Chapter Eight
The March air held the first touch of spring warmth, thawing the ground underfoot as the Gryffindors swept up towards the castle, cheering and whooping and bearing the Quidditch team among them. Two Sixth Year boys had grabbed Dom by the thighs and waist and lifted her up onto their shoulders, carrying her up the path as she held a red and gold banner. They'd just beaten Hufflepuff in their second match of the season, placing Gryffindor first in the running for the Quidditch Cup.
It was only mid-afternoon when they reached the Gryffindor Tower, but the party started immediately. It began teetotal, but Dom knew that it would carry on until late, and the alcohol would appear after the younger students went to bed. In fact, they started to be bundled up the stairs to their dormitories early so that the drinking could start.
'Give me some vodka!' roared Basil as the last First Year was sent off, grabbing at a bottle and downing a mouthful to cheers and whoops. Dom accepted a cup of some sort of alcohol and lemonade, taking a small sip.
'What's with you, Weasley?'
She hadn't noticed that a boy had sat down beside her on the sofa. For a moment, she had no idea who he was, but then a passing Sixth Year threw something in the fire and made it flash, and in the light she realised it was a Sixth Year … from Slytherin. He was a friend of the Slytherin Keeper, she remembered him from after the match in November, clapping the boy on the back.
He read her expression and laughed. 'Don't look so shocked, Weasley, I'm not here for sabotage. Your match was against Hufflepuff, I'm a Slytherin, I can come along to your victory party.'
'Why are you interested? I thought all Slytherins hated us 'bone-headed' Gryffindors,' she said. Four boys across the room started dancing in a circle like tribal warriors, chanting and beating their chests.
'There is a fair bit of bone-head in this room,' said the boy, smirking. 'But things were a bit quiet in the Slytherin Common Room and I figured you lions would be amusing. Anyway, I don't really care about the actual tournament, I just like amusing matches. Hufflepuff is dull as fuck, Ravenclaw always plays so cleverly it's hard not to miss things … but when Slytherin and Gryffindor play, damn, that's a show.'
'Nice philosophy,' said Dom. 'What's your name, anyway? You haven't told me.'
'Toby Montgomery,' he said, holding out a hand to her.
'Dominique Weasley,' she replied, taking the hand.
'I know. In November I had to spend an hour listening to my friends chant "Fuck you Weasley, hope you hit yourself".'
She laughed, brushing her hair off her face. 'And I'm guessing you don't go for all that mainstream 'Slytherin versus Gryffindor' crap?'
He shrugged, taking a swig from a hipflask. 'Guess not. Listen, as entertaining as your wonderfully brain cell deficient housemates have been, I think I'm going to get out of here. It's ten o'clock already, and that's a whole hour past my bedtime. I'm kidding but really, do you want to come walk or something?'
'I would,' she said. 'But I feel like I'm about to fall asleep this second.'
'I'm sorry I'm boring you.'
'No, it's not you, I'm just exhausted after the match. As sad as it is, I might just go to bed.'
'Fine, fine, I know you're just sparing my feelings,' he said, standing up.
'Do you want this drink?' she asked, holding out her cup to him. 'It's just going to go to waste otherwise.
'I follow the policy of not drinking anything where I don't know what's been put into it,' he said. 'See you round, Weasley.'
She watched him leave the Common Room, weaving between dancing students and amorous couples, and then after a second she stood up as well and left in the opposite direction. On the staircase up to the girls' dormitories the music was muffled, seeming to vibrate on the stone walls when she pressed her hand against it. It grew quieter as she went further up, and when the door swung shut behind her in the dormitory, there was blissful silence.
Having fallen asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow, Dom's night was filled with strange, disturbing dreams, which she forgot as soon as she woke up but left their residue of vague fatigue. From her clock, she'd slept almost twelve hours, but she didn't feel particularly refreshed.
