Chapter Twelve
The Leaky Cauldron
"Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true, here is the place where I love you."
~The Hunger Games
The world was rent apart in a massive explosion, I couldn't hear anything over the ringing in my ears, and everything was white. I flew through the air, and Rose's hand was ripped from mine.
I couldn't do anything. I couldn't feel anything. The world was in slow motion. I could barely breathe. I was disorientated, I couldn't stand. I gripped my head, trying to get a hold on myself. I could vaguely hear people screaming.
I had to get to Rose.
This one thought dominated my mind, the cause of the explosion, the other people, who were most certainly injured or dead . . . none of it mattered. Only Rose mattered.
"Rose!"I felt my mouth move, but nothing come out. I crawled forward, with no idea what direction I was moving or where she actually was.
Blurry shapes started to move in front of me, I heard slowed-down voices over the ringing, and sirens. I saw flashing blue and red lights as I shouted out for Rose again.
Feeling started to return, and with that came pain. My whole body ached, but the worst thing was the pain in my chest. I stopped moving, and rolled over on my back, feeling my chest, which was bleeding. There was a sharp steel rod buried deep in my right side. My lung was undoubtedly pierced, which explained why I was gasping for breath, and probably why I was coughing up blood . . . so much blood . . .
"Rose," I wheezed, gripping the rod, and tugging uselessly at it, my strength deteriorating rapidly. I was choking on my own blood. The edges of my vision faded.
So this is what it was like to die.
Everything felt more and more detached by the second. Nothing was real . . . this pain wasn't real . . . my body wasn't real . . . even Rose was not real . . . and the hands that touched me, the arms that carried me away . . . were certainly Death's.
The moment my hand left Scorpius's, terror, the explosion, the possibility of death became real.
My body hit the ground, hard, and I felt several bones break. I tasted blood. I screamed, but could hear no sound. Hot tears streamed down my face from the pain. I screamed for Scorpius, but I could hear no answer. The pain became too much, and I knew I was losing blood from somewhere because I felt weak, and I fainted.
When I came to I was in a soft bed. I could hear people crying, the bustling of many people, the tinkle of metal instruments. The place smelled like a hospital.
I opened my eyes, and realized that was where I was. A muggle hospital ward. I tried to sit up, but found it hurt too much. So instead I looked around. My clothes, though tattered and dirty, still laid on the night table next to me. I faintly worried if my wand was in there, but was relieved when I saw the tip of the smooth wooden handle poking out of the clothes. I didn't know either of the people on the beds next to me. Where was Scorpius? If I was here, he must surely be too. I sat up again, and stayed up despite the pain.
I was immensely relived when I spotted his tell-tale curly blonde hair laying on a pillow a few beds away from me. He was hooked up to several machines and the computer screens on them were fuzzy and looked as if there was interference.
Magic, I thought. Duh, magic. Nothing electronic worked well around magic.
I was worried, though. The machines he was hooked up too was a life support machine. Scratch worried, I was terrified. I tried to stand up, but found a nurse pushing me back before my feet could hit the floor. Annoyed, I tried to resist, but she was stronger than me in my weakened state.
"Don't worry, dear," she said. I gave her an aggravated look. Don't worry? Was she fucking kidding me right now? I saw she was an older lady. "You got hurt pretty bad, but we've patched you up best we can, you should be healed enough to walk in a few days."
"Scorpius," I muttered, trying to get up again. So . . . maybe I was a bit loopy. I learned later they had given me a bunch of pain pills. Kind of an excuse for not making complete sentences.
"What's that, my dear?"
"Scorpius!" I said fiercely, trying to get up, I looked over at him again, but his upper body was blocked by a man, presumably a doctor. What was going on? Was he alright? He wasn't going to . . .
But the thought was so terrible that I couldn't finish it.
"What's a 'Scorpius'?"
I realized I was probably going to have to start making more sense or they were going to shoot me up with some sort of sedative. I've seen those muggle movies.
