Looking Beyond: Chapter Fourteen: Broken, Renewed

"It's called flashing," Hope explained.

"Flashing? Why do you call it that?" Ron asked, canting his eyebrow slightly.

It was a few weeks after the troll incident –as it was now called, rather famously– and Hope had finally agreed to tell Fred and George how she could get around Hogwarts so fast. Ron and Hermione had opted to tag along, wondering just what exactly she was going to show them.

Hope's eyes rolled towards George who sniggered lightly. "'Cause one second you're there and the next you're gone," Hope said with a shrug, "like a flash; I guess it was the best name my granddad could come up with."

Hermione's mouth dropped. "Your grandfather invented that teleportation method?!" He was the owner of that little leather bound book that Hope had read from when they were in the lavatory during Halloween? He would have to be incredibly advanced–

"Yup!" Hope said, popping the 'p' loudly as she smiled at George. "So, Weasley, apple or orange?"

He blinked, not quite understanding, but he answered anyways, in a completely flummoxed way. "Apple…why?" But by the time he blinked, she'd disappeared.

Fred twisted around, glancing in every direction. "Okay…so—"

"Here you are." An apple was tossed lightly into George's open hands and four pairs of eyes looked at it as if it was some sort of alien creation or forbidden fruit...or something...

Then, Hope had the audacity to yawn as if disappearing and reappearing just as quickly was as common as breathing (which it most certainly was not). George looked down at the apple then back up at her with a bit of incomprehension.

"It's not poisoned," she said in amusement, "don't worry, Weasley, if I wanted to kill you, I would at least be more creative than that."

George felt awkward sitting beside Hope as she slumbered, but he had been volunteered, so he had little choice. It was a wonder McGonagall hadn't asked his younger brother or the Granger girl ("Her name is Hermione, George," Hope admonished) to sit by her bedside. She was on the mend, the whole school had been assured of, but would be out of commission for a few weeks while she recovered from the extensive injuries she had sustained.

Hermione and Ron were taking it the worst, being her best friends, but even Angelina was feeling a bit guilty for tossing her worries aside. She had been right; every Quidditch game she'd played this year had been quite dangerous, so why didn't anyone believe her when she said that she had a bad feeling?

George exhaled loudly, curling his fingers around her limp hand. She was so pale and so small, the purplish smudges under her eyes stood out against her skin. Her hair was a silvery-blonde, almost hiding the blue-wait, what blue?

He frowned, gently brushing her hair from her shoulder to see the bit of blue colouring. What on earth was that?

"Still here?" a kind voice asked, making George quickly remove his hand and twist around to see a young woman in a healer's uniform. Her smile was kind. "You should get some rest."

"I'm fine," George said, but his stomach gave a loud growl.

The healer smiled. "Come on, I'll show you to the floo-"

"What's the blue mark from?" George asked suddenly, gesturing to his slumbering friend.

She gave him a strange look. "What mark?" she asked, moving forward and pulling out her wand and hovering it over the area he had specified. "Oh," she said, relieved, "it's just a transfigured burn, nothing to worry about. Was she in a fire when she was younger?"

"I, I don't know," George admitted. "She barely talks about her childhood."

She said nothing to that, a slight smile brushing her lips as she glanced over the mark again. "The person who made it probably thought they were being clever."

"Huh?" George said in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"It's an iris," she explained, straightening up as she did so, "and its blue; that is symbolic of hope."

"Oh," he said dumbly, but neither said anything else on the matter. George frowned again, dropping his hand onto hers to squeeze it gently, and he could have sworn that for one moment, she squeezed back.

Hope shifted slightly in the bed, her shoulders tensing slightly as her brow furrowed.

"Is she…in pain?" he asked in concern.

"A bit," the healer admitted, "but that's expected, because we have to make sure everything's healing up properly; if we loaded her up with potions all the time, she wouldn't be able to know what was what."

"She would hate that," George agreed. "She hates when she gets sent to the hospital wing, always says the potions mess with her head."

She laughed lightly. "I know the type, so she's intelligent, then? Probably always has her nose stuck in a book?"

"Sometimes, but she's not much of a bookworm." This was very true. Where Hermione often spewed random dictionary definitions, Hope dumbed down or simplified her knowledge.

She winked after pulling the blankets more securely around her patient. "Don't worry, she'll be fine after she's rested a good bit, you'll see." And she left as swiftly as she had entered, leaving him in silence once more.

A soft sigh left Hope's lips as her tensed muscles relaxed and her fingers curled tightly around his, but she made no other movement.

George leaned down to lift a small spine-broken book from the pocket of his cloak, setting it down beside her. She would get bored with nothing to read if –when- she ever woke up, besides, it was her favourite.