As she sat up in bed and pushed her hair out her face, she noticed the sound of voices drifting through the curtain. It was Abby and her gang, presumably gushing over how well Basil Hartley had played in the map. She privately thought he'd played like a Confunded walrus, but she wasn't going to say that to Abby unless the girl annoyed her … which was very likely.
Pushing back the twisted blankets, Dom pushed her way out between the heavy curtains and stood up. Abby and the other girls were huddled together on a bed, giggling over something. One of them, Tilly, looked up and saw Dom stood by her bed, and quickly nudged the other two. They fell silent and looked at her. 'What?'
'We didn't realise you were still here, we thought you'd left,' said Abby, tossing back her blonde curls.
'Okay, so? What, were you talking about me?'
'No,' said Abby. 'Don't you know? We're talking about your cousin, obviously.'
If it was one thing Dom admired about Abby, it was that she was at least open about the fact she talked about people behind their backs. If she was being a bitch when you weren't looking, you knew, because she was a bitch to your face as well. Molly had drifted from the clique - as she'd drifted from everyone - in the past few weeks. She seemed to always either be in the Library or St Mungo's, and the clique hadn't put any effort in to change that.
'I don't know,' said Dom, 'and if you're about to make up some lie about Molly, don't. She's got enough to deal with already without some horrible rumour going around.'
'It's not a rumour,' said Tilly, smirking at her. 'Everyone saw it happen.'
'Saw what?'
The three girls tittered. 'I can't believe you don't know,' said Abby. 'Molly kissed Nora Jenkins last night. She's a lesbian.'
Dom dressed quickly and hurried downstairs to try and find Molly, but no one knew where she was. The entire Common Room seemed to be talking about it, and Dom nearly hit two Second Year boys who she heard speculating about whether Molly was now going to cut all her hair off and stop shaving.
Molly didn't appear until everyone was headed for lunch, when she appeared in the crowded Entrance Hall. Somehow the rumours had spread through the school, and there was a ripple of whispers and titters when she appeared. Dom was at the top of the stairs, looking over the balustrade, and saw Molly stood alone in the middle of the floor below.
'Dyke!'
She didn't see who yelled, but there was a shout of laughter from a big gang of boys across the Entrance Hall.
'Do you think it's because her sister's dying?' said a Second Year girl down the stairs, loud enough for everyone to hear.
'Wouldn't've expected it,' said someone else. 'Everyone says she's the uptight Weasley.'
With more dignity than Dom had ever seen in a person, Molly seemed not to hear them, but merely straightened her posture and raised her chin, ignoring everyone as she walked through the parting crowds into the Great Hall.
Shoving the people around her out the way, Dom virtually ran down the stairs after her cousin, who was sitting down alone at the Gryffindor Table. She dropped into the seat opposite her and pulled a platter of sausages closer, stabbing some with a fork and lifting them onto her plate. Molly stared, saying nothing.
'So can we stop arguing now?'
The corner of Molly's mouth twitched upwards, and she shrugged, her eyes crinkling a little at the corners. 'Okay.'
The weather had turned, and as Albus sat against the window of his dormitory the wind and rain lashed against the glass, the water of the lake slapping and spraying it. He'd decided not to join in on Victoria and Leo's chess game, preferring to enjoy some alone time in the emptiness of the dormitory. On the inside of the window was a ledge wide enough for him to sit with a book, although the view often distracted him. Today he'd hardly made it through two pages of his reading homework before he found himself staring pensively out at the blustering grey sky and lake.
The problem was Scorpius. Since they'd come back to school at the start of the term, he'd been as taciturn as in September, and Albus had no idea why. He knew that something had to have happened over the holidays, but he didn't want to pester Scorpius for information if Scorpius didn't want to tell.
Still, it was worrying. His friend now just sat quietly in lessons, only reluctantly joining in on conversation when pushed by him and the Zabinis, and he never contributed any ideas for schemes or tricks.
