AN: I do not own HP or any of its related materials. All rights to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. Etc, etc.
And now for Solemn Greetings that are completely unrelated to this story. Skip ahead if you don't want to be depressed or dragged into tragedy, but I hope you'll hear me out.
Friends, I cannot describe to you how heartbroken I am over the recent events in the U.S., and around the world. We are all precious children of God. Malala says in her documentary, "Who is thinking of the children?" It is time we ALL start thinking of them, because right now none of them have a future.
Like Draco in my story here, our lives are often painted in shades of grey, but sometimes, things are black and white, right and wrong - and in the last few weeks, there has been an awful lot of wrong, plain and simple. Let's stand against injustice together, whether it is affecting African Americans, those sworn to protect & defend, or those who are trying to lead peaceful lives overseas in countries that did not ask for this terrorism.
I so often shy away from saying things outright, from standing firm in ideals here in this platform, this beloved community of fanfiction. We come here for therapy, for escapism, for a multitude of reasons, and usually it is to avoid the awful things happening in the world around us, or to find subtle ways of educating or overcoming these often overwhelming events of daily life. But today, in the wake of bloodshed, tears shed, and so much senseless violence, I am taking a stand. I am standing with Draco and Theo, with Ron, with Hermione. I am standing up for helping the helpless, for hoping against hopelessness, and for fighting to live despite not knowing what the future may bring.
I hope I haven't driven any of you, my wonderful readers, away. If I have, I'm sorry for interrupting this update to bring you some perspective on reality and tragedy. If you're still here and plan to keep reading, thank you. I will abstain from speaking to you plainly on these matters again. After all, you're here to read fanfiction and that's what you deserve. All my love and prayers.
Jean awoke from a dream about warmth again, a dream where she had been running, and crying, and fighting...a dream where she had been someone else, and yet herself. She shook her head drowsily, as if to rid it of the remaining, wispy cobwebs, and sat up slowly, feeling out to the side of the bed for the nightstand, her nimble fingers searching for something… They found her water glass and she hesitated, then closed her hand around it and brought it to her lips, drinking deep, before she blinked a few times and looked at the room around her.
Door there, window there, paint a neutral brown, trim white, door to a small ensuite half open, having been used in the middle of the night…
Jean shook her head again. Something was tantalizingly hanging about her mind like a low-drifting fog, dissipating into nothingness whenever she reached for it, taking with it the idea of warmth: warm skin, warm hands, warm blood.
Her face paled and she suddenly felt nauseous. With a startled motion, she jerked her legs over the edge of the bed and stumbled the few steps over into the bathroom, heaving into the toilet bowl just in time. The idea of warmth came back to her in full force, resting heavily just behind her eyes, and she heaved again. Of course, she thought to herself as she emptied her stomach, I'm burning up because I have a fever, because of some stomach bug. I hope Daniel's parents didn't catch it from me last night. I hope I didn't catch it from them. I hope Daniel doesn't catch it. (Not because of the idea of warm blood, no that wasn't what was making her stomach roil, the thought of thick, sticky and very real blood covering her hands and slicking along her skin as she gave up every good and real and holy thing in her life, no. Not that. Never that.)
She gave a start and shuddered violently against the toilet as her mind fought back against the nausea and the wild thoughts that suddenly seemed all around her and inside her, clamoring for attention. I'm going mad, she thought with a gently clarity amidst the noise in her head.
Unfortunately, that was the last of her coherent thoughts before the vomiting took its toll and she was clambering wearily to her feet and feeling in the medicine cupboard for some paracetamol, her motions shaky, but habitual.
Just outside the ensuite, on the modest nightstand, Jean's phone had begun to ring. The screen flashed once, twice, three times, and then went dark. A moment later, an alert for her voicemail popped up, but she wouldn't see it for several hours. It was still dark out, but Jean was too ill to wonder why Daniel hadn't heard her being sick, hadn't come in to help...hadn't been in the bed next to her, sound asleep. She was too ill to wonder, in fact, why it seemed perfectly natural to wake up by herself...alone.
Theo heard a commotion outside his office door. One of his administrators had raised her voice and was adamantly informing someone that, "No, you cannot simply enter his office in this manner! You must make an appointment. He had some very difficult sessions last night and I will not allow you to disturb him further -"
Of course, she allowed the opposite because whoever it was would not take no for an answer. A moment later, over protests grown more shrill, there was an insistent pounding on his office door.
Theo took a deep, steadying breath, stood up, and marched over to the door. He attempted to appear calm and managed a scowl only somewhat less grim than the one that had painted his face when he left after last night's phone call with Draco. Then he took a deep breath, wrapped one hand about the doorknob, and opened the door.
He was stunned to find the very man who had put him in such a foul mood the night before standing before him, one hand raised as if to pound at his door again. The scowl deepened.
"Are you out of your mind?"
"As a matter of fact, yes," Draco replied breathlessly, pushing past him, a shopping bag in one hand. "Can you fit me in?"
Theo felt rage bubble up in him and just as quickly extinguish itself when he got a good look at Draco's face. Still, this was his place of business and Draco was not the only hurting wizard in the world, unfortunately. In fact, when it came down to it, Theo wasn't sure if Draco & Jean were even the worst of his cases. After a quiet word to the administrative witch, Theo turned and closed the door behind him.