He leaned down to whisper in her ear, "You better wake up soon, Hope Lily Potter, you hear me? Soon."

He didn't see the ghost of a smile on her lips as he left, her mind still a muddle of pain and potions, but his voice rang familiar to her, though she could not place it yet in her memory.

Madam Pomfrey peered intently over her patient, her face lined with worry as she looked over her charts. The bones were healing nicely –at a much slower rate so as not to damage her internal organs– held in place by the bandages that were wrapped around the majority of her body, spelled to keep the bones beneath the skin in their proper places, and only a few of her organs were still bruised.

"So she's doing much better, then?" Madam Pomfrey guessed to the healer in charge of the student, Healer Archer. The girl hadn't stirred for nearly two weeks.

Archer smiled, patting the older woman's hand kindly. "Much better, Madam Pomfrey," she assured her, "she's tougher than she looks."

Madam Pomfrey's smile was a bit wry. "Oh, I know."

She reached down to smooth a loose crimson lock from her face when her eyes fluttering open at long last. They were the palest shade of green she'd ever seen, but it was the first sign of life in her that she'd seen in weeks.

"Hope!" she said in rather obvious relief. "You're awake! Finally!"

Those green eyes which had been staring at a spot on the ceiling above her shifted sideways to meet hers.

"P-Poppy?" her voice croaked, weak and raspy. "Wha-what happened?"

Madam Pomfrey couldn't even be a little annoyed that she used her first name –so much like James often had–, too relieved that she was awake, before she became quickly appalled at her attempting to sit up. "Don't do that! You'll—"

Hope groaned loudly in aggravation, cutting her speech off as she raised a hand to inspect the thick bandages around her arms. "Do I look like a mummy?"

"Only a little bit, Miss Potter," Healer Archer said in amusement, stepping into the space beside her, opposite Madame Pomfrey. "I'm Healer Archer; I've been monitoring you since you arrived."

Hope blinked owlishly at her a few times, looking the young woman up and down. "Healer," she said slowly, "like..." Her mouth was still a little numb from the potions and the lack of moisture so she settled on pointing at Madam Pomfrey.

"That's correct," Healer Archer said as Hope descended into a brief coughing fit, handing her a cup of water that almost slipped from her hands due to how weak and badly shaking they were.

"Ah…" Hope said tiredly, her eyes staring vacantly around her as if trying to ascertain where she was.

"You're in St. Mungo's," she added, but Hope only stared blankly at her. "It's a magical hospital."

"Of course," Hope said bemused, glancing at the healer that was running her wand over her body. "What are you doing?"

"Hm?" Archer glanced up. "Oh, just checking your vitals, making sure everything's working correctly."

Hope's eyes didn't trust, but she made no other comment concerning the matter. "What happened exactly?"

"What do you remember?" Madam Pomfrey countered, instead.

Hope's eyebrows furrowed as she attempted to recall the events that led to her accident. "I had just caught the Snitch," she said slowly, curling her fingers inward until they made contact with her palm, as if still feeling the tingle of the cold metal. "And then something hard hit me in the back of the head and I fell off and fainted."

"Well," Madam Pomfrey began slowly, "the Hufflepuff Beater who hit the Bludger had actually been aiming in the opposite direction, so the ball was charmed to head towards you. He's been feeling rather guilty about the whole thing."

"I would assume so," Hope grunted over the growl of her stomach. "Damn, I'm starving!"

Archer chortled slightly and excused herself to bring the Girl-Who-Lived her long awaited food.

"Be honest with me, Miss Potter," Madam Pomfrey warned, reverting back to the girl's surname, "how do you feel?"

"Like lead," she said bluntly, lifting her arms experimentally with difficulty, "are they supposed to feel like that?"

"Lead is good," Madam Pomfrey said, pleased. "The bandages are a bit heavy, but the weighted feeling means that they're healing properly."

"So when can I get out of here?" Hope asked bluntly, collapsing back into her pillows with another low groan. "I hate hospitals."

"I had no idea," Madam Pomfrey said sarcastically, "though I suspect you will be leaving sooner rather than later, now that the healers can use undiluted potions-"

"That's…good," she said finally, "that's really good."

Hope seemed to be a bit lost in thought, sliding one of her two rings onto her finger where they had rested on the bedside table. It gleamed in the barely lit room.

"What's that?"

Her attention had been directed to a small pile of gifts at the foot of her bed. Their presence seemed to surprise her, making Madam Pomfrey smile. And then her gaze shifted sideways to the worn book that lay on the bedside table.

"Was George here?" she asked suddenly, straining the muscles of her arm so that she could reach the book and lift it with difficulty towards herself.

"Oh, yes," Madam Pomfrey agreed with a sly smile, "he was probably the most upset after your…fall."