And then there was the issue of Rose, too. The two of them hadn't spoken since their argument at Christmas, and although he was flatly refusing to make the first move to repair things, he missed her. She seemed to be doing fine with her group of friends in Gryffindor, and he knew that he would appear to be doing fine to her. But he couldn't help wondering quietly whether things would ever be the same with them.
The sky outside the window darkened further, and he heard the first rolling sounds of thunder. As he did, the door of the dormitory swung open and Scorpius walked in. Albus noticed that his hair and robes looked damp, as if he'd just come in from the outside.
'Hey,' he said, raising a hand in greeting.
'Hello.' Scorpius went to his bedside table and pulled out some parchment, placing it on the bed. He then took what seemed to be a letter and shoved it into the drawer, shutting it tight and locking it.
'You alright?' Albus asked. Scorpius nodded. He decided to throw caution to the wind and just go for it. 'Because you've been acting weird, as if something's wrong, ever since we came back after Christmas. What's going on?'
'I'm fine, Albus, really.'
'No, you're not.'
Marking his place, Albus swung his legs off the ledge and dropped to the floor, striding over to him as Scorpius started fiddling with the parchment, refusing to meet his eyes. 'What is it?'
'Nothing!'
Straightening up, Scorpius grabbed some books and marched out the dormitory, slamming the door behind him. The storm outside seemed suddenly loud as Albus stood in the empty dormitory, reeling from the altercation. As he looked around, his eyes fell upon Scorpius' bedside table, where he'd shoved what looked like a letter. For a minute, he grappled inwardly with the situation, and then he hurried around and sat down on the bed, pulling on the drawer.
It didn't open. He guessed that there was some sort of Locking Charm and pulled his wand out of his pocket. Hoping that the charm wasn't specific to Scorpius' touch, he placed the tip of his wand against the handle and murmured "Alohomora". There was a pause, and then he reached out and pulled on the handle. It opened.
As he stared into the drawer - which was surprisingly well ordered, compared the jumbled mess that was his own one - he again had qualms about what he was doing. But something was really wrong with Scorpius, and his friend didn't seem to be opening up about it in the near future.
He noticed a piece of folded parchment shoved against the back of the drawer, and reaching in he carefully slid it out from between a stack of small notebooks and a crocodile of different coloured inkpots.
The creases of the parchment were wearing thin, as if the letter had been folded and unfolded many times. Carefully, so as not to rip it, Albus unfolded it again and read:
Dear Scorpius, it began, the divorce between your mother and I is finalised. She has moved to France. Until further change, you will return to the Malfoy Estate in July. Regards, your Father.
'What are you doing?'
Albus jumped, dropping the letter into his lap as he looked up and saw that Scorpius at returned. It was clear that Scorpius knew exactly what he was doing, and he did not look happy about it. Marching over he snatched the letter out of Albus' lap and pocketed it. 'You had no right.'
'Scorpius, you have to talk about this -'
Smack. The punch had surprising force, throwing Albus backwards onto his side. He was dazed for a moment, and then sat up, rubbing his face. Scorpius was stretching and clenching his hand, glaring at him. 'I deserved that. I'm sorry that I read your letter. But I was worried about you - you haven't been yourself for weeks, months even! Scorpius you can't live with something like this and not tell me!'
'Why?' Scorpius' voice was low, harsh.
'Because I'm your friend! What's the point in us being friends if you're not going to tell me things? You don't have to bottle everything up!'
Scorpius stared out the window for a while and then he sat down opposite Albus, resting his elbows on his knees. 'I guess I have been bottling things a bit. It's going to be in the tabloids any day now, anyway, but I just felt like a few more days of peace when nobody knows.'
'I won't tell.'
He nodded. 'Thanks. I suppose I should fill you in on the whole story now. I found out at Christmas. I knew that my parents were having problems - that's why I wasn't that happy at the end of last term, I didn't want to go back into that scene. But then I arrived back home and my mother was just … gone. She hadn't warned me in her letters - I think it had all been so sudden that she didn't have time to. I think she found out a while ago that my father had had affairs, and so she started to have her own one. My father didn't tell me who the man was, but I think he's a diplomat in the French Ministry of Magic. They're living in Paris together now.'
