former coach said as they parted.
Ginny headed for the drinks table, but didn’t get that far because the chime for dinner sounded and she went in search of her table.
*
Dinner was a nice change from the rubber chicken or dried-out roast dishes Harry usually encountered at large dinners like this one; he could tell that Ginny had had a hand in planning the menu. The soup and salad courses were rather predictable with their choices of French Onion or lobster bisque and green or warm spinach salad, but the entre choices were much tastier: the menu listed salmon almandine, pecan encrusted pork chops, or bacon wrapped steaks as the choices. Harry selected the pork chops and paired them with green beans and a pumpkin souffl. Ginny and Hermione had chosen the salmon, opting for a small spinach quiche and white rice as their side dishes. Ron, Bill, George and Arthur were their predictable selves, going with the steaks, jacket potatoes and peas and mushrooms.
When his entre came, Harry nudged his wife. “You’ve outdone yourself with the caterers, Ginny. The food is delicious,” he said. “I hope you and Madam Offerman have engaged this company for the next event.”
Ginny smiled at him. “We have, and from what I’ve been hearing, others agree with you.”
“I think you’ll be raking in the Galleons since everyone seems satisfied with their meals,” he grinned.
“I hope so,” she said, sounding nervous. “I’m grateful that so many have signed pledge contracts, too.”
“Do you know the exact amount yet?” Angelina asked.
“Almost a hundred thousand in contracts and more that two hundred thousand from the silent auction,” she said as her hand floated up to touch the pearl necklace Harry had won. “Thank you, Harry.”
He leaned over and whispered in her ear, “You’re the most beautiful witch in the room, so enjoy yourself.”
“Thank you, Harry,” she whispered back, her face taking on his favourite shade of delicate pink, “the pearls are beautiful.”
“Only for you, my love.”
Across the table, Molly smiled at him as if to let him know she approved of his gift to her daughter.
*
“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention?” Madam Offerman’s voice echoed through the ballroom. “It is my pleasure to give you Mrs Ginevra Potter, my co-chairwitch for the evening.”
Ginny stood up, her evening handbag containing her speech clutched in her hand, and strode up to the podium. As she climbed the steps a goblin approached her and handed her a piece of parchment. She thanked him and glanced at the parchment, reading the total amount raised by the silent auction, her jaw nearly hitting the floor.
“Is everything all right?” Madam Nigel inquired.
Ginny handed her the parchment. “It’s better than all right,” she beamed.
“Indeed it is.”
She took her place at the podium and although she was still somewhat nervous, her hands were no longer shaking. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she began in a clear, charmed voice, “I want to personally thank you for coming to this auction tonight. The money we are raising this evening will directly benefit the various hospital departments through increased staffing and new, innovative developments in all areas of healing. Many of you have already experienced the changes implemented last December in the A and E and on several other floors. Madam Nigel and her healers have pledged to continue to strive for excellence in patient care throughout St Mungo’s.
“Additionally, due to the results of a poll taken from visitors and staff alike, the hospital has opened a child care facility for the children of patients and medical staff, something which has long been overdue. Now, at no extra charge, parents can be assured of a safe and engaging place for their little ones to stay while the adults visit or work upstairs. Located just off the main lobby, the child care is open twenty-four hours.” At this announcement, applause thundered through the room. Ginny smiled and waited for the clapping to die down again.
“I also thank you for your generosity so far this evening. Already tonight, the silent auction has made two hundred ninety-seven thousand Galleons for St Mungo’s Hospital. I hope you will enjoy your purchases and continue to bid generously in the live auction.” She turned to the auctioneer. “Let the bidding begin!”
As the brightly dressed wizard took his place at the podium and began the bidding on the first item, a Nimbus racing broom that normally retailed at Quality Quidditch Supplies at one hundred seventy-five Galleons, Ginny made her way back to her seat beside Harry. He was busy circling items on his program and raised his head to smile at her when she sat down. Then, he pointed to item nine.
“A holiday in the Bahamas?” she whispered to him, an eyebrow raised.
“Ron’s idea,” Harry murmured. “Does a fiftieth wedding celebration ring a bell?”
Ginny grinned. “The whole family?”
“Uh huh. How high should I bid?”
Ginny thought a moment and then whispered a suggestion in his ear. Harry nodded. “This is going to be fun,” he said. “You know I out-bid Mr Nigel for your pearls, don’t you?”
Ginny’s eyes grew wide. “Oh Merlin! We’d better not let that get out,” she giggled. “At least not until we get back to The Burrow!”
“My lips are sealed on that subject,” her husband grinned.
Ginny picked up her live auction list and began going through it. Near the end of the list was a family holiday package to Eastbourne. She nudged Harry. “Can we bid on this? It says we have a year to schedule the holiday,” she said.
Harry grinned at her. “I’ll go anywhere with you, my love.”
*
Ron sat on the edge of his seat ready to light up his wand at the beginning of the bidding on the Chudley Cannons season ticket package. Hermione had said he could bid until he won the tickets after he’d won a diamond and black onyx necklace in the silent auction for her. He’d presented it to her before dinner, just as Harry had given Ginny her pearls, and his wife had been so surprised and pleased that she’d finally relented on her limit of five hundred Galleons he could bid on the tickets.
Now, as the Cannons tickets were announced and the bidding started at fifty Galleons, Ron raised his wand high, signalling that he was bidding on the item. Across the room five other people also raised their wands.
“Looks like there are a few Chudley fans in the room,” he commented to Hermione.
“Looks like it, darling,” she murmured back.
The bids quickly rose to five hundred Galleons, at which point only he and two other people were bidding, the other three having dropped out one by one.
“Do I have six-fifty? Six hundred-fifty Galleons?” asked the auctioneer.
Ron raised his wand, to be beaten by another bidder.
The price went steadily upwards; seven hundred, seven hundred-fifty, eight hundred, nine hundred Galleons, causing ripples of comments to float about the ballroom. At one thousand Galleons the third bidder dropped out, leaving only Ron and the witch on the other side of the room bidding on the tickets.
“Ginny, can you see who I’m bidding against?” Ron asked across the table.
“You’re bidding against Madam Offerman, Ron,” his sister responded without even looking.
“I am? How do you know?” he asked, nearly missing the opportunity to bid one thousand two hundred-fifty Galleons.
“The day I showed her the package she acted like Lily used to when her brothers let her play Quidditch with them,” Ginny replied with a smile.
“Oh dear,” Hermione groaned. “If she was jumping up and down, I wonder how much it’s going to take before she either wins or concedes the tickets to Ron.”
“We’re about to find out,” George commented, as the price topped one thousand five hundred.
Ron nearly won the tickets at two thousand Galleons, but at the last moment, Madam Offerman raised her wand. Ron still won that bid.
Two minutes later, the price was at three thousand Galleons. Ron wavered.
“It’s all right, Ron,” Hermione whispered to him. “No limit, remember?”
Ron smiled at her and raised his wand, indicating that he’d bid the three thousand.
And still the price rose. Three thousand one hundred Galleons. Three thousand five hundred…
Ron looked over at Madam Offerman. Her wand was glowing, but not very brightly. He grinned. Maybe, just maybe, he could win the tickets…
“Three thousand five hundred fifty Galleons. Do I have thirty-five-fifty?”
Ron raised his wand.
Three thousand six hundred went to Madam Offerman.
Three thousand seven hundred. Ron raised his wand confidently, beating Madam Offerman who was beginning to look a little desperate.
“Three thousand seven hundred-fifty Galleons. Do I have thirty-seven-fifty?” cried the auctioneer.
Ron raised his wand and held it high, looking across the room. Madam Offerman stared back at him. The auctioneer asked his question again. Madam Offerman extinguished her wand and put it on her table.
Ron smiled, raising his wand high.
“Going once, going twice, SOLD to Mr Ronald Weasley for three thousand seven hundred-fifty Galleons!” The Weasley/Potter table let out a cheer. “Mr Weasley, would you please go talk to the representatives from Gringotts,” the auctioneer added.
“Who will go to the first match with me?” Ron excitedly asked the table at large.
“I’ll go if they’re playing the Harpies,” Ginny quipped from across the table. “It’ll be fun to cheer for my team.”
Ron glared at her momentarily, but he was feeling too happy to be angry at his sister for that remark for long. As the bidding for a broom ride and a day of Quidditch training with the Tornados Seeker went up for bid, he rose and made his way over to the goblins’ table to sign the papers. Several minutes later, he came back and handed Hermione a small piece of parchment.
“Goblins took the whole amount from our vault,” he told her as he sat down. “They had everything all ready when I walked up. All I had to do was sign my name.”
Hermione nodded. “Thought that’s how they’d do it. May I see the tickets?”
Ron fished in the inner breast pocket of his robes and pulled out a small and very orange envelope. Two rather active cannonballs bounced over its surface. He handed it to Hermione who took it and pulled out two small cards, each in the same garish shade of orange with the picture of the team logo on it, and the words, “Season Ticket Pass,” Ron’s name and “Box 77” inscribed across the top.
“The Cannons will send me an owl in a day or two with the rules and restrictions,” Ron said. He held out his hand for the passes.
Hermione gave them back, murmuring, “lovely, dear” and went back to watching the auction, which had switched to an item identified in the program as five cases of elf-made wine. She raised her wand when a new bid was called.
*
Arthur gazed contentedly around the table, taking in the sight of five of his six children and their spouses all gathered at the same table. That his sons had rallied behind their sister when she and her very worthwhile cause needed them, gave him a sense of pride that only a father, and perhaps a mother, could feel. Each one of his sons had bid on at least one item in the silent auction and they were now enjoying the excitement of the live auction more than he thought they would. He sat back and watched as first George and then Ron bid on and won holiday packages to a Wizarding resort and wondered vaguely why they had both chosen the same location: the Bahamas.
A few minutes later, Ginny raised her wand and began bidding on something. Arthur glanced down at the item number and did a double-take: his daughter was bidding on the third Bahamian holiday listed. He stole a look at his wife: Molly was deep in conversation with Fleur and not paying attention to the bidding at all. He scratched his head and went back to watching the bidding.
Now Harry took over from Ginny, raising his wand high to get the auctioneer’s attention.
Arthur caught his daughter’s eye. “Having a good evening?” he mouthed.
Ginny beamed, nodded and took over the bidding again. When it ended five minutes later, she had out-bid their opponents and won the holiday package. Something was definitely up, Arthur decided.
The evening continued with various members of his family trying to wrest various items that interested them from other bidders. Sometimes they joined in for the fun of it, while at other times they seriously tried for an item. No matter what, Arthur was enjoying himself because his children and their spouses were.
The last item to be offered was a set of custom made dress robes from Madam Malkin’s. Arthur and Molly had seen this item in the program earlier in the evening and had decided to join the bidding for it after Molly had said very persuasively, “You know, Arthur, I’m going to need dress robes for Victoire and Teddy’s wedding, so why shouldn’t I at least bid on the item?”