"The . . ." I said, the room starting to spin in front of me from the exertion of fighting the old lady. "The curly-haired blonde man over there, the one hooked up to a life machine, he's Scorpius!"
"Oh, I see, dear, he's a friend of yours?"
"Yes," I said. Friend was close enough, and I was too tired to explain, besides we had kept our relationship a secret so long that I automatically denied it without thinking anymore. "Is he alright? What's the matter with him?"
"He'll be fine, dearie," she said in a placating voice. My temper flared a bit. Dammit, I wanted the truth, not some fib to make me feel better! And this bitch had better stop calling me 'dear' or I was going to punch her. Erm . . . if my arm wasn't in a sling.
"Tell me the truth, dammit!" I said angrily. The old woman looked shocked at my language. "Tell me what's wrong with him!"
"I'm going to get the doctor," the nurse said, standing up. I grabbed her arm desperately with my left hand.
"Please," I begged her. She hesitated, and she seemed to pity me. Well, if that's what it took. "Please tell me."
The old nurse sat back down, and pulled my sheets up. Then she patted my arm and gave me a sympathetic gaze that not only annoyed me, but scared the hell out of me.
"His lung was punctured. He has several broken bones and ribs. He was near death when we arrived. The doctors are trying their hardest to keep him breathing and stabilize him. Don't worry dear, I'm sure he'll be alright."
Terror filled me at the possibility that he was not going to be alright, and I tried to sit up again. I had to see him. I had to make sure with my own eyes that he was alive and would continue to be. The nurse stood up, and went to the bag that was attached to my hand through a tube. What did mum call those? An EV? FV? CV? No, that wasn't right . . .
"I'm going to give you something to sleep now, my dear."
IV! That was it! Shit . . .
I put up a hand to stop her, but was too late, as she plunged the needle into my tube, and I immediately felt sleepy, my eyes drooped, and I feel into a warm and much, much too deep sleep from which I did not wake for several hours.
Ron was angry. More than that, he was livid. And he also felt guilty for fighting with his best friend, which had not happened since he walked out on the Horcrux hunt.
But that didn't mean he didn't think he wasn't right.
He was right, he knew he was. Having a Malfoy working for them was dangerous. They were always involved in something slippery. He had made the mistake once of underestimating a Malfoy, and Draco had turned out to be a Death Eater after all. He would not do it again. He would not allow a Malfoy to hurt his family. Even if he had saved Rose twice.
It could be a trap. A rouse. He would not lower his guard.
Arguing with Harry would get him nowhere. Harry was the most stubborn person he knew, and if Harry thought Harry trusted the Malfoy boy, then he would not change his mind. Ron could do nothing about it.
He punched the wall in frustration, leaving a sizable dent.
"Dammit, Harry!" he howled.
"Ron?" said a voice. Ron recognized it as Hermione's. She had come home. And now he was in trouble for damaging the wall. She entered the room, took one look at his face, and frowned, dropping her stuff next to the chair. She never did that. Hermione was too organized to leave her stuff on the floor, and she was always onto him to put his stuff in the coat closet.
"Tell me what happened, Ron."
Recovering from his shock, Ron started to pace again.
"Harry," he muttered wildly.
"Yes, I gathered that it had something to do with Harry, seeing as how you were just shouting about him."
Ron looked at his wife, the corners of her mouth twitched in amusement. This only infuriated Ron more, and he found himself shouting.
"He's working with the bloody Malfoys, Hermione! That bloody bastard of a kid! He trusts the son of a bitch!"
He expected Hermione to start chiding him for his language, but instead she frowned at him.
"Scorpius?"
"Yes! That bastard!"
"He's saved Rose twice, though. He seems like a good guy to me, Ron."
"It's a rouse! He's a lying, sneaky bastard! All the Malfoys are! They're slimy, never trust them!"
"Where's all this coming from, Ron?"
"What, are you trying to be my bloody shrink?" Ron stopped and looked at her, and she was looking at him as though he had lost his marbles. He pointed at her angrily. "Don't bloody tell me you're taking his side!"