'And have you got to live with your Dad?'
He shrugged. 'Mother wrote me a letter in January. It didn't say much, only reiterating what I've just told you really. But she did say that she was going to try and get joint custody of me, so then I can spend half the holidays with her and half with him.'
'And some with me,' said Albus. 'I'm sorry, Scorpius. For what's happened and for what I did.'
'It was a pretty low move. But I guess you had the right intentions.' He put the letter away and stood up, running his hands through his hair. Albus noticed how tired he looked. 'Do you want to go for dinner?'
Understanding that Scorpius didn't want to pursue the subject of his parents' divorce any further that evening, he nodded and they left the dormitory together.
The weather didn't lift for over a week, and in the Great Hall the rain fell to a few inches above students' heads before disappearing, in a way that would've been disconcerting if Victoire hadn't become used to it in the last seven years. As she walked in for breakfast, she barely even glanced at the sky that blustered overhead.
She and Jessica Alcott, another friend from Ravenclaw, sat with some other students from Gryffindor and Hufflepuff for a breakfast of eggs and bacon. She couldn't help admitting that since her breakup with Teddy she'd become closer with her friends. It had become clear to her how much time she was having to spend maintaining her relationship with all its difficulties. It was only Jonny who she wasn't speaking to, beyond what they had to communicate about their duties.
She'd only confided to Jessica about how much she missed Teddy. The two of them had starting a habit of sitting by her fireplace, roasting marshmallows and drinking Firewhisky-lemonade mixers and talking.
'So he's playing in The Dancing Gypsy, every other Friday?' Jessica had said, when they'd last talked on Monday night. 'And you want to go see him. In secret. Having snuck out of school against the rules.'
'We can do the sneaking out bit alright.'
'I know that, that's the fun part to work out,' said Jessica, wincing as her marshmallow burst into flames. Her cat padded across the carpet and climbed onto Victoire's lap. 'It's just … are you sure it's for the best?'
'What do you mean?'
Jessica popped the blackened marshmallow in her mouth and dipped another one in chocolate. 'You broke up with him in December, and it was all horribly emotional and heartbreaking. Now it's March, and you're getting over him a bit - won't seeing him perform just bring up those emotions again?'
'No! I'll be fine, really. I just … I want to see how he is.'
They started planning their great escape - how they would disguise themselves so as not to be recognised and make sure that no one missed their absence. But it was past eleven by this point and beyond deciding that they'd go that Friday, they left the subject until later in the week.
So when they walked into the Great Hall on Wednesday morning, Victoire was inwardly musing over the Friday night. She wasn't sure whether she wanted Teddy to see her or not - against her better judgement, she couldn't help imagining a scenario in which he recognised her and they had a passionate moment in which they realised what a mistake their break-up was.
The post owls arrived with them, and as she sat down a letter and copies of the Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly were dropped onto her empty plate. The letter was from her parents, giving her the usual update - her father's promotion, the continuing success of her mother's consultancy, ending with the line "keep studying!", as if she needed a reminder. There was nothing particularly interesting in the main pages of the Daily Prophet, apart from a couple of Ministry employees being prosecuted for corruption. On the front of Witch Weekly, however, she saw not only the words "Malfoy marriage - over!" emblazoned, and felt a pang of pity for Scorpius, but she also felt something in her chest clench painfully as she saw a picture of Teddy in the corner of the magazine's front page. He was smiling and waving awkwardly, under the words - New musician, new heartthrob?
Hurriedly flipping through to the right page, she found a long article on Teddy, whose music career seemed to be taking off exponentially. She had been purposefully avoiding any mention of him in the past few months, and hadn't realised quite how successful he was. From what the article said, he had joined up with a band as a singer and guitarist, and they were becoming more and more famous and successful.