Arthur had agreed with his favourite, “Yes, Mollywobbles,” and now was eagerly watching the outcome of this feminine bidding war.
The bids started relatively low with witches at ten tables raising their wands every time a new price was called out. However, the number dwindled sharply once the bids went over one thousand Galleons, Molly still in the thick of it.
She seemed to be enjoying herself and Arthur realized that in the last few years his wife had been slowly regaining some of the fire of her youth. The years they’d spent together raising their family had been good ones, but had been physically draining to the point that by the time the war was over, he and Molly had nearly nothing left to give. Now, with the first of their grandchildren about to get married and his secure financial state allowing them to participate in auctions and other functions like this, he could see the young witch his Mollywobbles had been when she first caught his eye in the Gryffindor common room all those years ago peering out of the mature Molly’s eyes.
His wife’s triumphant squeal alerted him that something very pleasing had just occurred. “Molly, dear, did you win?”
Molly turned her excited eyes on him. “Yes, I did!” she beamed. “I out-bid Ruby Parkinson of all people!”
“Congratulations!” he told her, giving her a one-armed hug. “Are you excited?”
She gave him a look that said “do you have to ask?” and then burst out giggling. Finally, she said, “Come with me to the goblins’ table. I’m shaking too much to sign my name properly.”
“Anything you wish,” he said. He stood and offered his hand to her.
When they slid back into their seats a few minutes later, everyone at the table stopped talking. Arthur found this a little strange, but didn’t say anything; he was too curious to find out what this was all about.
Bill, Ginny, Ron, George, and Percy all stood up.
“Mum, Dad,” Bill began, “I don’t know if you noticed, but Ron, Harry and Ginny, and George all bid on and won holiday packages to a Bahamian resort. We,” he gestured to everyone sitting round the table, “had the idea that if we could win all three holidays, we’d take them altogether and come together as a family to help you celebrate your golden anniversary, even though the real day passed in January.”
Ron, Harry and George now fished inside their dress robe pockets and pulled out the vouchers from the resort.
“We outbid everyone who wanted these holiday packages,” George said, taking up the explanation, “because we want to thank you for being such good parents to us and because the two of you have not travelled as much as we know you have wanted to over the years. Now you can go to a place we know you’ve talked for years about seeing, and if you’re willing, we’ll all tag along and help you celebrate fifty wonderful years together.”
“Happy Anniversary!” everyone round the table chorused.
Arthur was speechless. He’d had no idea his children felt this way and his heart was so full of love for the witches and wizards at the table that the words to express what he was feeling escaped him. Molly, however, knew exactly what to do. In a torrent of happy tears, she grabbed Fleur and Angelina and hugged them tightly, then worked her way round the table until all ten had been properly thanked, and when she returned to his side, she hugged him, too.
“Oh, Arthur, isn’t this wonderful?” she asked tearfully.
“Yes, Mollywobbles, they are,” he said.
*
Ginny kicked off her shoes and sank her toes into carpet of their bedroom with a contented sigh. The evening had been electrifying, raising more money for St Mungo’s than she could have ever imagined.
“Your auction was certainly a success,” Harry said as he rolled up behind her and pulled her down onto his lap.
“I’m absolutely speechless,” she admitted. “Gloria Offerman is over the moon that we took in a million Galleons just by doing something different, and Madam Nigel personally came up to me when you were getting my cape to tell me how pleased she is.”
Harry nuzzled her neck. “I’m glad, Ginny. It was fun seeing everyone enjoying themselves, especially your parents,” he murmured as he planted a kiss next to the shoulder strap of her robes, making it slip a little. “But do you know what I enjoyed most about this evening?”
“What did you enjoy?” she asked. She pulled on the ends of his bowtie, causing it to unravel, and then unfastened the top two buttons of his shirt, letting her nails gently scrape against his skin.
He grabbed her wrists and looked deeply into her eyes. “Watching you all evening,” he said. He let go and brought his hands to her waist, creating two delightfully warm spots where they rested. “You seemed to glow, Ginny, and that was a powerful turn-on.” He shifted and she was suddenly aware of him–all of him.
Her breath quickened, his attentions making her forget what she wanted to say, so she groaned deep in her throat.
“Mmmmm. I love it when you do that,” Harry whispered. “Can I see you in just the pearls?”
Ginny slid off Harry’s lap and turned her back, inviting him to help her with the zip. Seconds later, their clothes cascaded to the floor. Ginny turned round at the sound of Harry’s appreciative murmur and leaned down to kiss her husband deeply. Then, as they let their magic intertwine, their bedsprings creaked just a bit, and then the only sounds in the room were of two people enjoying what was left of the evening.
Chapter 40: 40: Conclusions
Author's Notes: I think this is the chapter you’ve all been waiting for, the one that answers the burning question I’ve received many times in the reviews: Will Harry walk again? I hope I have met your expectations.
Many thanks to my pre-beta team of Mutt N Feathers, RSS, RebeccaRipple, Rosina Ferguson and Miz636. Your comments made me smile this week and I’m grateful to you for all the time you’ve given to this story. To Aggiebell, thank you for taking time out from your trip preparations to beta this chapter. Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I look forward to responding to the ones from this one.
Aftermath Part 7
*
2145 hours, Tuesday, 16 March 2021
Dear Mum,
I’m writing to tell you that Scorpius Malfoy has asked me to go to Hogsmeade with him this coming Saturday! Of course I said yes, but now I’m worried that Dad is going to be upset about whom I’m going with. I mean, I know our houses compete against each other on a regular basis, but it’s friendly competition and not like our two houses are at each others’ throats all the time as they were when you were at Hogwarts; Scorpius and I are just friends and nothing more. Sure we’ve been Potions partners all year and regularly share a table in the library with a mixed house group of fourth years, but that’s all the contact I have with him on a regular basis. It’s not as if we’re sneaking off to snog in the broom cupboards like James and Kendra do…
Hermione cringed at this latest bit of information and wondered if Ginny knew her eldest son was continuing to frequent the broom cupboards, even though he’d promised his parents to stay out of them.
Anyway, Hugo told me not to worry because Dad has become friends with Scorpius’ dad, but still… I can’t help remembering what he said to me four years ago when we started at Hogwarts about beating Scorpius in every class… It’s not like that at all between us. Actually, it’s more like we’re collaborators since we tend to help each other so much.
What should I do, Mum? I like Scorpius so very much and I don’t want anything that happened so long ago to get in the way of our being friends and having a good time together on Saturday.
Your loving daughter,
Rose
Hermione sighed and let the letter drop into her lap. She couldn’t help the smile that was tugging at the corners of her mouth as she glanced across the lounge at Ron, who was snoring on the sofa. Ron, she knew, would take the news in stride because the two of them had talked at length back in January when Rose had first written to them that she wanted to correspond with Scorpius; Hermione supposed her husband had neglected to share this information with their daughter, possibly because he had been so very busy of late, but also because it still rankled a bit that there might be the smallest of possibilities that the two young people would become more than friends… even she was having trouble adjusting to the fact that their little girl was quickly becoming a woman.
Picking up the letter again, she stood and walked down the passage to her study where she took up quill and parchment and began her letter to Rose.
My dearest Rose,
I am so very happy to have read your news that Scorpius Malfoy has asked you to go with him to Hogsmeade. From what you say in your letter, it sounds as if he asked you because he finds your company pleasant and wants to possibly spend more time getting to know you in a more relaxed environment than that of the library or the Potions classroom. I think you’ll have a wonderful time together.
Please don’t worry about your father. Hugo is correct that he and Mr Malfoy have patched up their differences, as have Mr Malfoy and Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny. It’s true that your father was the last of our little group to put aside what happened between us and Scorpius’ father when we were your age and let bygones be bygones; however, time and circumstances have changed us and it’s no longer important for us to maintain our old school rivalries. I realize your father’s words were meant to foster the same competitiveness between our families as there was between the five of us so long ago, but I am confident the fact that Scorpius is a Slytherin and you are a Gryffindor is no longer important. Your father knows the atmosphere at Hogwarts is much different now than when we were there, so please do not worry.
My advice… Spend the day exploring the shops with your friend and enjoy his company. I think he will be doing the same.
I’d love to hear about your day, but only if it’s something you wish to share with me.
All my love,
Mum
Hermione read what she’d written two times before she was satisfied with it. As she rolled the parchment into a tight cylinder and gave it to the school owl that had brought Rose’s letter, she marvelled at the fact that so many wonderful changes had come of the Battle of Hogwarts and what she, Ron, Harry and their own friends had fought so long for.
With the owl on its way, it was time to wake Ron for a little chat before bed.
*
0746 hours, Thursday, 18 March 2021
It took five tries, Silvia, two assistants manning a set of safety ropes which were attached to a ceiling pulley system, a very stiff body harness, a set of twelve-foot long parallel bars, and Ginny cheering him on, but he did it… he stood up for the first time in six months!
Harry decided the hardest part about getting back on his feet was the initial transfer of weight from chair to feet, followed by the interminable moments it took his body to communicate with his brain and inner ear. As he stood there waiting to get his balance, he imagined the conversation going on between his body and head:
Brain: All right, body, we’re going to stand up. Inner Ears, it’s time to transfer weight. Don’t go all wobbly on me.
Inner Ears: Can’t you give a bloke a break? We’re working overtime here!
Brain: Shut it and stop complaining. You’ve had it easy the last few months. It’s time to go to work. Feet, are you on the floor?
Feet: Yeah, yeah, we’re on the floor.
Brain: Legs, get ready to accept body weight.
Legs: Do we have to?
Brain: Yes! Knees, you’re going to have to straighten, so work with the bones and muscles like we discussed.
Knees: Right-o! Ready when you are.
Brain: Back and Spinal Cord, stay straight and work with me.
Back: This contraption won’t let me bend! I’ll stay straight.
Spinal Cord: I’m trying, but it’s hard because I’m still tattered in places.
Brain: We know, but you’re better than you when he first was hurt. Hands, grab something and hold on!
Hands: Already there, mate!
Brain: Right, then. Everyone, on my count… One… Two… Three! UP!
Harry gripped the parallel bars tightly, willing the various parts of his body just one more time to work together as a unified whole to get him on his feet and then to stay standing for longer than ten seconds. He lunged his upper body forward, pushing, concentrating and then…
“Harry! Look at you!”
Ginny’s triumphant exclamation sounded like music in his ears and he couldn’t help the grin that threatened to split his face in two. He stood there feeling the harness taking much of his weight and keeping him from falling, even as his arms began shaking from doing the same thing.
“Silvia, step back. I’m determined…” he grunted and concentrated on moving his right foot forward, keeping his weight on his left foot. Muscle and joint struggled to lift the right leg high enough to slide the foot forward and then make it take his weight. He wobbled and Silvia’s hands automatically reached for him, but he shook his head.
“Did it,” he muttered, and then concentrated on bringing the other foot forward. This movement was successful, too, as were the next two steps and hand transfers. However, when his legs began shaking, he was tempted to sit down in the harness and rest; the next eight feet of bars between him and Ginny could have been the English Channel for all he knew!