"This isn't about sides, Ron. This is about seeing what's really going on. This is about trusting someone and looking past who his father is."
"Not just his father! His grandfather too!"
"Ron," said Hermione, exasperated. "He's never even met his grandfather."
"It's in his genes!"
"You're being ridiculous, Ron."
"Ridiculous? I'm trying to bloody protect you! Our children! My family! Trusting Scorpius Malfoy will get all of us killed!"
Hermione shook her head, and it was clear she was becoming really irritated.
"You're being an idiot, Ron, and I'm not in the mood to deal with this right now."
She stormed from the room, and Ron stared at the spot where she had disappeared with his mouth hanging open.
There was a knock on the door.
"I've got it," called Hermione, still sounding angry.
Ron heard the door swing open, heavy panting and footsteps.
"Where's Ron?" He recognized Harry's voice and he became angry once more. He stomped into the kitchen and glared at his best friend.
Hermione glared at both of them, then turned her back to them to put the kettle on. Harry stared after her with a what-the-hell-did-I-do face.
"What do you want?" said Ron nastily. Harry glared at him with just as much anger. If he hadn't come to apologize, or at least make up, why was he here?
"Put it aside, Ron. We've got bigger problems."
"Hmph!" voiced Hermione, slamming the kettle on the stove.
Harry ignored her, and looked at Ron.
"There's been an attack."
"Oh yeah?" said Ron sarcastically. "What kind of attack?"
Harry glared at him.
"The best I can describe it as is a terrorist attack."
Hermione whipped around to stare intently at Harry.
"What?" she squeaked, looking terrified. He hated seeing his wife like that. He knew she was reliving the war, and resisting the urge to comfort her was hard.
"Where?" said Ron.
"The Leaky Cauldron. I'm told it was an explosion. I'm going to go check it out and I want you there with me."
Ron seriously thought about telling him to shove off, but his curiosity was a lot stronger than his anger.
"Let me get my wand."
"No doubt about it," said Harry, kneeling down to examine the ashes. "This was a magical attack."
"Got to be," said Ron. "Otherwise it wouldn't have taken place right inside the Leaky Cauldron."
The entire place was a waste, the entire front wall blown out. It was also now visible to muggles, and the place was swarming with police. The only way they had gotten past them was confounding them and showing them fake badges. Muggles were congregating outside the police tape, trying to find out what was going on (and probably wondering where that building had come from). Harry and Ron had sealed the wall to Diagon Alley off, so no one could get through that way.
"I'm going to go talk to the police, see what they know," said Ron.
"Yeah," muttered Harry, waving Ron off. "You go do that."
Ron walked away, leaving Harry to examine the place.
He was trying to locate the source of the blast. He followed the clues, and found himself staring at a table that had not been thrown through a forceful blast, but had been utterly shattered.
"Aha," muttered Harry, sorting through the shattered bits to find what he was looking for.
There it was, a simple, unassuming plank of wood that had once been part of the table. Harry turned it over to examine what must have been the underside. There was what was left of the bomb casing, and a piece of old chewing gum.
"Ron," called Harry, "come look at this."
Ron dismissed the officer he had been talking to, and returned to Harry, who showed him the plank.
"That's disgusting, Harry," said Ron. Harry frowned.
"Not the gum, the plastic. It was where the bomb was planted."
Ron examined their location.
"The back right hand corner. So all we have to do is find out who sat here for the past month or so," said Ron sarcastically. Harry sighed.
"No, Ron, it would have been planted right before, otherwise they ran the very high risk of the bomb being found."
That wiped the smirk of Ron's face. Harry felt a grim sense of satisfaction.
"Five people died," said Ron gravely. That wiped the satisfaction off Harry's.
Harry removed his glasses and ran a hand over his face.
"And. . .how many were injured?"
