The Houses Competition
Y3, Round 2
House: Gryffindor
Year: Head Girl
Category: Drabble
Prompt: 8. [Speech] "I don't want to go."
Word count: 474 words (written on Google Docs)
Betas: Thank you to the lovely CK (Theoretical-Optimist) and Shiba (Shibalyfe) for all their help!
Additional A/N: This story will most likely not be submitted, for I think I'm going with the other version, 'I don't want to go,' but in the case you're my judge and reading this... well, I've changed my mind for the twelfth plus time today :') I hope you like this nevertheless! This is also dedicated to the lovely Lynne (Inlibris) x
Don't Go
For the fifth time that day, Walburga sighs as she tries to get comfortable on the wooden chair. She had made Kreacher fetch her a few cushions to make the seat softer, but as the hours wear on and the magazines no longer provided any entertainment, it has become harder to remain where she is.
The moments she does get to stand aren't any better, either.
"Cough a little quieter will you? The entire house doesn't need to hear you hacking up your lungs," she says, leaning over the bed.
Her husband's face is crimson as he coughs. She purses her lips as Orion uses the sheets to cover his mouth.
When he's finally done, tears streaming down his face, he fixes her with a glare. "At least I'm covering my mouth," he wheezes.
"For once in your life." Walburga snatches the sheet from his grasp. Grabbing a damp cloth and smacking his hands away, she proceeds to wipe the bits of spittle off his chin.
"Leave. Kreacher can do this."
She shakes her head. She knows that the wretched house-elf is helpful in some ways, but she also knows it can never do as great a job tending to her husband's needs as she can. No house-elf could.
"I don't want to go."
Orion rolls his eyes. "How touching."
Another bout of coughing overcomes him again, and Walburga dabs at his chin—this time, with a lot more force. When he winces, a small smirk rises to her face.
"I'm not staying for you, old man. I don't want to go because if I do, I know you'll ruin our new bedspread. Just look at the mess you've already created." She gestures to the quilt covered in sprays of bile and blood. "I'll have to clean them now."
He folds his arms across his chest. "How am I supposed to get any rest with you sighing all day? I don't need you resenting me because you'd rather be out shopping."
They both know she hates being cooped up in the house all day. Grimmauld Place has become a different place in the last two months, ever since Regulus—ever since it had become just the two of them living there.
Still, she can't let him have the last word. "I resent you no matter what," she says, giving his chin one last wipe. "I said I don't want to go, so I'm not."
Orion sighs. "You're being stubborn, as usu—"
Unfortunately, the motion causes him to go into another coughing fit. This time, it's even louder than before.
Walburga's heart pangs as she reaches for his hand, squeezing it to remind him to take deep breaths. As always though, the idiot doesn't seem to get the message, and his coughing now sounds like his lungs really will come out of his mouth. She reaches for the cloth again and presses it to his forehead, hoping to at least abate some of his fever.
A minute goes by, and soon another, as she does all she can for him. His coughing dies down eventually, but as she steps back to wet the cloth again, she sees his forehead and neck are still covered in sweat.
She knows she should get Healer Strout to come and check him over again, or at least fetch some potions. She wavers on the spot, however, just watching him.
He looks old, fragile, weak. He's looked weak for a long time, really, but this time, no jokes about his senility come to mind. If anything, she wants to stay and reprimand him for it; he's a Black, after all, and Blacks aren't weak.
She watches him close his eyes, his chest rising up and down. He's a Black, she reminds herself, nothing will happen. With that, she turns on her heel and heads for the door.
"Don't go."
Walburga swivels around. "Pardon?"
Orion's eyes are open again. He watches her for a moment, and she wonders if sitting in that chair for so long has addled her brain. Why else would she think that his grey eyes are pleading for her to help him? Does he also suspect the worst if she does go now?
He sighs. "Get your hearing checked. I said, 'fine, don't go.' Just make sure you stop huffing."
Walburga glares at him. Still, as she walks back over to the chair and sits down, a smirk plays on her thin lips.
She doesn't want to go, and so she won't.