Disclaimer: I don't own D. Gray-Man or Harry Potter.
A/N: Special mention for StripySlippers, who was the 100th reviewer, and their suggested minor plot point will appear (much, much) later on. Thank you to everyone else too; I really do love the reviews.
Beta-read by espeon16
Healing the Wounded (Trust)
Allen woke to the noise of uncooperative patients and an exasperated matron. By the time he forced himself to sit up, Madame Pomfrey had already bustled over. She immediately set to fussing and patching him up, and he smiled politely and sat quietly while she worked. The gash across his right arm was healed first; followed by the bullet wound in his leg. The puncture wounds, courtesy of Road, took a bit more time and energy, but soon all was well and Allen was choking down bitter-smelling potions for blood loss.
"How are you feeling now, dear?" The matron was still worrying over his leg - the candle-hole was too close to the bullet wound, and it still twinged whenever Allen tried to move it.
"Very well, thank you." The injury in his abdomen was still throbbing, and his leg was driving him crazy, but he had never felt this well after waking up in the Headquarters' medical ward. The Head Nurse was skilled, but she didn't have access to spells and potions.
Madame Pomfrey still didn't look convinced, so Allen offered a sincere smile. "Really, I'm feeling surprisingly well."
If anything, this made her frown more. Apparently, years of working with too-proud, stubborn boys developed her instinct for spotting half-truths, and the 'surprisingly' in Allen's reassurance was caught as quickly as an akuma in Kanda's vicinity.
Years of working in the nursing profession, however, had given her plenty of tolerance and patience. She simply sighed when Allen refused to offer up anything more, and set about working at the smaller cuts and scrapes.
It was Allen's turn to frown. "I'm fine, ma'am. You don't have to bother with those, I'm used to it. You have other patients to see to, right?" He really didn't want to take up any more of her time than he had to, and he was used to being hurt.
"Nonsense, child," she admonished, continuing in her ministrations without so much as a pause. "You're a pleasure to treat, and it's my job to make sure you're as comfortable as possible." There was some hesitation in her next question, as if she wasn't sure if she wanted to know the answer.
"You said you were 'used to it'. Just how often are you injured like this?" Her voice was weighted with concern, and Allen was slightly taken aback.
"I'm injured every time I go out on a mission, though not often as badly as this time," he explained, trying to make her see that there wasn't any fuss to be made. "You've already done great, really."
The matron looked even more upset, if such a thing was possible. Shaking her head, she finished up with Allen's wounds and gave him strict instructions involving plenty of bed rest and avoidance of strain (advice they both knew he wouldn't follow).
Allen could tell that she was unhappy about the situation - "Too young," she muttered under her breath, "why do they always begin fighting so young?" - but there was nothing he could do about it. Just as there was no way he could prevent people from dying, becoming akuma, killing people. Just as he couldn't guarantee that he would even live to wake up tomorrow, and so he did what he always does.
He tried his best to smile and tell his white lie - "Everything's going to be okay." No one ever believed him, but it's the effort that counts, right?
A few moments of silence followed, and they both sat in contemplative silence, eyes wandering around the ward in search of inspiration for a change of topic. Madame Pomfrey settled on Kanda, who was struggling to thwart a seventh-year's attempt to help him sit down.
She frowned disapprovingly at the dark-haired exorcist."He's not very cooperative, is he?"
Allen let out a shaky laugh - both in relief at the departure of the tense mood and in nervousness, because the topic was Kanda. "Don't mind him, he's always like that."
"He is rather badly injured, though?"
"Mm. Well, he has an... ability... that makes him heal faster, and so he fights more, er, recklessly than the rest of us. This is probably only a small fraction of the wounds he received during the battle." Allen stopped, musing over a new realization. "That's likely why he doesn't want to be treated. He thinks he's wasting your time, because he'll probably be fine in a few more hours."
"Probably?" The matron frowned at Kanda some more.
"There's always a 'probably' involved if you want to say that one of us will be 'fine'."
Kanda was rather proud of himself for staying conscious through the entire affair.
He had stubbornly refused to be levitated onto a stretcher, but after some threats to tie him down or knock him out (attributed to Madame Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall, respectively), he relented to being transported over by Side-Along Apparition. Though it spared him the long trek up to the castle, the experience didn't leave much for his resolve to stay upright. Kanda had willpower, though (and stubbornness and pride), so he managed the rest of the walk - limping and nearly falling over more than once - up to the castle.