The page had photos of Teddy splurged across it - Teddy with his band, with his guitar, surrounded by teenage girls who she supposed were new fans. His hair was cropped closely around the back and sides of his head, but long on the top and it seemed to defy gravity, sticking up in a way that made her ache to run her hands through it. He seemed to be having the time of his life.
Jessica was beside her and saw the article over her shoulder. 'Are you alright? Do you still want to go?' Victoire nodded, and closing the magazine she handed it to Caty Nagle of Hufflepuff diagonally opposite her.
If anything, the article had made her want to go watch Teddy more. She felt a need to see how he was, whether he was moving on from her. On Friday evening, she took Fever Fudge at lunchtime and went to bed, and after supper Jessica told everyone that she was sleeping in Victoire's room that night, so no one would notice their disappearance.
She charmed her hair to make it brunette, and put on a pair of glasses with thick black rims, wrapping a thick scarf around her neck so it almost covered her mouth. Jessica just put on a beanie hat and figured that Teddy wouldn't know her well enough to recognise her in the crowd.
The Dancing Gypsy was crowded and smoky, the air warm against Victoire's cheeks as she stepped out of the fireplace. Immediately, she heard the chords of a familiar guitar, playing out of sight. Jessica stumbled out behind her and linked arms with her, and the two of them went round to the main room of the bar, purposefully hovering at the edge where Victoire hoped they were virtually out of sight.
Teddy was sat on a stool on a raised bit of staging in the corner of the bar, his fingers lightly running over chords on his guitar strings while the band behind him warmed up a saxophone, clavichord and cello. He was wearing his 'Rules of Attraction' t-shirt that was so familiar to Victoire she could almost feel it beneath her fingertips, with the ripped jeans that his knees stuck out of and the beaten-up old dragonskin boots that he'd bought with his own money five years ago. He'd made his hair jet black but icy blue at the tips. The audience chatter slowly died down as everyone turned their attention to the stage, and Teddy lifted his wand to his throat, magically magnifying his voice.
'Hello everybody,' he said, and Victoire felt that familiar pang in her chest. It was the first time since their breakup that she'd heard his low, husky voice, warm yet intoned with irony and humour. 'Once again, thank you to Dalby, owner of this excellent pub, for having us to play here -'
'Don't thank me!' yelled a bearded man at the bar. 'You double my income!'
Teddy laughed, pushing his thick fringe out his face. 'Anyway, we've got a few songs to play for you tonight, hope you enjoy them. Our first one is one of the first songs I wrote, and it's dedicated to my Mum and Dad.'
There's something wrong, I had to admit,
The first time I saw your faces,
I was five, it didn't seem right
You were there on those pages.
All my life I've felt there's something missing,
With you both in a photograph instead of here living
I understand now why you had to go
There's reason for it I see
Doesn't change this feeling though
That you shouldn't have left me.
All my life I've felt there's something missing,
With you both in a photograph instead of here living.
I guess I just feel sorry now
For all the things you've missed of me
But no point crying for you now
You've just gone away for good I see.
All my life I've felt there's something missing
With you both in a photograph instead of here living
See I don't want you to feel bad
Don't feel like you have done me wrong
'Cause when I think of you, I'm proud,
But I just had to write this song.
All my life I've felt there's something missing
WIth you both in a photograph instead of here living
The last few notes of the song died away and there was a brief silence before the bar broke into rapturous applause. Teddy was smiling but as he reached up to push his hair off his face again, Victoire notice him almost imperceptibly brush over his eyes, as if clearing them of tears.
'Do you girls want a drink?' Dalby, the bearded owner of the pub, had appeared at Victoire's elbow.
'Firewhisky, please,' gasped Victoire, and although he raised his eyebrows the man shrugged and went to make them drinks. Jessica just ordered a Butterbeer, keeping a tight hold on Victoire.
