Silence fell over the dusty room and Professor Cunief started handing out the tests to the class. Dorcas was still not here. Regulus looked at her empty seat, trying to divine her whereabouts. It was so unlike her to be gone on a test day. An uneasy feeling crept up his spine. Something was very wrong.
She wasn't sick – he'd seen her eating breakfast with her friends. She didn't forget class, never having missed one. She'd studied for this test, helped him with flashcards. The uncomfortable feeling washed over him again.
Instinct told him he could not ignore this. Chair scraping, he got up and quicklyslipped out of the room. He walked briskly down the hallway, orienting himself, before breaking into a slow jog. He ran downseveralflights of stairs, two steps at a time, just managing to jump over the faulty step. Finding a side door, Regulus went out into the brisk air.He carefully navigated the grounds, going onto his familiar path, the route he knew so well.
He ran along, not knowing what he would find. Around the bush, left at the Whomping Willow, down through the marsh by the lake. His legs moved mechanically. He turned the corner, his perfect tree coming into view.
And there was Dorcas, slumped over on the ground. Her black robe spread messily on the ground like a burial shroud, amass of brown hair concealing her face. And suddenly his heart was in his throat and he couldn't breathe anymore. But his legs kept moving and he was by her side and he was saying her name and she wasn't responding with words. His hands lifted her face and her eyes were barely open, unable to focus and there was blood everywhere. He ripped the book from her hands and found the cut, saw her wrist bleeding, the penknife two feet away. She'd slit her wrist and the blood just kept coming out.
He had to make it stop. His brain wasn't working right, but he knew he had to make it stop. Regulus clamped his hand over the gash. Blood spurted onto him, on his robes and his face, but he barely noticed.
Fabric, some cloth. He had to make the bleeding stop, stop her life escaping. Fumbling, he yanked off his tie and wound it up her arm, knotting it three times.
Dorcas moaned softly. "Don't worry," he said, trying to figure out what he should do next. He laid her flat on the ground, and with a swish and flick of his wand, she slowly rose into the air, as if on a stretcher. He grabbed her wet wrist and, with the help of the wand, he awkwardly retraced his steps back to the castle, carrying her along. "It's alright, you're going to be fine, don't worry," he repeated over and over again, stumbling over branches and rocks. Dorcas whimpered, incoherent and disoriented.
"It's going to be fine," he said.
And there was the door to the school, and there were the stairs. And there was the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey running to help.
Regulus collapsed into a chair after he helped an alarmedMadam Pomfreyto move Dorcas into a bed.The nursestarted chanting spells and pulling out potions, a calm Healer to the core, asking only a few simple questions, smoothly taking control. Regulus could tell this wasn't the first time she had seen attempted suicides, and she seemed encouraged that, with quick work, Dorcas could still be saved.
Wizarding suicides were usually quick and effective, a Stifling Spell to block the airways or a simple potion. Sometimes they were fantastical and creative, a wonder of carefully crafted charms. Most often, though, those wishing to end their lives didn't resort to messy Muggle methods, like cutting wrists or jumping from broomsticks, which could be unsuccessful and painful.
Regulus sat across the room from Dorcas's bed, head in his hands. Why, Dorcas, why? He felt sick.
The nurse finished tucking Dorcas in, and gave her a small dose of sleeping potion.
"Are you okay yourself, Mr. Black?" asked Madam Pomfrey. "You look awfully pale." Regulus stared at the floor, nodding slowly, trying to swallow the vomit creeping up his throat.
"Well," she said, "at least drink this." She handed him a warm goblet which he downed in a single swallow. It tasted like honey. His heart slowed a little from its frantic pace and he could breathe again.
He moved to Dorcas's bedside as Pomfrey left him. The wing was nearly empty, only two other patients occupying beds. A blond girl lay motionless, and next to her the Head Boy dozed lightly with a huge bandage on his hand. Probably another Quidditch injury, sustained at last night's game. Regulus wouldn't know though, not having been present.
For the next hour he sat quietly, his head spinning. His eyes traced the contour of Dorcas's still face a half dozen times, watched her chest rising and sinking. He eyed the bloodstains on her robes, her peachy skin, not realizing he wore her blood in matching stains from his earlier efforts.
Then at long last her eyelids opened.
"Dorcas?" Regulus whispered, gentle, barely keeping the anxiousness out of his voice.
She turned on her side and sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes. "Regulus?" she croaked. Then her gaze found him and she smiled. "Regulus."
"Oh, God, Dorcas."
"What is it?"
He leaned in close, as if to make sure she was really breathing, that she really was talking, that she really lived. I thought you were dead. "Are you okay? How do you feel?"
She shook her head, as if he was missing the point. "You're here," she said with happy bewilderment.
"Yes, I suppose so – do you know where you are? You know what – well, what happened?"
"You're here," she said again. "I knew you would come. You were the only one who knew, the only one who knew where I was, the only one who could help. And I asked for you, and you're here."
The look of joy in her eyes lit up her face, glowing through the stains on her cheek. Regulus didn't care if she wasn't making any sense. She was well and radiant and alive, and he kissed her, a long kiss, slow and passionate.
Finally they broke apart, and for a moment Regulus panicked, afraid that he had overstepped his boundaries. But he looked in her eyes, and the joy was still there, flying high.
"Thank you for saving me," she said, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.
"Any time - " he answered, before she sealed her lips over his in sweet delight.
The Quidditch star, awoken from his doze, was the only witness tothe kisses they traded. A little disgusted when he realized the participants, and secretly a little jealous that his own red-haired beauty wasn't here with him, he turned over and went back to sleep.