Once he was inside, however, Kanda was forced to tolerate an 'escort' - a nervous sixth-year, only present to ensure that the dark-haired exorcist didn't kneel over and die at any point. It would have been fine if they hadn't passed so many groups of wounded (also making their way to the hospital wing). Every time someone caught sight of Kanda and his still-bleeding wounds, shocked whispers would start, punctuated by pitying glances sent his way. The escort would then inevitably join in, as if this gave him permission to, and would ask after Kanda's well-being.
The swordsman would have been more convinced of his sincerity if the boy hadn't been cringing away in fright whenever Kanda so much as looked his way. It might have something to do with the fact that Kanda had his glower on full power, a hand clenching his sword, and was keeping the pace unreasonably brisk.
By the time he reached the hospital wing, Kanda's irritation and annoyance had reached levels only Lavi could have managed, before. It was hard enough to think with a concussion, and he didn't need idiots coming up to him and asking if he needed a glass of water.
The matron was there, tending to his wounds, but was gone again too quickly to be normal. Kanda blamed the concussion and blood loss for muddling his thoughts, but he was almost sure that she wasn't meeting his eyes. The lines around her mouth would crinkle in worry whenever she came across a particularly nasty injury, and, surprisingly, her disapproval seemed to be aimed at the wounds and not Kanda himself.
He wasn't conscious enough to dwell on such matters, though, and he just managed to remember to do a mental checklist to make sure there wasn't some internal trauma that she had missed. That bullet he'd taken for Lavi; the cracked ribs; the tear in his side; the broken arm; the scratch on his back. Even the many minor wounds were taken care of, and he mustered a grudging respect for her thoroughness. He was also very glad that she didn't ask about the ears; 'nibbled by purple butterflies' wasn't exactly an impressive reason.
Kanda scowled suspiciously at the potions he was supposed to take for his concussion and blood loss, and suddenly caught movement in his peripheral vision.
"Could I speak with you, please?" The Defense professor - his name was probably Lupin - was in front of him, and Kanda was not taking well to the idea of standing up again.
Lavi woke up feeling like he had recently been run over by something heavy. A train, perhaps, or maybe just a moose. He kept his eyes closed for a while, because it was warm under the sheets and the scent of blood and death - things he knew too well, both as an exorcist and as a Bookman - in the air suggested that it would be less painful to just stay still.
Eventually, curiosity and the chatter of fellow patients forced him to move. A good deal of willpower went towards forcing his eyes open, and, as a result, not much more was left for the task of sitting up. He managed nonetheless, and he suspected that the matron had already been by to alleviate the worst of the damage. The milder cuts from when he had passed out were certainly gone, and his half-Splinched ear seemed much better off. A Blood-Replenishing Potion sat on the bedside table, and he felt a thick bandage around the portion of his leg below his knee.
He swallowed the potion and wiggled into an upright position to poke at the bandage. The wound wasn't bleeding anymore, but it seemed that - either because it was spell-related or because he had been unconscious - it wasn't fully healed. Everything else seemed as good as new, and Lavi's only complaint was that he hadn't been awake to record it.
Having nothing better to do, Lavi settled down to people-watch. There was nothing especially interesting - excepting maybe Kanda's frustration at well-meaning students coming up to him to try and help - and Lavi's mind drifted back to the scraps of memory that Road had shown him.
There was no doubt of their authenticity. The bits of recollection, once out of the hazy whispers of almost-memories, fit in his mind as perfectly as a pen in his hand. The return of the memories, though, brought with it the now-familiar headache (and heart-wrenching guilt) that had been all but absent for the past few days.
Lavi almost bit right through his lip in an effort not to mention the stabbing pain in his head to anyone - the matron already had enough on her hands. There was the slightest taste of copper in his mouth, and he decided that lip-gnawing probably wasn't the best to way go about relieving his frustration. Restless energy moved to his hands, instead, twisting and fiddling and clenching at the bedsheets until a sharp stab of pain made him look down.
The fingertips of his left hand were bloody and raw, already crusted over in parts with dry carmine. He remembered - running, limping, almost-crawling, anything to get away from the Noah with the sharp grin and dangerous hands - holding on to the wall - clinging, clawing, scrabbling for purchase on cold, rough, unforgiving stone - a bit too forcefully.
Fingertips, fingers, hands, clinging - something was stirring at the back of his mind, but Lavi felt it start to slip away again. Desperate to catch it, he pressed his eyes shut and physically made an oddly-familiar grasping motion, reaching out with his bloodied left hand. Images and emotions immediately assaulted him, crowding in the should-be darkness behind his eyelid.
Dave stretched out his arm to try and stop him - his fingertips only managing to brush the fabric of his robes - a second attempt - catches his sleeve, and gray eyes turn on him -
"Time to go" - Dave glimpses the a lone figure approaching the site of the disaster - he must stay unbiased - a hand, catching, grabbing at his elbow - he pulls away - regret, deep-seated guilt - another attempt - the ends of his scarf, and Junior knew - no more scarves for many personas yet.