“Harry, don’t you dare push yourself,” Silvia warned.
“Taking too long…” Harry grunted determinedly. He took two more steps, letting the harness take most of his weight.
His right hand began to cramp and he looked down at it, somewhat surprised to see the old scars on the back of his hand– left so long ago by Delores Umbridge’s blood quill–vying for lack of colour with his knuckles. He let go of the bar and shook his hand, an action that played havoc with his balance, but somehow–probably because of the harness–he managed to stay upright.
“Steady, there,” he heard Silvia caution just as Ginny added, “Not much more to go, Harry.”
Harry took a deep breath, let it out and then concentrated on moving his right leg again. He put it down and shifted his weight so he could lift the left. A pattern formed in his head: shift, lift, down, hand, shift, lift, down, hand. He saw Silvia stepping off the mat they were standing on and then a moment later, the bars ended, the mat tilted down a bit, Ginny’s arms were hugging his middle and her head was pressed against his chest as he sagged against her, both laughing and crying at the same time.
“Oh, Merlin, Harry, I’m proud of you!” Ginny sobbed.
“How do you feel?” Silvia asked as she knelt beside him and began unbuckling the body harness from his legs.
“Shocked,” Harry admitted. He looked down at her frown and added, “I’ll let you know in a moment.
“I’ll hold you to it,” Silvia said, a cautious smile twitching at her mouth as a third assistant brought Harry’s wheelchair. He sank into it gratefully.
Five minutes later, he had a verdict for his therapist. “Overall, I’m tired. My arms feel like jelly, more than my legs or back do. My heart’s beating double time still, but I think that’s the adrenaline rush.” He paused as Silvia scowled and mumbled something about extra arm and shoulder exercises. Then he countered, “Don’t look at me like that, Silvia. You saw that death grip I had on those bars. I’d locked my elbows, too. I can catch myself safely if I fall, you know that.”
Silvia nodded. “I expected as much from you,” she said with a shake of her head. “Do you want another go later or have you had enough for one day?”
Harry couldn’t help grinning. “If you think I’m ready, let’s go for it,” he said enthusiastically.
“Very good,” Silvia said. “There’s a walking rig I’d like you to use that requires only one person to assist you. It allows you more freedom than the parallel bars we used this morning do, and it’s a lot easier to manoeuvre. I’ll also have the standing station ready so you can do various tasks while practicing standing up. I’ll work with you today to get you started and then you’ll work with the other assistants during your regular therapy time from tomorrow on. Is that acceptable?”
“It is,” Harry replied.
“Good. I’ll see you later,” Silvia said, now smiling fully at him. Harry could tell she was pleased, mostly because she turned and walked towards the door, whistling tunelessly, as her first patient of the day entered the Physiotherapy Room.
He now turned to Ginny. “Do you have to rush off somewhere any time soon?” he asked.
“No, I’ve taken the morning off. What do you have in mind?”
“I could go for a celebratory cup of tea. Would you join me?”
“I’d like that very much. You can help me write my report to the children while we’re at it.”
Harry grinned as he opened the door for her. “I think we’d better write in block lettering ‘this is not a prank’ somewhere on the letter. Otherwise, James will think we’re taking the mickey.”
“We can’t have that, now, can we?”
“Not if we don’t want angry letters from Albus and Lily.”
They entered the dining room as Ginny giggled, “Merlin forbid! You think of everything!”
*
1732 hours
“YES!!!”
The triumphant yell, as loud as any heard on the Quidditch pitch from a winning team and accompanied by a celebratory fist pumping the air, shattered the tranquil late afternoon stillness of the library. It was followed immediately thereafter by the screech of a very surprised Snowy owl named Snitch and the sound of a chair hitting the floor as its occupant jumped to his feet.
The librarian hurried towards to table and the offending student, intent on finding out what the commotion was all about, but James Potter was already pounding his way out of the room in search of his brother and sister. Even after the door banged shut behind him, the other students in the library could hear him hollering for Lily and Albus as he raced towards Gryffindor Tower.
Once he’d impatiently crawled through the portrait hole, he sped through the common room, ignoring the surprised exclamations of his fellow Gryffindors. He then sprinted up the stairs to the boys’ dormitories and finally found them both in Albus’ room. Startled by the door banging against the wall as James entered, they jumped up from Albus’ bed where they’d been studying broom brochures.
“What the–”
“Hey!”
Excitedly, James gasped, “Dad… WALKED… this… morning!” and thrust the letter he clutched in his fist at his siblings.
“He did?” Albus squeaked, a huge grin spreading across his face.
Lily snatched the letter and smoothed it out on top of the brochures she and Albus had abandoned when James burst into the room. “Listen to this,” she squealed excitedly. “‘It took nearly five minutes, but he walked the full twelve feet with minimal assistance.’ Then she wrote in capital letters, ‘James, I’m not joking. This is not a prank!’” Lily looked up at him, grinning. “See, James, Mum and Dad know you too well.”
James shrugged as Albus urged her to continue.
“Let me find my place…” Lily said scowling at him. “Ah… ‘When I left him two hours later, he was having his first go in a special walking rig, assisted by Silvia, who couldn’t stop smiling at him.’”
“So… it’s for real? Dad’s mobile again?” Albus asked, with one eyebrow raised. When Lily nodded, he added, “Brilliant!”
“Looks like it,” James confirmed. He just couldn’t stop grinning.
Albus peered over Lily’s shoulder at the letter. “Does the letter say how far he walked the second time?”
James raised an eyebrow at them as he confessed, “I didn’t finish the letter. Is there more?”
Lily said, scowling in concentration at the letter, “Not much, and no, she seems to have left before Dad completed his therapy. She just says she wishes we’d been there to see him and that she’ll write more in a few days’ time.”
James sank down onto his brother’s bed. “I wonder whether he’ll be walking everywhere by the time school ends,” he mused. “It would be brilliant if he could fly with us, too.”
“Maybe not walking everywhere, but at least at home…” Lily said realistically. She handed the letter to Albus, who began reading eagerly. “Why couldn’t we make sure he’ll be able to fly?” she asked James. “We’d need help, but any of our uncles could help us with the charms if we asked, so why not create a flying broom chair for Dad as well as Brian? Albus and I have been studying broom brochures.”
James hadn’t thought he could smile any wider, but apparently he was wrong. “You told me last week that Brian’s parents gave you permission to put together a flying chair for him,” he said thoughtfully. “It’d be brilliant if we could make a permanent one for Dad like the temporary one we made at Christmas…”
Albus looked up from the letter. “I can see the wheels turning in your head already, James,” he chuckled. “If he’s really walking by his birthday, it’d be so much fun if we had the modified broom ready so he could fly by then, too.”
James’ stomach growled loudly, reminding them all that dinner would be very soon. They laughed as he said, “Let’s start planning later tonight.”
“Don’t you have an OWL revision group tonight, James?” Lily asked. “Kendra told me to tell you she won’t be attending because she’s behind on her Ancient Runes and Transfiguration homework and needs the time to write her essays.”
James groaned. “Bloody exams,” he grumbled. “All right. I suppose I could wait to start drawing up plans for the broom chairs until after OWLs are over. But it’s bloody brilliant that Dad’s walking again.”
His sister and brother agreed as Lily held out her hand for their mother’s letter. “I want to keep this,” she said as Albus handed it to her. “I’ll write our reply after dinner. Is that all right with you?”
James smiled at her and then felt the blood drain from his face. “Oh no! I left my books and bag in the library!” he groaned.
“What’s wrong with that?” Albus asked.
“Erm, I sort of left in a hurry after attracting a lot of attention. Madam Shannon was hot on my heels when the door banged shut,” James said sheepishly as his siblings giggled. “I suppose I’ll have detention because I wasn’t the quiet, model student she wants in her library.”
Lily walked around the bed and tugged him to his feet. “Go get your stuff and get the lecture over with, James. Then meet us in the Great Hall for dinner. We can tell Professor Wolcott and Professor Longbottom before we eat,” she said.
James allowed her to lead him to the door. “Fine. See you down there,” he said as he began the decent to the common room. However, he didn’t go directly to the library. One floor down, he stopped in his room and stood in front of his bedside table holding the photograph of him and his dad in Mum’s practice jerseys that he’d brought from home at Christmas. As they had back in November, the two wizards in the photo waved enthusiastically at him. James smiled back and then had to laugh as a single tear dripped down his nose and fell onto his dad’s picture: this wasn’t the sorrowful tear from five months ago, but one filled with joy. The photographic image laughed and mimed taking a shower as he wiped the splatter from the glass. Both wizards then stood tall again and James closed his eyes and sighed contentedly as he put the photo back on his table. Dad’s going to walk again, he thought as he headed for the door. We’ll stand together like that again, too… it won’t be long…
*
1727 hours, Saturday, 3 April 2021
“I wish we didn’t have to go back to Hogwarts tomorrow,” Lily said as she and her mother walked back towards their house from the Quidditch pitch where they’d been tossing a Quaffle together.
Her mum put her arm around Lily’s shoulders and squeezed her gently. “Why don’t you want to go back to Hogwarts? You’ve always been so eager to go back to school and see your friends,” she said, her voice filled with concern.
Lily smiled, hoping to reassure her mother. “I’ve had such a good time this holiday, I just don’t want to go back,” she said.
“I’m glad you’ve had a good time,” Mum replied, smiling back at her. “Is there anything special that made it fun?”
Lily stopped walking and turned to her mother. “We’re a family again, Mum. That’s what made it so special,” she said, voicing the thought that had been bouncing around in her brain the last few days.
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, Dad’s been here the entire week except for the afternoons he’s gone to work.”
“He’s gone off to work the last few years during Easter break.”
“I know, but this year he wasn’t home much because he was hurt. Even when we were all here at Christmas, it didn’t feel right, mostly because we were all wishing we were someplace else and not together. It wasn’t until you ran away on Christmas Day that our mood changed.”
Mum sighed deeply. “I’m sorry, Lily. Christmas this year was such a hard time for me. I was so mixed up.”
“I know you were, Mum, but when Uncle George brought you back, something was different. You were smiling a real smile and after we talked that night, things just started to feel more normal.” Lily paused, then stepped forward to briefly hug her mother. “This holiday,” she said, stepping back, “we’ve done so many things together. The picnic at that Muggle park was really fun. I love the garden we planted together, and James and Albus had great fun helping Dad set up the exercise equipment in the new building. I heard the three of them talking about muscle building at lunch.” She rolled her eyes. “Urgh! Boy talk!” Mum smiled and murmured something Lily didn’t catch. Finally, with a sly glance at her mum, she continued, “You’re more relaxed and Dad keeps looking at you and smiling that lopsided smile he only smiles for you.”
Mum’s eyes widened. “He does?”
“Albus noticed it first. James wanted to tease Dad about it, but we talked him out of it.”
“I’ll have to watch your father, tonight, then,” Mum giggled, “mostly because I’ve been smiling at him, too.”
