Thoughts of regret filled her mind as she sat in a chair near his bedside, running her fingers across the forearm of his seemingly lifeless body. The scars around his face and hands marred his once angelic features, painting angry purple streaks across the youthful smile she remembered from years past. Many a patient had come through those doors; victims of the senseless war raging outside. With each, she hardened her heart and performed the necessary tasks set before her. Many were healed and sent on their way; some were not. This was different. He was different.

Arabella McBraiden was no stranger to the violence and devastation war gifted its loyal participants. From a young age she was told her abilities were meant for healing, for good. Never raise your hand in anger. Keep your head down and follow rules. The old man had been insistent she followed his dictates to the letter; had cautioned her at every turn. Deep down she knew he was right; knew that her talent was meant for healing, and not destruction. Still, the thought that she could have been out there, could have done something to prevent this, ate away at her once flawless reasoning.

His breathing was shallow and uneven, yet when she placed her hand on his chest she could feel the rise and fall of his laboring. He wouldn't die. Hours upon hours had passed as she worked tirelessly to save him. Failure was not an option this time. She could not stand to lose him. Sitting in the old wooden chair, watching the outcome of her efforts, she was reminded of a time long before; a time when the young man whose hand now rested within her own had saved her. How could she not return the favor? Saved, by prince charming himself; at the age of twelve Arabella McBraiden knew the fates had played a hand in what would certainly become an event to remember for a lifetime. Bill Weasley had come to her rescue and forever cemented his place in her heart.

9 years before:

She let out a deep breath as her shaking hand took hold of the door handle to potions lab number five: Advanced Potions theory.

The old man had been the final nail in the coffin that would entomb what was left of her anonymity at Hogwarts. Professor Snape had been insistent that she be placed in a lab that would "Invigorate and challenge her already profound abilities"; and the old man had agreed. She would never live this down. Nowhere in the history of Hogwarts was there a record of a twelve year old in advanced potions theory.

It wasn't enough that she was the Slytherin daughter of Edward McBraiden, Head of the Auror Department and only outspoken Slytherin against the forces of Voldemort. She wasn't exactly liked among her fellow housemates. Her brother wasn't much help either. Damian ruled the house as the fifth year Slytherin quidditch captain and spent much of his time making the rest of them forget where his allegiance truly fell. This of course kept him much too busy to notice his baby sister.

Life would only become worse for her now, and at the age of twelve there was nothing worse than being pulled from her protective fortress of solitude and made to stand at the center of everyone's attention. The class would be filled with sixth and seventh years, and they would look at her like she was some sort of anomaly to be mocked.

The door handle slowly gave way as she attempted to gather all her courage in anticipation of her fate. As her head gradually rose to take in the scene presented, her eyes fell upon warm amber ones attached to a slightly turned up nose and a beaming, ear-reaching smile. His crimson hair fell about his shoulders in a haphazard fashion and freckles lay scattered across his face as if they were placed there in a hurry. He motioned towards the empty seat by his side and with great caution she made her way to the offered stool.

"My names Bill" He held out his hand by way of greeting. She took it with slight hesitation and mumbled "Arabella" in her thick Scottish brogue.

"The Headmaster told me you'd be here." He offered. "What do ya say Bells, be my lab partner?"

She couldn't believe her luck. Here he was, the Adonis of the school, taking her hand and asking her to partner with him for the class. No moment, for the rest of her life, could surpass this moment. He called her Bells. No one had ever called her anything except Arabella before... she secretly loved it. She'd walked into the classroom expecting the world to come crashing down around her; had actually cried to Mother that life as she knew it would be over. Everyone loved Bill Weasley. How could you not? He was the smartest, handsomest boy in school and he knew who she was; had spoken to her as though they were friends. Bill Weasley had saved her.