Lavi snapped his eye open, gasping in shallow breaths and trying to make sense of what he's seen - no, remembered. It seemed as if this wasn't restricted to dreams anymore, and he hoped no one would notice or worry if he blanked out for a moment or two.
Lupin watched nervously as Kanda followed him out into the hallway, not missing the boy's well-concealed wince, nor the way he subtly leaned against the wall for support once they had stopped moving. He had utilised such tactics himself, after full-moon nights back when he was still in school, though it had been more for the sake of keeping his secret than for some fragile pride.
The exorcist standing in front of him looked... scarred. There was no other way to describe it, and the boy didn't even have any physical scars to justify the statement, but there it was. Kanda, covered in blood and hiding his pain - like Lupin used to, and sometimes still does - and scowling at everything because he'd never known any alternative to this - hating the world. It was a little painful to watch.
"What," Kanda snapped after a few moments of silence. It wasn't a question. "Stop watching me like I'm going to shatter into pieces and get to the point."
Lupin was briefly surprised at Kanda's perceptiveness, to be honest, but the werewolf supposed he shouldn't be. Kanda could be many things that people didn't give him enough credit for.
"It's about Lavi," he began, trying to find a way to properly say this. The dark-haired boy simply stood and glowered at him, waiting (impatiently) for the man to continue.
"I looked up what you mentioned and what I observed in the library, and most of it points to an old Obliviate wearing thin." Lupin didn't bother to mention that 'most of it' didn't include the redhead's rapid switches between personalities, because he suspected Kanda already knew.
"This particular version of the charm wasn't designed to last through encounters with memory triggers, so the mind is fighting back and trying to remember." Seeing the blank look on Kanda's face, Lupin proceeded to elaborate. "Obliviate is a memory-blocking charm. It's possible that Lavi had been in contact with the wizarding world before, and someone erased his memories, not expecting him to return."
Lupin watched as Kanda frowned, processing the new information. Spending most of his life in the tight-knit group of Marauders, Lupin knew what it was like to have a friend in trouble and not be able to help. He also knew that, despite appearances, Kanda did care about what happened to his teammates (the exorcist himself may be in denial, though). That made the next question both expected and difficult to answer.
"So what can we do about it?"
Lupin looked down and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and hoping Kanda wouldn't react too badly to the news that he was completely useless here. He opened his mouth to speak, but the swordsman beat him to it.
"Nothing, then. Baka usagi is going to have to deal with it himself." The tone was brisk, but it still somehow came out sounding like a question, and so Lupin blinked and nodded. He was again surprised, this time by Kanda's ability to accept difficult truths as if he dealt with six of them before breakfast.
Kanda turned to leave, biting his lip almost imperceptibly, and Lupin could almost see all the invisible scars, piling up and threatening to crush that fragile strength.
Trust is a delicate, valuable thing, and Harry knew that better than any nineteen-year-old boy should. If Ron or Hermione hadn't trusted him enough to believe he was telling the truth back in those precariously-balanced days when no one else would, Harry didn't know where he would be today. If they hadn't trusted Dumbledore, if they had trusted the wrong kinds of people - Harry's life seemed to be built on 'if's.
Maybe, just maybe, if they had believed the exorcists enough to take precautions or be educated enough about akuma, there would be many more survivors lying in the hospital wing. Maybe, to survive what seemed to be another upcoming war, they would all need to let down their guard a bit and try to trust again. (Harry wanted to still be in denial about the war, but he knew better than anyone how much harm it would do to avoid the truth.) Too much war and pain and death; too young, too soon.
At the moment, Harry was recuperating in a bed next to Ron, watching the latter for any signs of side-effects from the numerous spells that Death Eaters had shot at him. Madame Pomfrey had taken care of the more easily identifiable (serious) ones, but Ron would still occasionally sprout green spots or cough up purple smoke. Harry was finding it very amusing, despite the situation.
"Hey, Ron?" he began softly, not sure what he was trying to do. The second-youngest Weasley gave a "Mm?" and nodded for him to continue, still busy with de-spotting.
"Do you think... we ought to..."
"Ought to?" Ron prompted, noticing the seriousness in Harry's tone and turning his full attention to the conversation.
"I don't know." Harry ran a hand through his hair. "Loan the exorcists some trust?"
"I don't see why not," was the reply, and Harry was glad that Ron hadn't questioned his use of the word 'loan'. "I mean, we've already had them on probation for long enough, and all they've done is save our lives."