It was Lily’s turn to giggle. “I thought I caught you doing that last night! Yes! I win my bet with Albus!” She felt her ears grow hot, so she added, “It’s so much nicer when we’re giggling like this. I missed it.”
They walked a little closer to the house and the area between the garage and the new building that had been marked off for the new swimming pavilion. The sounds of her brothers’ and dad’s voices counting “reps” from the new therapy room floated towards them on the late afternoon breeze.
“I missed laughing with you, too, Lily,” Mum said quietly.
“That’s good, because it’s nice to have back the mum I know and love most,” Lily said around the sudden lump in her throat.
“Oh, Lily, that person never went away,” Mum sniffed, making Lily look up. “She was just so very confused that she lost sight of what was important for a while. I’m sorry I let her hurt you and your brothers.”
“Apology accepted,” Lily said, smiling once again. All seemed right with the world again. She was about to say something more, but the door to the training room burst open and James came tumbling out, soaked in sweat and smelling like he’d rolled in Professor Longbottom’s dragon dung pile.
“Hey, Mum, hey, Lily,” he greeted them. “I’m hungry. What’s for dinner?”
Lily and her mum looked at each other and burst out giggling.
“Leave it to James to only think of his stomach,” Lily snickered, holding her nose.
“We’re definitely back to normal,” Mum said with a grin. “Come on, you two. Come help me decided what to put on the table.”
“Don’t you want me to shower first? I stink,” James grinned.
Mum pointed her wand at James and a moment later his sweaty clothes had dried and he stood before them clean and smelling like Mum’s washing powder. “Now you can help us,” she said.
James ran a hand through his dry hair. “Let me tell Dad and Albus I’m not coming back,” he said, and took off towards the training room.
“What do you think we should make tonight?” Mum asked Lily.
Lily grinned. “Anything that will fill up my brothers’ stomachs,” she smirked.
With a nod of agreement, the two Potter witches turned towards the house to plan and create one last evening meal together.
Chapter 41: 41: Epilogue
Author's Notes: It is with a little sadness that I post this last chapter and mark it as completed. This last year has been absolutely amazing, not only because I’ve actually written and posted this story (book) in record time—I usually take two to three years to post a story this long—but because I’ve met some really amazing people along the way. I’m grateful to my faithful reviewers who have told me time and again that a Thursday instalment is just what they needed to get through the rest of their week and who have not been shy about their reactions to the story. I value everyone’s opinion and have considered various requests as they come along because sometimes outside suggestions really do make the story better. For example, hpforever85 mentioned last week that she really wanted to know what James, Albus and Lily thought of their parents’ letter. When I read the review, I knew what had been missing from the chapter and immediately wrote the extra scene. Thank you, hpforever85, for the idea that really completed the chapter. I also am grateful to all those who took the time to vote for this story twice in the Silver Trinket Award voting. Winning last March’s Best Drama and the 2011 Best New Story awards has meant the world to me. Thank you so much for giving me these honours.
Some of the other amazing people I’ve encountered are the members of my pre-beta team. I have been blessed throughout the writing of this story to have a wonderful group of five people who have taken the time out of their busy lives to read and comment on each chapter. Miz636, Mutt n Feathers, RebeccaRipple, Rosina Ferguson, and RSS, you all have made such a difference in this story. I know I thank you every week, but please know that without your questions, suggestions, indignation, and helpful hints, this story wouldn’t be what it is… a winner in more ways than one. And to Aggiebell, my wonderful beta, thank you for being there faithfully each week to help me put the final polish on every chapter. I look forward to working with you on future stories.
Again, thank you all for reading and commenting on my work. I promise… there will be more stories in this universe.
1145 hours, Sunday, 1 August 2021
“Happy Birthday, Uncle Harry!” Percy’s daughter, Lucy, called as she exited the house on her way to the pool.
It was a gorgeous summer’s day, perfect for the garden and swim party that was taking place in the back garden and grounds of Snidget’s Haven. The flower beds were a riot of colour with the recently-installed lap pool and hot tub the main attraction this particular warm afternoon.
Harry, clad in his swim trunks and a Muggle t-shirt that proclaimed Swimmers do it in the fast lane, stood on the back veranda of his house waiting for the last of his guests to arrive. He’d received plenty of ribbing from the Weasley brothers about the shirt, but he wasn’t going to take off his birthday present from Ginny just to make the Weasley men feel better. Besides, the shirt went exceedingly well with the colour of the water.
Two sets of footsteps and the sound of the French doors being held open made Harry turn from his survey of the garden. He felt a grin split his face as Bertram, Jocelyn and Brian Nelson emerged from the house and met him next to the wheelchair ramp leading down into the garden.
“I’m so glad you could come,” Harry exclaimed in greeting. He looked down at Brian. “I believe Lily and the others are all down at the pool. Go enjoy yourself, Brian.”
Brian smiled. “Thanks, Mr Potter. I’ll do that.”
Harry watched his young friend as he chose to take the gently sloping ramp instead of the steeper stairs, noting the ease with which Brian manoeuvred his flying chair. A twinge of regret passed through Harry as he recalled the morning just after school let out when Brian had tried unsuccessfully to do the tests which would enable him to begin walking exercises. Unlike Harry, who had been alone with Silvia during his evaluation, Brian had wanted his parents and the Potters with him for support. The disappointment had been acute for all who had been with him, but the young wizard had sighed sadly and accepted his failure with the comment that now that he knew for certain, he could stop wishing for something that would never be.
Harry had not been surprised when Lily had sat down next to Brian and pulled him into a hug. She held him tightly, murmuring into his ear, and Harry could tell his young friend was responding to her words.
He knew Brian and his daughter had formed a very close friendship because Lily’s letters home had been almost as full of news about Brian as they had been about homework and Quidditch standings. That she would understand Brian’s sorrow and be better able to help him through it than even his parents seemed natural to her father, who couldn’t help feeling proud of her. Seeing that Brian was in good hands, the adults and Lily’s brothers had moved to another part of the P-T Room to let the two have some privacy while Melissa discussed the next phases in Brian’s therapy with his parents.
A happy squeal coming from the direction of the pool pavilion—or “natatorium” as James liked to call the building complex that housed the pool and hot tub, the weight room, the changing facilities and the filtration system—brought Harry out of his reminiscences, causing him to focus on the two friends meeting in the middle of the lawn. Lily, clad in a bright yellow bathing costume, had just thrown her arms around Brian’s neck and he was awkwardly returning the hug, patting her back reluctantly. The scene reminded Harry of how Ron had acted at that age when Hermione had thrown herself at him and had didn’t know what to do with such an enthusiastic hug.
“Harry, I am so grateful that Brian has Lily as his friend,” Jocelyn said, coming to stand next to him. Out on the lawn, Lily and Brian were now side by side heading towards the pool and the gaggle of Hogwarts students sitting at one end. “She understands him so well and treats him so normally. It’s really made a difference in how he views going back to Hogwarts in September.”
“That’s good to know. I heard Lily lamenting to Ginny the other night that she thinks it’s unfair that she’s in Gryffindor and he’s a Ravenclaw,” Harry reported.
Bert cleared his throat and said, “I wonder if those two had been talking about that on those mirrors you gave them because Brian asked me whether he could be re-Sorted a couple of days ago. I didn’t think that was possible and Brian was none too happy with my answer.”
His comment stirred a memory from deep in Harry’s past. “I believe Albus Dumbledore once said that he thought the school Sorted its students too soon. Maybe this is such a case.”
“You could be right, but I don’t want my son to set a precedent of unhappy students trying to get into another House,” Bert said. He chuckled, “Our children will just have to work around this little aggravation. It’ll do them good. Goodness knows we had plenty in our school days.”
Harry couldn’t dispute that, so he gestured towards the pool pavilion. “Shall we?” he asked. “You go first,” he added, gesturing towards the steps leading down to the garden path. “I’m a little slow.” The Nelsons smiled their agreement and preceded him down the steps.
Harry walked slowly to the stairs and stood at the top for a few seconds, preparing his body for the descent. When he was sure he had his balance, he lowered his crutches onto the step below, followed by his right foot, then his left. Again, he swayed a little until he was sure all parts of his body were ready to start the process all over again. Eventually, he made it down the five steps to where the Nelsons were waiting for him and together they walked down the path towards the pavilion and the rest of the guests who were lounging around the pool.
*
“Hey, Ginny,” George called as he stepped out of the fireplace and into the kitchen where Ginny was busy putting the finishing touches on the platters and bowls of food she was preparing for the meal. He snagged a carrot stick off the nearest platter and stood next to the table, chewing noisily. “Did Angelina get here? I was busy closing the shop.”
As he reached for another carrot, Ginny walked over and playfully slapped his hand away. “Keep your fingers out of the food,” she admonished with a good-natured smile. “Unless… you want to help. And yes, Angelina and the kids came through about forty minutes ago. They’re out by the pool.”
“What do you need help with?” George asked, surprising his sister by going over to the sink and washing his hands.
“Start the lettuce chopping. You’ll have to watch the knives or we’ll end up with American slaw instead of a garden salad,” Ginny said, smiling. She plunged her hands into the sink and came up with a large handful of tiny red tomatoes.
“Still washing veg by hand?” George said as he waved his wand at two knives, making them move slowly through the four heads of lettuce which sat on the chopping block.
Ginny chuckled. “Uh huh. I hand washed so many tomatoes, carrots and courgettes as a kid the habit stuck.” She took out her wand and dried the tomatoes with a quick spell, then dropped them a few at a time into the bowl that George was using to catch the lettuce pieces.
“Angelina still does that, too, sometimes.” Her brother was silent for a few seconds and then commented, “You seem to be your old self again, Ginny. I’m really glad.”
“So am I, George,” Ginny said. “Dr Hale has helped me work through my feelings of guilt and everything I worried unnecessarily about so that I’m much happier than I was seven or eight months ago.”
The knives stopped their assault on the lettuce as George walked over and embraced his sister. She wiped her hands on her apron and hugged him back.
“Do you know what Lily said back in April?” she asked looking up into his face.
Shaking his head, George answered, “No idea. What did your daughter say?”
“She said we were a family again, and whatever I’d been doing to find the mother she knew and loved was the right thing to have done, and that she really didn’t want to go back to Hogwarts at the end of Easter break,” Ginny answered.
“She’s a smart girl, your Lily. Just like her mother,” George said, giving Ginny one last squeeze.
Ginny batted her brother on the arm as they separated. “You’re just trying to make sure I save a piece of treacle tart for you as well as Harry,” she laughed.
Grinning, George started the knives chopping again. “You bet!”
*
“I’m so happy you could come to this party,” Rose murmured as she and Scorpius sat down on the side of the hot tub that was obscured from the rest of the pavilion by an enormous potted palm.
“Me, too,” Scorpius said. He swung his feet in the warm water, his near leg brushing hers. “When we received the invitation I wasn’t sure whether Dad and Mum were going to accept.”
Rose laid her head on her friend’s shoulder. “Why?”