"Three with life-threatening injuries, and ten with serious injuries. The other fifteen just had scrapes and bruises. They were taken to a hospital on Charing Cross. Do you . . . think we should go check it out?"
Harry thought for a few moments.
"If there are any witch or wizards there, then I think we'll have to. They're the only ones who can tell us who was sitting here. And they won't have any kind of identification, most likely, so the Police can't give us a list of who was there. Let's also see . . . see who died. Did you ask the police where they took the bodies?"
"A mortuary. They said none of them carried identification, and were dressed in strange clothes."
Harry cursed.
"All wizards."
"No," said Ron. "Two wizards and three witches."
"Let's go to the mortuary first, their memories might still be fresh, we might be able to get something."
"Let's go, then."
I was in such utter pain when I regained consciousness that I realized there was no way I could be dead. Even though all common sense told me I must be, because wasn't that what had just happened? Hadn't I just died?
I opened my eyes.
If I was, indeed, dead, then why on earth would I be in a muggle hospital with tubes sticking out of me just about everywhere?
It was a while before I realized I wasn't breathing on my own, but that tubes sticking out of my nose were providing me with oxygen.
What the hell?
There were hard bits of wood stuck to either side of both my legs and one of my arms. There was a large cotton bandage stuck to the right side of my chest and back. The one on my back was particularly gooey. Why had they not sealed up my wounds?
What was this, the dark ages?
Muggles.
I heard a sniff somewhere to my left side, and looked down as best I could. All I caught was a glimpse of fiery red hair, but that was enough to tell me who it was.
"Rose," I tried to say, but it came out as a gurgle. What the hell?
I felt a warm hand slip into mine, and it felt like a better pain reliever than whatever shit they had me on. I weakly squeezed Rose's hand. Her face came into view above mine, and I felt her other hand in my hair. Rose was alive. Thank Merlin, she was alive!
I had almost lost her a third time.
Though it was hard to gather enough evidence to blame myself for this one.
"Oh, Scorpius," she whispered, stroking my hair and her eyes blurring with tears. I felt something hard brush my head and realized she had a cast on her right arm. Was she hurt?
I tried to raise my hand, but found I was not strong enough. Dammit this was frustrating.
Another incoherent sound came out of my mouth.
She kissed my cheek, I felt her warm tears, and I was weakly able to brush my lips against hers.
Rose sniffed.
"I'm so sorry, Scorpius."
I was confused, what on earth was she apologizing for? I gave her a look that said so.
"I feel like it's all my fault," she whispered.
I shook my head. Rose sniffed and was quiet. The soft tugs on my scalp where she petted my hair were so relaxing that I almost found myself slipping back into sleep. But I forced myself to stay awake for her. I squeezed her hand.
"Go," she whispered. "Go on, go to sleep if you want to. I'll be right here . . . if you want me to stay."
I nodded, and stroked her hand with my thumb. She smiled, removed her hands to shift her chair into a more comfortable position, then replaced them, and continued to stroke my hair. I was funnily reminded of when our positions were reversed when Rose got poisoned.
"I love you," she whispered softly, two tears falling from each eye. I squeezed her hand and watched her intently.
I didn't want her to see me like this . . . It would haunt her. But it was too late, and I didn't have the strength, physically or emotionally, to send her away, I needed her. But I couldn't comfort her. I hated feeling this helpless.
Eventually my troubled thoughts subsided, her warmth, her scent, her comforting presence wiped them away and eventually I fell asleep.
But my last thought was that we never did get to play Quidditch.
A/N: Hello, again, my dear readers! I hope you liked the chapter. I am curious as to know whether or not I got you—did you honestly think I was going to kill Scorpius? Let me know! Quite honestly, I've grown much too attached to Scorpius to kill him off! I would have put it at the last chapter and left it as an ultra-mean cliffhanger, but I thought that would be too mean. I know I would hate that if this was a story I was reading instead of writing (Kind of like the last Eragon book where the end of every single chapter was a cliffhanger. Gets a bit wearing after a while.)
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