"True, but there's a fair share of suspicious actions-"
"You think we haven't done anything suspicious ourselves?" The laugh wasn't as bitter as it could be, and Harry couldn't help but agree.
"Loaning of trust it is, then," and the topic was closed. "You might want to do something about the spots, mate, I think they're multiplying."
Hermione stood at the door to the hospital wing, wringing her hands and looking generally indecisive. She didn't want to bother them - they were all worse off than she was, and her few cuts and scrapes had been patched up already - but this might be important, and information could be the difference between win and loss at this point.
In the end, her choice of location decided it for her. People kept moving in and out of the ward, and Hermione knew that getting under Madame Pomfrey's feet would be much worse than simply disturbing the others. Thankfully, they were all gathered in roughly the same area, and all were alert and unoccupied.
"Am I disturbing your rest?" Hermione's forehead crinkled in worry.
Harry snorted. "You make it sound like we're dead," he remarked dryly.
"C'mon, 'Mione, sit down!" Ron, whose nose had turned a disturbing shade of orange, patted the bed beside his. His enthusiasm disrupted the relative quiet of the hospital wing, and disapproving glares were turned towards him.
"I think I remember seeing something that might be sort of important," she said once seated, biting her lip. She suddenly wasn't sure if she wasn't getting worked up over nothing. "The thing is, I'm not sure if it's really of any use, and there's also-"
"For heaven's sake, woman, spit it out!" Kanda snarled, clearly in one of his worst moods. He seemed to almost bristle whenever someone came anywhere close to him. Ron shot him a reproving look, and Allen intervened before things could get nasty.
"BaKanda, shut it. Do please continue," he added, turning attentively to Hermione. When she still looked hesitant, Harry butted in with a gentle reminder.
"We all know how dangerous it can be to underestimate information. Go on, Hermione, tell us."
"I think I've seen the term 'Noah' somewhere in the library before." She paused. "Likely in the Restricted Section."
Lavi was the first to realize what this meant. "So you're saying that there are records of a previous Noah-wizard encounter?" The young witch nodded. "Well, then," the redhead grinned and clapped his hands together, a gleam of mischief forming in his eye. "Time to plan Operation Break-Into-Library!"
"Can't we just ask for a pass?" Allen pointed out, frowning.
"But then it would look suspicious if we hang around for too long, and adults won't approve of us looking for possibly-important information without their 'guidance', and we're not allowed out of the hospital wing for ages, and, well," he paused, thinking. "It's more fun this way!" He mock-pouted, setting a pleading eye on the rest of the group, and Kanda gave him a solid whack over the head.
"Lavi's right," Harry conceded. "Partly, anyway. It would take forever to find it with so little to go on." It was left unsaid, but everyone understood that the last part of Lavi's statement was the most important. In dark times, it was important to keep spirits up. Besides, what better way to exercise this new, fragile trust than a team effort in rule-breaking?
"Okay, then, we'll go at night as soon as everyone's up to it." Allen's statement was punctuated with a smirk at Ron. His nose was fading, but feathers were poking up from inside his collar.
The next few hours were spent semi-productively. Lavi demanded a pen and paper and proceeded to sketch a map of the library and surrounding hallways from memory, though he'd only been inside once or twice, and puzzled over escape routes and hiding spots. Kanda sat and tried not to strangle anyone, and Allen got in everyone's way. Ron was focused on removing the feathers, with Hermione's help, and Harry was left to regulate the noise so it didn't go above a dull roar. The other patients weren't pleased with his efforts.
"There's something else bothering me," Hermione said while holding down Ron's arm - it had grown a mind of its own and was attacking anyone within reach. "The Noah - Road, was it? - said that her game of 'Kill-and-Seek' was beginning, and I can't help but think the wording's a bit off."
"Maybe she meant Seek-and-Kill, but she needed to fit it to Kill-and-Seek?" Harry suggested, but Lavi looked up from his lip-chewing and frantic scribbling to contribute his opinion.
"No, Road's more precise than that. She would have used a different children's game or reference if that's what she meant. It's more likely she meant killing people, and then seeking something else."
"So murder's not their main goal this time?" Allen asked, unable to help the tiniest hint of sarcasm from creeping in.
"Of course it's one of them," Kanda bit out, "but the Earl's probably just looking for something specific."
"Mn. We'll have time to argue over this later," Lavi hummed, absently waving a dismissive hand and doodling something on the ever-expanding map-plan-document. "Right now we've got a library to unlawfully enter!"
A/N: Thank you for the reviews! I'm a bit tired now, so I think that's all I have to say.
Right; also make sure to check on the bit at the bottom on my profile if you'd like to know when I'm updating.
Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!