“It was really a big deal at our house to receive the invitation because we never get invitations to the major parties like the ones the Higgs and the Pucey families throw, and this… this is a major party,” Scorpius explained as he swept a hand in an arch, indicating the rest of the party guests. “And heaven forbid that we’d be invited to a non-Slytherin event like those at the Davies’ and the Turpin’s. It’s as if my family is a pariah.”
Rose sighed as she felt his body tense up and wiggled a little closer to her friend. He responded by putting his arm around her waist, although he was still sitting ramrod straight. Meaning only to comfort him, she reached up and began rubbing her hand in small circles between his shoulder blades. He jumped at her touch, but when she didn’t stop, he leaned into her hand a little.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “Your parents are so nice.”
Scorpius laughed bitterly. “Most people don’t say that about my parents, especially my dad. I’ve heard them say all sorts of horrible things to him when he didn’t think I was listening,” he said with a hint of sadness in his voice. “It has to do with stuff that happened twenty years ago that nobody can forgive him and my grandfather for.”
“You mean it has to do with how our dads wouldn’t speak to each other civilly if they were in the same room?”
“Yeah, that,” Scorpius muttered. “But let’s not talk about it any more. It makes me think about how we never went anywhere when I was little.”
Rose lifted her head and peered around the palm, spotting both of Scorpius’ parents on the other side of the pool, each talking to a different group of people. “Look over there,” she said, pointing. “You’re dad’s talking to Mr Finch-Fletchley and Mr Pakrasi and they’re all smiling. I’d say he looks like he’s having a good time.”
Scorpius leaned over her and grinned. “And Mum’s talking to Mrs McKenna and Miss Midgen,” he said, sounding surprised. He sat back and Rose felt him relax enough to slouch a bit. “Thanks for pointing that out, Rose,” he said, planting a kiss on the top of her head.
Rose giggled and turned her head so that their noses were nearly touching. “That felt nice,” she murmured.
“Want me to do it again?” he asked.
Rose didn’t say a thing as they closed the distance between their lips, sharing their first tender, tentative kiss.
*
On the other side of the potted palm, Ron hastily rolled up the Extendable Ear he’d been using to eavesdrop on his daughter, a satisfied smile on his face. His suspicions had been confirmed and instead of being angry, he was quite pleased that Rose had such a nice young wizard for her boyfriend. He could tell by their tone of voice how much they liked each other.
Thrusting the Ear into his pocket, he took the long way to the other side of the pool to join Draco, Justin and Padma’s husband, Vijay. The four stood talking for a while and then Justin and Vijay decided to dive into the pool, leaving Ron and Draco staring somewhat awkwardly at each other.
Finally, Draco cleared his throat and said quietly, “I never thanked you properly for doing all you did to find Scorpius and then follow up afterwards. It… it means a lot.”
Feeling a bit awkward, Ron said, “It wasn’t only me, Draco. It was my whole Auror team; Brodie, Susan, Garrett, Terry and Mary Beth. We couldn’t let Gorman get away with terrorizing your family just because you happened to give us a clue to finding her. No child deserves to be kidnapped like that, and we wanted to reunite your family as soon as possible.”
Draco was silent for a moment. Then, he said, “I can’t accept that. There’s more to what you did and how you did it than you just doing your job, Ron.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Ron agreed at length. “I couldn’t get it out of my head that if it had been Hugo who’d been kidnapped, I’d want my son brought home as soon as possible. I… I think it’s called being a father.”
Draco grinned at him. “Yeah, that father stuff is pretty powerful magic.”
*
Brian floated on an inflatable raft, gazing through the glass ceiling of the pool pavilion at the wispy clouds painting the sky high in the atmosphere. Lily had gone off to greet some of her roommates, leaving him with James, James’ roommate Phil, and Kendra. When it had drifted by, Brian had taken the opportunity to grab the raft and float into the middle of the pool since he didn’t want to join James and Phil’s discussion of the latest broom models at Quality Quidditch Supplies.
It was nice to relax like this, but what he really wanted to do was race someone, he wanted to swim. Unfortunately, the long, narrow pool was full of party guests enjoying themselves. He looked around only to find that everyone had paired up or was part of a larger group engaging in activities he couldn’t participate in. He tried and failed to push the negative feelings away, so he resumed his contemplation of the clouds, since they seemed to calm his depressing thoughts.
A face full of water made him raise his head to look for the culprit and he found Kendra treading water beside him.
“Sorry,” she giggled.
Brian wiped the water out of his eyes. “No, you’re not. What’s up?”
She grabbed a wayward swim noodle–a Muggle pool toy used for floating– and folded the long foam tube around her back before answering him. “All that talk about brooms and Quidditch. It bores me to death sometimes,” she said melodramatically as she bobbed up and down.
Brian didn’t believe her for a second. “It’s not that bad,” he said, defending his friends’ obsession of the sport.
“You, too?” she whinged.
“No, I can take it or leave it,” he said, trying not to let on that not being able to fly still hurt a lot.
“I’m sorry,” Kendra apologized. “I wasn’t thinking.” She paused to watch a beach ball as it sailed towards them. Brian reached up and batted the ball back towards the group that had been playing with it. “So… are you excited about going back to Hogwarts in September?” she asked and Brian was grateful for the change in subject.
“I guess,” he told her truthfully.
Frowning, Kendra said, “You don’t seem very enthusiastic.”
“I really don’t know how I feel about it,” Brian confessed. “My mum is pushing me to go back and some days I really want to because of all the changes Professor Wolcott has made because he expects me to come back. But on others I think it’d be easier to keep on with my tutor and use the time to train.”
“Train?”
He smiled, warming to his topic. “Yes, in swimming. I was using the computers in the library at The Groves about a month ago and discovered something called the Paralympics. It’s a big athletic competition for the disabled that is held every four years after the Olympics. Do you know what those are?”
“Muggle athletic competition. Yeah, I’ve heard of them because my parents sometimes talk about going to see some of the events at the London Olympiad in 2012,” Kendra said. “They were in the Wizarding galleries for many of the equestrian events–my mum loves horses. They left me at home with our house-elves, but I’ve seen some of their photos, so yes, I know what they are.”
“Good. Lily had all sorts of questions when I told her I wanted to find a coach and train for the 2024 games,” Brian said. The beach ball headed their way a second time and he batted it back again. “Do you think I’m foolish to train for the games if I’ve never competed before?”
Kendra tilted her head to one side. “You’ll never know what you can do or will be allowed to do if you don’t try,” she said, “even if it means not coming back to Hogwarts.”
Torn, Brian responded, “You can say that so easily because you’re a Gryffindor, Kendra. Unfortunately, there isn’t a book in the Hogwarts library that will tell me what to do.”
“Brian, what I said is true. Do you really want to train for those games?” Kendra asked. He nodded. She grinned at him and said, “Then talk to Professor Wolcott about getting to do both, if you find a coach. I’m sure you can work something out. I hope you do, because James tells me you’re a fantastic swimmer.”
“Thanks,” Brian murmured, feeling suddenly shy. “It would be nice to be able to do both.”
“Then go for it,” Kendra said as James swam up.
“Go for what? Did I miss something?” he asked, looking between his girlfriend and Brian.
“We were talking about what Brian wants to do come September,” Kendra answered.
“Right,” James said distractedly. “Erm, Mum wanted me to let everyone know that she’s just about to put the food on the table. Pass the word. I gotta go help.” He rolled his eyes and dove under the water again, swimming swiftly towards the opposite side of the pool.
Kendra watched him go. “Do you need any help getting out?”
Brian shook his head. “No thanks. I do this every day. Go help James and Mrs Potter. I’m going to find Lily.”
“All right. See you later, Brian,” Kendra said. She wriggled out of the swim noodle and followed James.
*
Asteria strolled amongst the flower beds, admiring Ginny Potter’s rose bushes, which were blooming in their white, yellow, orange, pink and red glory next to the wheelchair ramp on the sunniest side of the house. The beds seemed organized by flower colour meaning because whoever had planted the flowers had grouped them by colour and type, one of the largest plantings being the red and white roses which indicated forms of love. The most interesting part of this garden was the plants being used as ground covers; the most prevalent being rosemary which she remembered meant remembrance. In one bed, she’d even seen a couple of lavender roses and wondered who in the Potter family had fallen in love at first sight.
It was peaceful here in a different sort of way from the gardens at Malfoy Manor, mostly because these plantings seemed to be all Ginny’s and not flowers chosen by some long-gone mistress of the house. She wondered what Draco would say if she were to dig up Great-great-grandmother Malfoy’s favourite black rose bush–which connoted death–and plant something of her own choosing in its place. It would mean burrowing through layer upon layer of the ancient magic that kept the plantings alive, but in the end it would be worth it, she thought. The garden would be a happier place where she and Draco could enjoy themselves rather than having it be a dark reminder of his family’s past. They’d talked once or twice about doing something like that years ago, but never had the money to buy new plants. Now that Draco’s business had picked up, maybe they could afford to actually make some of the changes they’d dreamed about… and rose bushes weren’t that expensive…
A voice calling her name made her look up. “Oh, hello, Mrs Weasley,” Asteria said, greeting Hermione Weasley with shy politeness. “I was just admiring Ginny’s roses.”
The other witch came to stand next to her in front of a large bush bursting with pink blooms. “Asteria, please, I’m Hermione. Mrs Weasley is my mother-in-law,” she said with a friendly smile.
“As Mrs Malfoy is mine,” Asteria said with a giggle. She had heard Hermione was a bit aloof, but that description didn’t fit the friendly-looking witch standing next to her, and she didn’t think Auror Weasley could have married someone with her nose stuck in the air… he just wasn’t that type.
“I see you’ve found the oldest bush in the garden,” Hermione commented. “It’s the only one Ginny was able to save after they moved in and one of her favourites. It’s a Lancaster rose.”
“It’s gorgeous,” Asteria said, leaning forward to smell the fragrant flowers. Then she frowned. “Why couldn’t she save more of the rose garden?”
“The house had been vacant for so long everything was falling apart and this garden was no exception. It was so overgrown that the other bushes had been choked to death. This bush had somehow managed to keep the weeds and riotous rosemary groundcover at bay. How it did that we’ll never know, but Ginny likes to think that Harry’s mother planted it before they went into hiding during the first war.”
“That certainly fits into the stories surrounding Harry’s family,” Asteria commented. “If Lily Evans Potter did plant it, I can see why it’s survived.”
“Oh?”
“You said it was a Lancaster rose,” Asteria explained. “Lancaster and York roses represent war and conflict. Maybe it was planted to represent happiness in the midst of war…”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because pink roses represent perfect happiness,” Asteria explained. “And Lancaster roses are pink.”
“How do you know all this?” Hermione asked, sounding amazed.
Asteria focused on the smaller red and white bushes planted around the larger one. “I’ve spent a great amount of time in the library at the Manor, Hermione. There are many books from the Victorian era in there that explain the language of flowers and I’ve poured over them for hours on end trying to discover what each of the plantings in the Manor’s garden means. Some of Draco’s ancestors were truly spiteful women, planting messages of death and hatred.” She shuddered. “My fondest wish is to lift the spells that keep those plantings alive and banish them from the garden.”