'Thanks guys,' said Teddy as the clapping died down. 'So my next song is a new one that I've been wrestling with for a while, and it's about someone I lost a few months ago.'
Victoire felt her chest clench again, painfully as if someone had stabbed between her ribs. Before she had time to recover her composure Teddy was strumming the first few chords of the song, and as the band joined him he started singing.
Maybe it just was not meant to be
Maybe something wasn't right between you and me
Maybe we were like wrong jigsaw pieces
Looking pretty but our shapes not fitting properly
I'm sure you're doing fine, doing great
I was a bad influence in your life anyway
We're probably too young for it
It was too soon to make it fit
So I guess there's nothing left to say
Except I'm sorry it ended that way.
If I hurt you, made you cry, made you mad
Made you regret that you ever had
Let me kiss you or hold you or love you
I swear I didn't mean for that.
So if you're hurting please don't,
Wish you'd write but I know you won't,
'Cause I fucked it up so now you're gone,
Guess we should both be moving on.
'Cause I fucked it up so now you're gone,
Guess we should both be moving on.
The song died away and Victoire found herself stood frozen in the warm bar, unable to tear her eyes from the stage. The audience were clapping and cheering, and a smiling Teddy looked out at them all. As if in slow motion, Victoire saw him look across the crowd, and finally stop at her. She knew instantly that he recognised her. His eyes widened and he started to open his mouth, but somehow it broke her out of her trance and she turned away, grabbing Jessica and dragging her out of sight.
As they reached the fireplace Victoire realised that a glass of Firewhisky had made it into her hand, so she downed it and placing it on the mantlepiece, between a model of a Hippogriff and a pot of Floo powder. Throwing a handful of the powder into the fire, she stepped into the heat and was gone, spun away into the dizzying darkness of the Floo network.
It spat her back out into her bedroom, and as she sat down in her armchair Jessica came spinning out behind her. She grabbed the mantle for support and looked around at Victoire, who was determinedly looking away, at the darkened window. Wind and rain lashed against the glass.
'You okay?'
She nodded, absent-mindedly starting to pick at her nails with her teeth. Jessica dropped onto the sofa opposite - their usual positions. 'We left there pretty abruptly.'
'Yeah. I think he saw me.'
'Wasn't because of that song?'
She shrugged. 'He's moving on, like me. He's doing fine. That's all I wanted to know.'
'Alright, if you say so.'
Victoire checked her watch - it was nearly eleven, and suddenly she felt tired to her marrow. 'If it's alright, Jess, I'm just going to go to sleep.'
'Sure, fine. I'll see you tomorrow, Victoire.'
Her friend left the room, and Victoire sat in the silence for a short while, still staring at the storm lashing against the window. The Firewhisky that she'd drunk had reached her stomach, warming it pleasantly. After a minute or so, she stood up and went across the room to her trunk, pulling it out from under her bed. Inside were two bottles of Firewhisky and one of Salamander Vodka. Her Uncle Charlie had bought her one of the Firewhisky bottles for her seventeenth, and she'd bought the others from Knockturn Alley to celebrate becoming an adult, but she'd never actually got round to drinking them.
She had a glass in her bathroom, so she fetched it and poured out a measure of Firewhisky, downing it quickly. Then she poured out another, and when she'd finished that, a third. After that she replaced the glass to the bathroom and hid the Firewhisky back in her trunk, before stripping naked and climbing into bed, falling almost immediately into a deep stupor.
Molly had learnt the ways of St Mungos Hospital over the past few weeks, becoming used to the endless faceless corridors that smelt of magical disinfectant and the constant parade of stressed Healers and pained patients. After her first few visits, it no longer bothered her. She found herself numb to the discomforts, not even jumping when a patient screamed or yelled out of nowhere.
It was only her sister's illness that bothered her now. Nothing else took her attention, because nothing else was as bad. Supposedly, Lucy was doing well. She'd survived the first four weeks, which is apparently when most of the patients who have the disease fatally will die, because their bodies react badly to the treatment. But she was also beyond the six week point, when patients who will make a quick and easy recovery will start improving.