Hope's cheeks darkened, muttering under her breath, "We're just friends."

She didn't notice the amused smile Madam Pomfrey cast her way, and she had no way of knowing that Madam Pomfrey was going to return to Hogwarts and inform her friends of her awakening and perhaps subtly (or not so subtly) suggest to the Weasley Twins a possibility of a truly spectacular welcome back gift.

The Fourth Floor was Spell Damage, and it was the floor that Hope's godmother and her husband had resided since that night in autumn all those years ago. It was quite late and she was certain most patients and healers were asleep, but Hope had a whacky sleep clock and a very awake mind. And the locks were really child's play, honestly, couldn't have they at least tried a little harder.

She twisted the knob of the door open slowly, entering the ward as quietly as one could with a leg like hers.

The Longbottoms weren't too difficult to find, but they were much harder to look at.

Alice Longbottom should have had a pixie-like look about her, but her cheeks were sunken and pale, far too pale, and her hair was white and wispy, nothing like the chestnut brown from the photo Hope had of her and her mother together. Frank was much like his wife, just as hollow-looking, and just as dead-looking.

Hope could feel the bile rising in her throat and the tears clinging desperately to her eyelashes as she dropped a shaking hand until it hovered over Alice's limp one, but she didn't touch her. Maybe it was because she was afraid, or maybe it was because she didn't want to wake her.

Hope slumped into the chair that was positioned beside the bed for visitors, rubbing at her eyes and erasing all traces of the tears that never fell. So this was what happened to you from overexposure to the world's worst torture curse. Her stomach churned and she felt sick.

It felt quiet, too quiet. The only sound was of Hope's rather audible sigh.

"You don't know me," she whispered finally, but it sounded louder, much louder than she had intended, echoing in the silent ward, "but my name's Hope, and…I-I'm you're goddaughter."

She cleared her throat with difficulty, giving a shaky laugh. "I don't even know why I'm here, or what I could possibly say. You don't know me and I don't know you; we're strangers on a train, I suppose."

She bit her lip, plagued with uncertainty, before deciding to finally speak. "My name's Hope, but I don't really like it, because it's like I've got so much to live up to, and I hate that. I love Mum and Dad, but they're not here to…" her throat caught once more and she had to pause. "I'm sure they would have been great…" She breathed in and out deeply, trying to keep her emotions carefully in check, and failing.

"Anyways, er, I live with my mother's sister and her family, but they're rubbish and terrible caretakers, if you ask me. I'm not even sure if they have a kind bone in their bodies. They like everything neat and orderly, you know? And me? I like some disorder and things that maybe don't shine like they've been scrubbed over and over again. I like old-fashioned things, I guess, or at least things that have an old-fashioned look. I'm…" she faltered again; she was rambling, but it mattered little. "I'm sentimental."

"I've got a terrible temper," she added as an afterthought, "I'm not sure if I got that from Mum or Dad, maybe both. I was a very angry little girl," she said after a moment, simply twisting the opal ring around her finger, "or, at least, that was what I appeared to be. I had a terrible reputation when I was younger, always getting into trouble, bad-mouthing teachers." Her lips twitched slightly as she glanced towards the sleeping insane woman. "You can imagine, I'm sure."

"I was pretty quiet, kept to myself mostly, unless Dudley got involved," she admitted, "him and his mates always managed to piss me off, and the teachers always took his views over mine…that always made me so explosive."

"It hardly came as surprising when they told everyone I was going to St. Agnes' Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Girls," she said with a despairing sigh. "I would've been a little insulted if I hadn't been so relieved to be leaving."

"Hogwarts is great and your son is a sweetheart." Hope glanced at the woman, as if hoping she could understand her or at least hear her, despite her sleep. "I've got these two great friends, Ron and Hermione, and there are these two prankster twins, Fred and George, that are always getting into trouble, causing mayhem, the like, and they really cheer me up when I'm in one of my moods…it's nice to have someone like that, I guess. I think Neville needs someone like that, someone that'll make him smile and laugh ridiculously."

She rubbed a hand absently against the scar across her leg. "Let me tell you about this one time in Potions…"

There was no one to greet Hope when she took the portkey Healer Archer gave her and was deposited out in the stone courtyard.

"You have been greatly missed, Milady."

Hope very nearly sighed at the sound of Sir Michael Richmond's voice, as she had now discovered why the talking suit of armour was always following her around (owing, no doubt, to Salazar Slytherin's last request) and she couldn't say she was impressed by how seriously he was taking it.

Hope opted to scowl at him instead, but the cool wind whipped her hair around, making it difficult to look at him without restraining it with her hands.

Hope was sure she would've preferred to Flash to the castle if she could've gotten away with it, but what could you do?