“Why haven’t you dug them up before now?” Hermione asked.
“There are too many enchantments keeping the older plantings alive and… we haven’t had the money,” Asteria ended quietly. “It’s been quite the struggle…” She left it at that.
“And now?” Hermione prompted.
Asteria smiled. “Things are looking up. Draco’s business is flourishing and Scorpius is recovering and making new friends. We’re happier people,” she answered honestly.
Hermione smiled back. “Would one of those friends you mentioned be my daughter?”
“She is,” Asteria answered.
“That’s good to hear,” Hermione said. She paused and then asked, “Would you, Draco and Scorpius like to come to Weasel’s Keep next Saturday? I’ve seen Scorpius and Rose with their heads together a lot today and it might be nice to give them some more time together.”
Asteria felt her eyes widen in surprise. No one had ever issued a spontaneous invitation to her family like this one seemed to be. The prospect of such acceptance excited her. “We’d like that very much,” she managed to say. “What can I bring?”
“I’ll let you know later in the week when I’ve decided on the menu,” Hermione said. “However, bring your brooms. I’m sure our children will end up challenging their fathers to a Quidditch match sometime during the afternoon, which is always fun to watch.”
Asteria raised an eyebrow. “You don’t fly?”
Hermione laughed. “No, I stay on the ground and cook for the hungry hordes.”
“That makes two of us. Draco has never been able to get me on a broom because they terrify me,” Asteria said as they began wandering through the garden back towards the pool. “Would you like me to bring some of those flower dictionaries?”
“Yes, I would. Ginny, Harry and the kids will be with us, too. I thing she’ll be interested in what all her roses mean.” Hermione looked at her watch. “Oh dear, I need to go help her with the food. Would you come with me? More hands will get it set out faster.”
Asteria mentally hugged herself, feeling amazingly good as she followed her new friend. She could hardly wait to tell Draco about Hermione’s invitation. “Yes, I’ll help. Lead the way.”
*
1430 hours
Albus held the kitchen door open and watched as a line of platters and bowls floated outside towards the two long tables that had been set up in a rented marquee to hold the buffet, his mother wielding her wand, bringing up the rear. He’d been standing there for about five minutes while Mrs Malfoy, Aunt Hermione, his mum and Uncle George went back and forth to the tables.
“Thanks, Al,” she said. “I can’t get James to stand still long enough to get everything outside!”
Albus grinned. “Kendra’s here. You’ll never get him to stand still if she’s around!”
“That’s what I thought,” his mother said over her shoulder. “Hold the door for Uncle George. He’s right behind me.”
Before Albus could answer, an enormous cauldron of cold pea and mint soup, two huge salad bowls and large platter of fried chicken, scotch eggs and sausage rolls followed his uncle out the door.
“Anything left in there?” Albus asked.
“Five tarts and a couple of platters of biscuits,” answered his uncle, “but those are for afters and won’t need to be brought out this round.”
Albus let the door bang shut. “I’m going to get in line before James,” he said. “He has a bad habit of eating everything on the table!”
“He couldn’t eat all of this,” Uncle George commented as he deposited his load on the proper tables.
“You wanna make a bet?” Albus challenged.
“No, on second thought, I think I’d lose that bet,” Uncle George laughed as Aunt Hermione stepped to the front of the line.
“Hem, hem! Attention everyone!” she called eliciting several groans from the grown-ups along with several boos and a call or two of “Go away, Umbridge!” Aunt Hermione ignored the interruptions and announced, “The pool will be closed for one hour following the meal.”
“Says who?” Albus’ dad called above the general din of groans and more booing. “This is my party!”
“Says me,” Aunt Hermione bristled. “It’s for the children’s safety.”
Uncle Bill called from the back of the line, “Ron, tell your wife to back off,” and Uncle George yelled, “She’s spoiling the fun,” as most of the teenagers protested that closing the pool for a entire hour was unfair.
Uncle Percy finally joined in. “How about a compromise?” he asked. “What if we close the pool for about fifteen minutes, instead?”
By this time, Dad had walked into the marquee and was now standing with Aunt Hermione. They had their heads together and she finally nodded, although she didn’t look particularly happy.
“Upon further consideration, the pool will be closed for only ten minutes following the meal,” she announced.
Hugo, who was standing in back of Albus, sighed, “Thank goodness she’s backing down. I mean, I fly all the time right after I eat and that’s more stomach-flipping than swimming is and she knows it.”
Albus turned to his cousin. “It wouldn’t be a family picnic if your mum didn’t try to run the show,” he chuckled.
Hugo made a face at him and shook his head, but didn’t say anything.
The line moved and the two boys were suddenly confronted with the important question of what to eat first. Albus decided he’d have a little of everything except the soup. He’d never liked his soup cold.
*
1530 hours
“Hey, Father!” Scorpius called from the deep end of the pool.
His dad looked up. “Yes, Scorpius?”
“James, Albus, Hugo, and Brian want to race their dads across the pool. Will you join us?” he asked.
Father looked up to see Mr Potter, Auror Weasley and Mr Nelson standing a little way away, looking as hopeful as their sons that he’d join the race. Grinning, Father asked, “Is there room in the pool for all seven of us?”
Mr Potter grinned back. “It’s bigger than it looks,” he said smugly.
“Erm, how much water will be displaced if the charms fail?” Father asked, seeming to catch on to something unusual Scorpius had noticed about the pool.
“More than you ever want to know,” Mr Potter answered with a chuckle. “Do you think you can swim fifty yards?”
His father gulped. “I think I’m about to find out,” he said as Scorpius called encouragingly, “You can do it, Dad!”
Father flashed Scorpius a grateful smile, peeled off his shirt and joined the other dads beside the pool.
Mr Nelson asked, “Who’s racing first? Which stroke?”
“Freestyle,” Mr Potter answered, addressing all of the competitors. “Everyone warms up first to clear the pool, then we’ll let the boys race. It wouldn’t do to let them know what their competition is, eh?”
As Scorpius and his friends protested, Mr Potter turned his back on his guests, dropped his crutches and half jumped-half fell into the water to cheers from the five young wizards. He surfaced and grinned up at the other fathers. “Come on in, the water’s fine.”
The other fathers exchanged challenging glances and then jumped or dove into the pool. Scorpius had never seen his father swim before, much less dive and he was pleasantly surprised at how graceful his dad was as he entered the water. He turned to say something to Albus and when he looked back, Father was nowhere in sight. Quite suddenly, he surfaced, spouting a stream of water like a fountain, making Scorpius jump and the other boys laugh.
“I never knew you could do that,” Scorpius said in admiration. “That’s brilliant, Dad.”
“Thanks,” muttered Father. Scorpius stifled a chuckle as his father’s ears turned pink, and he struck out towards the opposite end of the pool, following Auror Weasley and Mr Nelson at a leisurely pace. Scorpius and the other boys joined them.
It seemed as if he swam for ever, but eventually he reached the shallow end of the pool and clambered up the steps with the rest of the dads and his friends.
“All right, boys,” Mr Potter said, calling their attention. “This race is for you. Mr Nelson is the only adult allowed in the pool because he’s his son’s starter. Ordinarily, we’d all dive in like real racing swimmers, but for safety, we’re starting here with everyone in the water. All right, get back in, boys… Is everyone ready…? On my count… three… two… one… GO!”
Mr Nelson gave Brian a big push that launched him away from the wall, about the same distance as the other boys achieved pushing with their legs. Scorpius, who was swimming next to him, gave up trying to win the race as Brian took an early lead, his strong arm strokes causing Lily and the other girls watching from their towels to cheer; even Rose was cheering for Brian! As he passed her, though, he thought he caught his girlfriend chanting his name and he redoubled his efforts to at least not be last. In the end, Brian pulled ahead even more, although it was Albus who surged ahead at the last minute to come in second.
As he hauled himself out of the water, Rose stepped up to him and wrapped a towel around his shoulders and kissing him on the cheek.
“You did well,” she murmured, giving him a hug.
“Thanks, Rose. Do you know how long the pool is?” Scorpius asked.
His girlfriend looked thoughtful for a moment. “If I remember correctly, Aunt Ginny said it’s twenty-five metres long without the extension charms and fifty metres long with them,” she said. “Uncle Harry always uses the longer length for his workouts.”
“That explains why it seemed we were swimming forever!” Scorpius groaned.
*
“What’s Brian’s secret to winning his heat?” Draco asked Bert Nelson as the fathers walked down to the deep end to begin their race.
There was pride in Bert’s voice as he explained, “My son swims every day for an hour, sometimes two if he can get the pool time. He and Harry have incredible upper body strength now that they’re doing so much with their arms.”
“He looks fast enough to compete.”
“That’s his goal; the 2024 Summer Paralympics.”
“You mean to tell me he wants to compete in a Muggle competition?”
“Yes. We’ve just started our search for a coach. It’s hard trying to break into a sport at his age when he has no previous training or times or records to prove his ability,” Bert sighed. “Quidditch was the only thing he was ever interested in before his accident and now, since he can’t fly, he’s turned his sights on excelling at the one sport he can do.”
“I hope he makes it,” Draco said as they entered the water for their own start.
“I just hope Brian hasn’t set an impossible goal for himself…”
They stopped talking as Percy Weasley signalled for all the fathers to take their places in the water for the dads’ race. Harry easily bested everyone; like Brian’s, his upper body strength was clearly an advantage. Draco struggled along in last place and shrugged off the others’ teasing while congratulating Ron on coming in second.
“Considering we don’t have a pool,” Scorpius said as Draco hauled himself out of the water, “you did remarkably well. I’m proud of you, Father.”
Scorpius’ praise caught Draco by surprise. “Erm, thank you, son,” he managed to sputter, not knowing how to react to the heart-felt sentiment. “I’m proud of you, too.”
“Are you ready to race me and the other lads?” Scorpius asked. “You’re puffing like the Hogwarts Express on September first!”
Draco laughed at the image. “That I am, son, that I am,” he admitted. He looked about at the other fathers and was satisfied to see that Bert Nelson was breathing nearly as hard as he.
After a few minutes, Harry called all of the fathers and sons together. “This race will be a relay race with each participant swimming two lengths of the pool,” he announced, eliciting groans from several of the fathers. “The two teams will be fathers against sons, with my brother-in-law Bill evening out the teams. Percy will be our starter. Any questions?”
Brian raised his hand. “Am I allowed a starter?” he asked.
“Work that out with your team. I’ll be talking strategy with mine in a moment,” Harry said, making the other dads smile and the boys groan.
Percy Weasley walked over. “All right, gentlemen, you have five minutes to plan your races. I will whistle twice: the first will be five short blasts to ask you to line up with the first swimmer at the ready, the second will be one short whistle signalling the start of the race. After that, when a swimmer finishes his two laps, the next swimmer will automatically dive in. Any questions? Good. Begin your strategy sessions, gentlemen.”