Apparently, she was doing better. She could now sit up - with help - and eat solid foods - in small amounts, nothing too rich. To Molly, she just looked like a ghost of the baby sister she used to have.
Her parents kept attempting to be cheerful and optimistic, finding the positivity in every bit of news, but Molly knew that the illness was taking its toll. For over two months, at least one of them had been in the hospital every single day, often for twelve hours or more. At one point Molly had come round the corner into the corridor of Lucy's ward and seen her mother leaning against the wall with her arms around her head. Knowing that her mother wouldn't want to be found like this, Molly stepped quietly away and walked randomly around the hospital for a few minutes.
She'd decided not to tell her parents about coming out as gay. The feelings had been there for a long while - now that she thought about it, she'd never really been attracted to men, she'd just hoped that she would become so once she went through puberty. She was sure that her parents would accept her, but her parents were naturally old-fashioned in all things, and she knew it would take a serious, and most likely difficult, conversation. And neither of them seemed to have any energy for that sort of thing. Mostly their conversations were just short, fairly monosyllabic questions and answers, about her schoolwork and any developments in Lucy's treatment.
Her parents had given her a small tablet, which was linked to an identical one they had by a Protean Charm. She was sat in her Transfiguration class when she felt it heat up in the pocket of her robes. Come now, it's urgent. M. Shoving it back into her pocket, she raised her hand and asked to be excused, which Professor Foxworth nodded to. The teachers had been told to allow her out of lessons if she asked. As she left the classroom, the eyes of the rest of the students followed her.
The classroom was a short walk from Professor Longbottom's office, where she'd been given free range to use the fireplace for Floo. The study was empty, so she shut the door behind her and walked straight through, stepping out into the St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. She was almost knocked over as two Healers ran past her, but it barely phased her and she retained her composure, walking straight through the hospital up to her sister's ward.
It was clear that something was wrong from the commotion that was happening outside the ward; Healers were clustered in the doorway and flowing in and out, talking loudly and gesticulating. She elbowed her way through - the ones who recognised her stepped out her way - and looked about the ward. With a sinking heart, she saw it was Lucy who was causing the commotion.
There was a nurse who she knew quite well, standing a few feet away. 'It's a seizure,' she explained. 'If she survives the next twelve hours, she'll be fine.'
Molly had of course read up on Lucy's illness and how it was treated in St Mungo's. Leukaemia affected the blood-forming tissue in the body, especially bone marrow, causing an overproduction of abnormal white blood cells. While Muggles treated the disease with chemotherapy and drugs, the Wizarding treatment was based on more magical methods. The Sanguo Potion attacked the abnormality in the bone marrow cells, while a series of spells repaired the bone marrow and the blood count.
The issue came when bodies reacted badly to this treatment. As said, often these patients died within the first few weeks, forming most of the proportion of magical patients who died from the disease. A very small number simply didn't respond to the treatment - some of them were quietly referred to Muggle hospitals to see if the non-magical methods worked. Some survived the first few weeks and appeared to be slowly improving, but suddenly went into an intense and rather convulsive fit, called a seizure. This happened when the treatment sent the entire body, including the brain, into a shock. It could last several hours, on and off, and either it would destroy the remaining leukaemia in the body or the patient's body would be unable to maintain the stress, and would die.
Molly's parents were at the end of Lucy's bed, and they seemed to be clutching onto each other, their hands entangled and their bodies leant together. Molly found herself unable to look away from the bed, where her sister was convulsing uncontrollably. A number of Healers were around her, casting spells and forcing open her mouth to make her swallow potions through tubes.
Feeling someone take her arm, she looked around to see that the nurse was still beside her. 'No reason for you to be here, honey. Why don't you come back in a little while?'
She shook her head. 'No. I have to stay.'
The nurse shrugged. 'Well, okay then. But sit down in this chair here.'