"I doubt that," she said calmly, "but you might want to be less obvious, Michael, people are going to notice when a suit of armour keeps following me around."

"I keep mostly to myself," a voice from within spoke defensively.

Hope arched her eyebrow again, dubious, but she settled on rolling her eyes at him instead. "To your post, Sir Knight."

He gave her a low bow and lumbered off, the sound of metal clashing together with every movement. He looked so utterly ridiculous, Hope could silence the small giggle that burst from her lips (she still blamed her grandfather for the whole thing; honestly, she didn't need to be watched like a child by someone who had been dead for at least a good thousand years).

She'd left the hospital despite them wanting her to remain for another few days, but Hope really hated hospitals. It wasn't that there was anything wrong with hospitals in general, or even doctors or healers, it was just that she didn't like being strapped to a bed. Not being able to move at all was possibly the most torturous thing she had ever endured; quite ironic considering her leg required her to not move for extended amounts of time.

She pulled her jacket a little tighter around her, hoping that it would shield her from the wind a bit more effectively, because, despite the fact that it was April, she was still in Scotland, and even they had cold weather. She glanced down at herself, noticing how muggle she looked and it made her smile.

The jacket was baggy on her, but she liked it too much to complain about the size (she'd grow into it), as usual, her legs were covered with thick tights, but her skirt was denim and worn, and her shirt depicted a band called the Weird Sisters (she had no way of knowing that it was actually a Wizarding band).

She looked perfectly muggle, which was good, because the Wizarding World was quite behind in what was considered fashionable, mind you, not that she cared much for fashion (Parvati was to blame for this, with what she and Lavender always talked about).

A harsh light danced in front of her eyes, making her step back (almost tripping; thankfully, she had her cane on her) and blink frantically.

It was a star. Well, not a real star, those massive balls of gas were light years away, but this was as close to a star as one could get. In awe, she tentatively reached a hand out to the floating light.

She had told them she liked to star-gaze…it could be no one else. She laughed out loud and swung her cane forward, heading inside and making for the Great Hall.

At first, no one noticed her –strange, to say the least–, but people began to notice that something was amiss when the reflection of the sky above them shifted suddenly to a night filled with stars and the moon painting a lovely picture.

She was almost too busy admiring the scenery to notice the red blur heading her way, only catching sight of the twin a fraction of a second before she was swept into his arms with a hearty laugh.

"George Fabian Weasley, you put me down right now!" she ordered, despite her smile, ignoring the rising noise behind them.

"You are so…" George struggled to find the right words.

"Me?" Hope offered with a grin. "Oh, I know." Her green eyes glanced upwards briefly. "I like the present; very impressive magic."

His eyes lit up, and so did his ears, but that was nothing compared to his cheeks when she kissed one of them. "You are far too sweet," she said amused. "Oi! Fred! Get over here, I know you helped!"

Fred's casual smile never slipped as he gave her a tight hug. "I figured you wanted some privacy to snog Prince Charming over there-OW!"

Hope shook her cane aggressively at him, her cheeks only slightly flushed. "I have a cane, mister," she warned, "and I am not afraid to use it."

Her attention was now drawn to the pair that she had missed the most (sorry, George!), the two that looked the most like Hell. Red rimmed eyes and light bruising under the eyes told her all she needed to know.

"So," she began slowly, "which of you morons do I hug first?"

At those words, Hermione burst into tears, only slightly alarming Hope (nerves of steel, that one) when she flung her arms around Hope and sobbed into the shoulder of her coat.

"Er…it's alright, see? Good as new. Well, I say new, but that's a relative concept. If I was as good as new then I wouldn't have any imperfections, which is impossible, since everyone's got those—"

"Shut up!" Hermione muffled into the material, before pulling back and quickly wiping her eyes. "You oaf!"

Hope held up a hand making a small space between her first finger and thumb as if to say "Just a smidgen."

"Miss me, Ron?" she grinned, her eyes glimmering blue when he gripped her into a hug as well.

Hugs all around, really. Hope lost track of how many people she actually hugged, in fact, she didn't remember much of that lunch until later when she had to empty it into a toilet after stuffing her face a bit too much (hospital food was nothing compared to the real thing). Being back in those walls gave her such comfort and relief, like coming home after being away for such a long time. She had missed it.

"Miss Potter."

Hope turned and grinned as her Head of House finally approached the table that she had been forced to sit at, squashed between her best friends. "Hey, Professor! Miss me while I was away?"

Her cheeky grin almost made the professor give a derisive snort, but her restraint was tremendous.

"Welcome back, Miss Potter," she said simply.

Hope's beaming grin widened and her eyes lightened to a hazel identical to her father's. "Thanks. It's great to be back."

And she wasn't lying.