Five minutes later, Draco found himself standing at the front of the dad’s line, wondering whether he was allowed a speed spell to get himself through the second lap. He looked over to see who his opponent was and felt pleased when Scorpius waved at him, a challenging smirk on his face. “I’ll beat you, Dad,” he called, to which Draco answered, “No, I’ll beat you!”
The whistle sounded and they both dove in. To Draco’s surprise, the pool looked shorter than it had the last two laps when he surfaced. He didn’t have time to contemplate the thought, though, as Scorpius was swimming strongly nearly a body length ahead of him. Draco increased his speed and soon was swimming beside his son. They stayed that way to the end of the pool where they turned and began their return lap.
The second lap was harder to swim than the first, mostly because he was breathing so hard and struggling not to slow down. Suddenly, Draco became aware of a loud, rhythmic chant coming from the side of the pool: “Go, Draco, go, Draco!” He zeroed in on the sound and rhythm of the words, using them to regulate his strokes as they were repeated over and over. He reached the wall and heard a splash behind him as Bill entered the water, but he was breathing so hard that he just clung to the side of the pool, trying to catch his breath.
A hand on his back made him turn his head.
“Are you all right, Dad?” Scorpius asked, an expression of concern on his face.
“Yes, I’m fine,” he managed to gasp.
“That’s good, because you beat me,” Scorpius said, a note of pride in his voice. “Can we build a pool in our garden, Dad?”
Startled, Draco answered, “Let’s talk about that tomorrow, son. Right now I just want to get out of this pool.” He placed his hands flat on the deck and tried to haul his body out of the water as his son was doing. Unfortunately, his arms felt like they had no bones in them and no matter how he tried, he couldn’t lift himself out of the pool.
“Here, let me help,” a familiar voice wafted down to him, and he looked up to see Asteria pointing her wand at him. Before he could protest, she waved it and he found himself being levitated out of the water to cheers from the other female party guests. A moment later, his ears positively flaming hot, she deposited him on a bench and draped a towel over his shoulders so he could watch Harry and Brian lunge into the pool for the last leg of the race.
Draco shrugged off the towel. “Thanks, love,” he said as he kissed her cheek and went to join the other dads on his team who were cheering for their team mate.
Once again the pool looked longer than it really was, but both swimmers were swimming strongly, Harry even kicking a little. At the opposite end, he did a fancy underwater turn and actually pushed away from the wall with his feet. This gave him a small advantage over Brian who touched the wall with both hands and had to turn his body around using only his arms. However, it seemed that Brian’s youth and determination won the race for the sons’ team.
A few moments later, as the two teams thanked each other for a good race, Harry looked at Draco and asked, “When are you going to build a pool? You looked really good out there.”
Taken aback, Draco answered, “Thanks. Erm… next week?” and before Harry could comment, a loud cheer from Scorpius signalled that his son had heard his answer.
*
1729 hours
“Having a good time?” Arthur asked her as they strolled about Snidget’s Haven’s back garden.
Molly squeezed his elbow and giggled like a schoolgirl. “I’m having a very good time, Arthur,” she said. “And I think it’s because I don’t have to worry about anything other than whether my sun block charm is due to be renewed.”
“Harry and Ginny have certainly planned a fun afternoon,” Arthur observed.
“The new pool and hot tub are a hit with the children,” Molly said. “I was amazed by how fast Harry was swimming.”
“No, Molly, what’s amazing is that he’s walking almost everywhere these days,” Arthur corrected her.
She considered this, then said, “If you think that’s amazing, what about Ron catching the criminals Harry couldn’t and rescuing Scorpius Malfoy on top of that?”
Arthur chuckled. “Listen to us bragging to each other about our sons’ successes. You can’t tell we’re proud parents, can you?”
Molly winked at her husband. “No, I don’t think you can.”
*
1754 hours
Draco strolled from the drinks table towards a cluster of lounges where he and Asteria had spread their towels, carrying two tall glasses of citrus punch. He had never thought he’d be invited to such a gathering ever again and to find that he and his family were liked and accepted by the Potters, Weasleys and several other prominent Wizarding families was still quite a novel idea to him. It felt… odd… in a way to be out socializing like this after so many years in self-imposed solitude, but he was enjoying himself today and was looking forward to going to Weasel’s Keep next weekend.
“Here you are, love,” he said, setting Asteria’s drink on a table between her lounge and the one next it which was occupied by Susan Finch-Fletchley. The two witches were deep in conversation, but his wife glanced up gratefully at him and reached for the glass before turning her attention back to Susan.
Satisfied that all was well with his wife, Draco sat down on his own lounge and took a long pull on his own drink. He had to admit it, Ginny Potter made a deliciously potent punch and he hoped Asteria would eventually ask their hostess for the recipe.
A squeal of laughter caught his attention and he looked over at the pool just in time to see his son being dunked by Rose Weasley. From her playfully enraged expression, Scorpius had just tipped her off the raft she’d been sitting on and despite Rose’s rather rough retaliation, his son seemed to be enjoying the attention he was getting from his girlfriend.
Girlfriend… How could that have happened? Draco marvelled. He knew, though. It didn’t take a mastermind to figure out that, after nearly five weeks of daily letters between the two back in January and February, followed by the rest of the winter and all of the spring term at school, his son had begun to fancy Ron Weasley’s daughter and she him. He watched the two young people for several minutes, glad that his son had finally come to terms with what had happened to him and that he seemed to be interacting easily with the Potter and Weasley children as well as the other young guests. Draco, on the other hand, wasn’t sure he ever would get over the fright and worry he’d experienced during that horrible week. He sighed and turned to his right to re-enter his conversation with Terry, Neville and Vijay.
*
“There you are!” Lily exclaimed, walking up to where Brian sat gazing at one of the sets of Quidditch goal hoops situated at the near end of Snidget’s Haven’s pitch. “Your dad panicked fifteen minutes ago and has had me and my brothers combing the garden for you!”
Brian turned to face her, a sheepish look on his face. “I’m sorry, Lily,” he said. “I just needed a bit of quiet away from the party. One of the kids said the pitch was this way and I, well, here I am.”
Lily moved to stand next to him, looking up at the goal she most often saw from the air. Since the estate was isolated enough from prying Muggle eyes, the hoops were quite a bit higher in the air than the ones at The Burrow, but still not at regulation height; if they had been, Mum was certain someone on the road passing the gates would see them in the distance and wonder what they were.
“It’s perfectly all right,” she told Brian. “I’ll let Dad know you’re safe.” She pulled a small compact mirror from her sundress pocket–she’d put it on over her swimming costume a while ago in anticipation of what was about to happen–and spoke into it. A moment later, her father’s face appeared on the glass looking relieved. He said something and Lily nodded. “Give us five, please. I’ll call back.”
Her dad nodded and signed out, the mirror suddenly reflecting Lily’s face again. She smiled at Brian as she put the mirror back in her pocket. “All taken care of,” she announced as she studied her friend. “You seem sad,” she commented.
Brian sighed. “I reckon I am,” he said. “I came out here to see whether I could stand looking at the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch all year from my dormitory window without getting depressed, and the answer is no.”
“Why do you say that?” she asked, already knowing the answer.
Brian patted the side of his flying chair. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? This thing’s top speed is less than ten so I won’t get dumped out of it. That’s hardly cruising speed on a broom,” he said, sounding bitter. “I’ve spent most of my years at Hogwarts flying at breakneck speeds seventy-feet off the ground while pursuing a big, oddly-shaped ball and now I’m relegated to staying so close to the ground, my toes skim the tops of the grass.
“Let’s face it, Lily, this is one more reason for me not to go back to Hogwarts next month. If I spend every morning looking out at the Quidditch pitch, I know I’ll go insane from want of the freedom of flying after a Quaffle.”
He sounded so sad, Lily almost blurted her secret right then and there, but she held her tongue as she knelt next to her friend and took his hand. “I don’t think you’d go insane, at least not from seeing the Quidditch pitch,” she chuckled. “Maybe the odour of rancid socks might get to you, if your room is anything like Albus’ is in November or December, but not the sight of the pitch.”
Brian cracked a small smile. “My socks won’t addle anyone’s brain, but possibly my roommate Scott’s will,” he chuckled. He sighed again. “I just want one more time up on a broom, just one more so I can commit to memory what it feels like to swoop down from the sky with the wind tugging at my hair. Then, maybe, I could stay grounded for good.”
Lily looked up at Brian and said, “If that’s all you want, maybe I can help.” And before Brian had a chance to question what she meant, she stood up, put two fingers in her mouth and let loose a loud, shrill whistle that echoed across the pitch.
“What was that for? How can you help?” Brian asked, while jiggling a finger in his near ear. “And when did you learn to whistle like that?”
Lily grinned. “I didn’t grow up with two older brothers and a horde of wizards for cousins without learning a thing or two to get their attention,” she giggled. Brian just shook his head.
A movement to their right caught their attention and a moment later, James and Albus came streaking out of the sky on their brooms, each towing another broom and another object behind them. They landed in front of Lily and Brian and hopped from their brooms.
“You called, sister, dear?” James enquired, grinning at Brian.
“I did. This bloke here thinks he’s never going to fly again. What say we prove him wrong?” she asked, noting the gobsmacked look on her friend’s face.
“How?” Brian asked.
“We charmed this pair of brooms to convert your flying chair to a broom chair and then added a flying rig so you can race or play Quidditch,” James said.
Brian grinned, looking excited. “Brilliant, you three!”
“Let’s do it,” Albus said, answering Lily’s original question, and he stepped forward and held his extra broom close the Brian’s flying chair.
As soon as the handle neared the metal frame, it leaped out of Albus’ hand and attached itself to the chair. James had approached Brian’s other side with his extra broom and affixed it in place. The moment the two brooms were attached, the chair rose to eye level.
An awed expression settled on Brian’s face. “W-will this work?” he sputtered.
“Lean forward and see what happens,” Lily giggled.
Brian did and his newly-modified chair flew forward much faster than it usually did. He grabbed the handles protruding past his seat and steered the chair into a lazy upward spiral. “Woo-hoo!” he yelled as the chair gained speed. “How fast can this thing go?” he called down.
Lily reached into her pocket and pulled out her miniaturized broom. Her mother, who was now standing next to her, tapped the tiny broom with her wand and it enlarged instantly. “Thanks, Mum,” Lily called as she took off. Directing her attention to Brian, she answered, “That’s about top speed from that contraption. You’ll have to land to do more modifications if you want to fly full out.”
Brian landed between James and Albus who showed him how to detach the brooms from his chair. Then working together, the three boys fit the brooms to the flying rig Lily had helped her brothers construct so that Brian could fly without his chair.
A puzzled look crossed Brian’s face when they were done. “How do I get in the chair?” he asked.