Molly did so, and after a brief squeeze of her shoulder the nurse left her. Occasionally she gave her a glass of water or asked if she was alright, but mostly Molly was left alone.
She didn't know how much time passed, but after a while the seizure appeared to be subsiding, or at least Lucy wasn't convulsing so much. Most of the Healers left, apart from a couple still administering to her, and another who went over to speak to her parents. 'There's not much more we can do for her now. Her body has to fight it alone from here - we've helped all we can. If she makes it through to the morning, she'll survive. We'll check her vitals every few hours.'
Molly's father started sobbing, clutching her mother to him. Lucy appeared to be dozing, her convulsions reduced to periodic twitches in her body. As the Healers finished administering to Lucy and left her, Molly moved her chair over to beside Lucy's bed, and her parents sat down on the opposite side. The ward was empty - all the other patients had been moved out the way to other wards. In the quiet, Molly's parents quietly fell asleep, leaning against each other, their hands entwined in their laps.
Molly stared at her sister. Under the thin covers of the bed, the lines of her body were clear. Her knees stuck up, dipping down low along her skeletal thighs and shins, reaching the comparatively mountainous heights of her sharp hip bones and feet. Her stomach was a bowl, and she could count the individual ribs on her chest, each looking as thin and delicate as Molly's littlest finger. Her own hands were spidery, appearing overlarge compared to her wrists and arms, which were as thin as Molly's index and middle finger put together. The bone structure of her face was razor sharp, the cheekbones and jaw prominent as the cheeks sunk in between them, the skin papery and greyish-white. Her eyes, too big for her thinned face, were surrounded by dark purple. Her hair, pale strawberry blonde, straggled thinly against the pillow. If not for the rasp of her breath and the gentle rise and fall of her chest, she could've passed for an emaciated corpse.
'Molly?'
Her sister's voice rattled in the quiet. She hadn't noticed her opening her eyes. They, at least, were unchanged - the warm dark brown that was the one feature they shared perfectly. Lucy's thin, pale lips turned up in a weak smile. Gasping back tears, Molly smiled as well, and took her sister's hand, making it disappear in her own.
'You feeling alright?' she asked, quietly so as not to wake their parents.
'Been better,' Lucy whispered. 'I … I heard something about how important tonight is. It's a seizure, isn't it?'
'Do you remember anything? From the past few hours?'
Lucy shook her head, a few millimetres to either side. 'I remember I was trying to drink, and I felt really strange. And then I woke up now. Is it a seizure?'
Molly nodded. Like her, Lucy had read up on her illness and her treatment - against the wishes of their parents. They seemed to want her to protect her, somehow, even while strange potions were causing her agony in her bones. Molly had snuck her a book on magical treatments that she'd taken from the Library at Hogwarts.
'So it's all about the next few hours?'
'Yes.'
Lucy smiled again. 'At least it'll all be sorted soon. Thank you, Molly.'
'That's okay.'
'Molly … will you climb in? I feel cold. I … I don't think anyone's hugged me recently. Not properly. Mum and Dad always act like I'm breakable.'
'You are quite breakable at the moment,' said Molly, smiling. She squeezed onto the bed beside her sister, who nestled against her, resting her head against Molly's shoulder.
'Will you talk to me?' asked Lucy in a small voice.
'What about?'
'Anything. Everything. We haven't talked for ages. I can't remember the last time I heard something that wasn't about Healing and illness. Tell me something real?'
Molly thought in the darkness. 'I'm gay.'
Lucy shifted the tiniest bit. 'Tell me something I don't know, Molly.' They giggled, the tiniest bit. 'What gossip is there from Hogwarts? It's so boring at home.'
'Well … you know Dom's boyfriend, Nukes, the one everyone said was a bad influence? He got sent off to Durmstrang and hasn't contacted her at all, didn't even tell her.'
'Really? Wow. I liked him, he was funny.'
'Yeah. Anyway and then …'