James positioned the brooms’ tail ends on either side of the flying chair and pulled the seat up close. “Put your feet on the seat and scoot forward,” he instructed. When Brian had lifted his feet on the seat, the broom rig magically snugged itself up against the seat of the chair, making it easy for Brian to slide onto it. When he had buckled in and was firmly settled, the brooms rose into the air and hovered above the flying chair, ready for flight.
“This is brilliant!” Brian exclaimed as Lily and her brothers each explained an aspect of how to control his new ride.
A cheer rose from the gathered crowd as Lily, Brian, James, and Albus rose into the air and zipped off down the pitch. On the way back, Lily gestured to the younger guests in the crowd, who leapt onto their own brooms and joined the four in the air. Someone had brought one of the beach balls from the pool area and a slow motion game of Toss the Quaffle ensued that Brian was easily able to participate in.
The group eventually tired of tossing the beach ball and someone went to find a real Quaffle.
“Do you want to try playing with them?” Lily asked Brian as her brothers zoomed away in pursuit of the big red ball.
“Actually, no,” Brian replied. “I just want to fly. Will you come with me?”
Lily said, “Of course. Let’s circle the perimeter. You lead.”
Brian flew off at a moderate speed. She followed closely behind him, watching as her friend deftly manoeuvred his new rig in front of her. Eventually, she pulled level with him and they flew several laps talking easily about everything and nothing.
Finally, Brian suggested they go back to the marquee to get drinks for everyone and Lily agreed.
“There’s one more feature we didn’t tell you about,” she told Brian as they landed next to his flying chair and he backed up to slide back into it.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“I call it the Come-Along Charm,” she said. “All you have to do is say ‘come along’ and the brooms will follow behind you to the broom shed or wherever you’re going. Dad and Aunt Hermione helped me create the charm and when it was time to add the additional enchantments, they wouldn’t let James or Albus cast the spell, since it had been my idea in the first place.”
“I’ll have to thank them,” Brian said. He buckled in, but didn’t fly forward.
Lily hopped off her broom and plucked it out of the air, ready to walk beside him. Still, he didn’t move.
“Lily, whose idea was it to help me fly again?” he asked suddenly.
She studied the grass at her feet for a moment, before she blurted, “Mine. You’ve never said anything when I’ve talked about Quidditch over the mirrors, but your expression has always been sad when we do. The last time you were at Hogwarts, I asked your mum if my brothers and I could make a broom chair for you and she and your dad talked it over with my parents and gave us permission to make it after school ended.”
Brian opened his arms and pulled Lily into a hug. “Oh, Lily, thank you!” he whispered into her ear. “You’ve made me so happy.”
“I’m glad,” she said, hugging him back and revelling in the feel of his strong arms around her. As they separated, Lily felt his lips brush her cheek. They lingered there for the briefest of seconds, and then they were gone as Brian released her. Her hand flew to her face as her eyes widened and her ears turned hot.
Brian grinned at her reaction. “Come on, Lils, let’s go get that bucket of drinks,” he said. She nodded and he took her hand as they headed back towards the marquee.
*
Ginny noticed the pair as she stood at one of the food table replenishing the Scotch egg and sausage roll platter. “Jocelyn,” she called softly to Brian’s mother who was adding Muggle fizzy drink cans to a barrel of ice water. “Check this out!”
Jocelyn looked where she was pointing her tongs. “Are you all right with this, Ginny?” she asked. “I mean, Brian is three years older than Lily.”
“I’m not worried,” Ginny replied with a smile. “Lily has a good head on her shoulders and I sense that Brian respects my daughter enough not to try anything. Lily will talk to me if she needs to.”
“I’m glad, because having Lily as a friend has made all the difference in the world to Brian,” Jocelyn said. “Lily’s not an ordinary, giggly girl, and I’m happy she wants to help my son find…” She broke off as if searching for a word.
“His new normal?” Ginny asked knowingly.
“Yes, how did you know?”
“We’ve been finding our new normal as a family in more ways than I can count these last six months. Let’s go see what they’re coming back for.”
“Wait.” Jocelyn stopped her as the pair came closer. “Are Lily’s ears sunburned or… Oh, my! I do believe he’s…”
“Kissed her!” Ginny said, finishing the sentence in a thrilled whisper. “Brian seems pleased with her reaction.”
Jocelyn was also beaming. “So he does,” she said just as excitedly. The two mothers looked at each other and couldn’t keep their giggles from escaping as Lily and Brian entered the marquee and asked to take some water out to the pitch for the other Quidditch players.
A few minutes later, the two mothers watched as the pair flew back to the Quidditch pitch on their brooms, a feather-light bucket of ice water and some paper cups hanging between them.
*
The sun was beginning to drop behind the trees shielding the Quidditch pitch as Harry slowly made his way back to his seat on the veranda. He was tired from all the excitement, but he really didn’t want the day–or the party–to end… at least not yet. However, the other parents were of the opinion that it was time to leave because jobs and children’s activities began early the next morning. He climbed to his feet as James left the house, carrying a list in his hand and muttering to himself about forgetful little kids. Harry smiled, remembering that it hadn’t been all that long ago that James had been a forgetful little nipper.
Susan, Justin and their girls were the first to walk up the wheelchair ramp on their way to the Haven’s fireplace. Justin was carrying their youngest daughter who was sound asleep on his shoulder.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Harry,” Susan whispered.
Justin patted his daughter gently on the back. “We had a great time playing in the pool and watching the kids play Quidditch, Harry.” He patted his oldest daughter’s head. “Edra is already insisting she’s going to fly with the big kids next year.”
“I’ll be ten next summer,” Edra said proudly. “I’ll be big enough for a full-size broom then.”
Harry smiled. “Shall I have a few extra brooms available for you to choose from?” he asked her.
Edra bounced excitedly. “Yes! Please.” She turned to her father. “Did you hear that, Daddy?”
“I did, sweetheart,” Justin murmured. He looked back up at Harry. “Thanks so much for inviting us.”
“Glad you could come,” Harry said, shaking Justin’s hand. “See you tomorrow, Susan.”
The Finch-Fletchleys were followed by Terry and Martha Boot, Garrett and Aileen Carmichael, Brodie Chambers, and Mary Beth Pendergast and her family. Mary Beth gave Harry a hug.
“Where’s Ginny? I haven’t seen her in a while and I want to thank her for inviting us,” she said.
“She’s inside helping sort out what goes home with whom,” Harry chuckled. “Somehow, she always knows who brought what and left it where.” James raced past carrying several objects. He waved as he disappeared into the house. “And there goes James with Susan’s daughter’s pool toys! See what I mean?”
Mary Beth patted her young son’s head. “Trevor has assured me that he has everything,” she said as the boy nodded vigorously. “He wants his allowance and being responsible for his belongings helps him earn it at the end of the week.”
“How much do you earn a week?” Harry asked Trevor.
Trevor proudly said, “Two Sickles if I make my bed, feed my Pygmy Puff, pick up my toys, do my lessons without grumbling, and don’t stick my brother to the ceiling like I did yesterday.”
“Stick your brother–” Harry sputtered.
“Accidental magic during a squabble,” Mary Beth explained, trying hard to look disapproving, but not quite managing it because of the smile twitching at the corner of her mouth.
Harry smiled at Trevor as he said, “Most of that goes away once they hit Hogwarts, thank goodness.”
“I’m looking forward to that,” Joel Pendergast said. “Well, we must be off. It’s past the boys’ bedtime.”
Harry thanked the family for coming and leaned against one of the columns supporting the veranda’s roof. Several more families passed him and expressed their thanks as the sun disappeared, painting the sky a reddish-purple above the trees that competed with the torches in the swimming pavilion for his attention. Ripples of laughter and faint splashing floated across the garden where James, Kendra, Albus, Lily, Scorpius, Rose, Brian, Phil, and Hugo were taking one last swim before he closed up the pool and made the teens come inside for the night. He watched them for a few more minutes and then raised his wand to extinguish most of the torches, his signal to the teenagers that it was time to come in.
They surprised him by all getting out and beginning to close up the pavilion, James and Albus checking to make sure the folding doors were secure. As they trooped up the wheelchair ramp, most of them said good night or wished him a happy birthday.
“James, Albus,” Harry called to his sons. They stopped before him and he said, “Thank you, that was a big help.”
Albus’ ears turned red. “Any time, Dad,” he said. Then he dashed into the house, followed a second later by James.
Harry chuckled and cast the locking and other security charms he usually placed on the natatorium each night.
Familiar footsteps behind him alerted Harry to Ginny’s presence. He turned to face her and she stepped into his embrace, hugging his middle and turning her face up towards his. He obliged her silent request with a tender kiss that enticed a soft moan of pleasure from between her lips.
“Everyone’s gone except for the sleep-over lot. They’re all in the lounge playing chess and Exploding Snap,” Ginny reported when they broke apart. “I put Rose and Kendra’s things in Lily’s room and the extra bathing stool in the children’s bath for Brian just in case he wants to wash off the chlorine. Oh, once we get the boys sorted out, would you put all the sitting room furniture in the empty box in our bedroom wardrobe. I don’t want to hunt for the sofa for two days like we did last year.”
“Of course, love,” Harry said with a chuckle. “But didn’t the kids get a laugh out of you yelling, ‘Accio tiny sofa’?” Ginny grinned and hugged his middle tighter, not taking her eyes from his. “So, have you had a good day?” he asked.
Ginny leaned against him with a contented-sounding sigh. “I did. Shall we do this again next year?”
“What, the party?” he asked. “It’s become a mid-summer tradition. I don’t think we have a choice, at least not until Lily’s out of school. The kids are counting on it as sure way of getting to see all of their friends en mass half-way through the holiday. We’d be disappointing quite a lot of people if we stopped giving it.”
Ginny stepped away, her gaze fixed on the sky over his shoulder. She led him to the porch swing and held it still with her feet while he sat down, before she answered him. “I… I was afraid it would be too much for you,” she said hesitantly.
Harry leaned his crutches against the railing and twisted around to face his wife. “I’m doing fine, love,” he said, hugging her again. “If I’d needed to rest, I could have Summoned my chair or found a place to sit by the pool. But I didn’t need to and I’ve had a great day and I don’t feel any older than I did last year and I love all my presents and seeing the smiles on the faces of our guests and watching you cook for a week and getting to drive the Ferrari at a snail’s pace down our drive this morning and then flying on my birthday broom with the kids before everyone came and sticking my finger in your treacle tart batter behind your back and racing our sons in the pool and… oh, yes, your mother makes the best birthday cakes.”
By the time he finished this recital, Ginny was laughing so hard she had tears of mirth in her brown eyes. “Oh, Harry, that makes me so glad,” she said between chortles. She rested her head on his shoulder. “I have a confession to make,” she said after a time.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“The party was my test to see whether our family was indeed back to normal and I’m happy to say it most definitely is,” she said, and he felt her smile through the sleeve of his shirt.
“I agree,” Harry murmured as he listened to the muffled shrieks of laughter coming from the house because someone had singed their eyebrows. He sighed contentedly and put his arm around Ginny. It was good to have his life back.