"Draco, she's right. You're going to have to make an appointment the next time - "
"There won't be a next time," Draco muttered hopelessly. He paced the room, half inspecting the paintings on the walls, half glancing about for an escape. The bag in his hand rustled as he paced.
Theo took in his meaning and gave him such a deliberate look that Draco paused in his rounds.
"Sit down," Theo said quietly. Draco sat, the oddly forlorn shopping bag dropping beside the chair with a soft thunk. "Good. Now tell me what you mean. Have you talked to Weasley?"
"Not yet - but I will," he went on, quickly, when Theo's brow darkened. "It's just…" His voice trailed off briefly before coming back tenfold, strong and certain as he soldiered on through his story.
"We were out of milk - out of juice - out of almost everything, truth be told. So I got up early. It's not like I could sleep anyhow, not after our conversation last night." Draco rambled on, voice confident, exhausted, and stripped of the fear Theo had heard in it last night. Theo didn't cut him off, or try to force him along. He knew what Draco was doing now was as good as he would get. The man had been brave, all those months ago in Australia, and he was being brave now. He might have been selfish along the way, and willfully ignorant, but without that bravery, Hermione Granger would never have stood a chance. The woman she had become would never have stood a chance.
Theo realized that for all his anger, all his own fear, he would stand up for this wizard before him. He would defend Draco before the Wizengamot, if need be. And so...he let him talk.
"I told you, I think, that Yaxley had a spell on her - one that kept her appearing in photos?"
Theo nodded. "It's why you had to act independently, you said."
"Yes, exactly. Well - I -" Draco fumbled for words. "It never went away. Even though I thought he must be dead, that the fire had to have killed him - the spell never wore off. I've been checking. But this morning, at the market...Theo, there was a flyer on their bulletin board, and it had a picture of her on it."
Theo frowned. "How can you be certain they didn't just use an old wizarding photo?"
Draco waved a hand, dismissing his concerns. "I thought the same thing at first, but it's impossible. For one, it wasn't moving - it would have moved for me, wouldn't it? And two, it was her, Theo. Jean. Her hair was cut short and, well…" Draco's voice trailed off and he stared at his friend, helpless again. He attempted to keep explaining. "You remember I told you Jean had met Weasley at the store some weeks ago, right? I'm sure she's been back there, especially after what you told me about meeting with you. It wouldn't be hard for her to snap a photo without being seen - everyone is using their phones for everything these days -"
"I see what you're getting at," Theo said, cutting Draco off. He settled back in his chair, trying to give himself a moment to think. When Draco opened his mouth, Theo held up a hand for silence. Draco fidgeted, but stayed quiet. After half a minute, Theo rubbed a hand down his face and shook his head.
"Ok," he said. "If you think now is the time, ok. And yes, I know I gave you that ultimatum yesterday, but I'll do the talking. I'll call Weasley and ask her to come in. It'll draw less attention coming from me. People will just think she's having a session or two."
"Or two?" Draco questioned. "Do you think we'll be stretching this out?"
"One," Theo began, "you need to get home and explain what's going to be happening to Jean. Two, if we want to preserve the progress she's made, we can't do this slap-dash. We'll have to be careful. If I can't impress that upon Weasley, well...maybe you need to go check on your Australian companies again."
Draco gave a start and the confusion on his face was plain. "Theo, we can't run away again now."
"You might have to," Theo replied firmly. "I can give you some resources down there to use to keep treating her. But the bottom line about her magic is that if it's handled poorly, it will do more harm than good. And we both know that the 'good guys' are just as capable of handling things poorly as we are."
Draco gave Theo a sad smile. "You're hardly one of the 'bad guys.'" he said.
"Not to them and not over this," Theo replied succinctly, dismissing Draco's empathy with casual nod of his head. He stood up.
"Draco, I want you to promise me that if things go south, you'll take Jean and get out. And if you can't take her with you, you get yourself out. I know you're in love with her, I know you'd do anything to help her, but watching her become one of them again will destroy you. No, don't argue. I know you and I've seen dozens of situations like this play out the same way, every single time for the last few years. The thing is, we might be rehabilitated, we might think they know we've been rehabilitated, but fear is a powerful enemy and it's stronger than any therapy we've tried to date."
Draco watched him quietly, then shuffled his bag back into his hands and stood up. Every line of his body screamed his exhaustion and Theo tried to feel bad for scaring him worse, but he only felt a tired triumph. If he could save at least one person from this mess, he'd feel some small measure of success. Even if that person left with a broken heart. Then again, they'd both known that was what it would come to: heartbreak and every emotion that comes with it.
"Well, Theo, you can't say you didn't warn me, once all this is over, whatever the outcome."
Theo smiled tightly at that. "That's what I was aiming for. Now, you'd better get home."
"What, try to prepare her for the inevitable?"
Theo didn't deny it, but added a gentle, "Try to enjoy yourself too."
Draco matched Theo's smile. "Enjoy our last day together?"
"If you even have that long," Theo replied, and Draco stopped trying to smile. After a long moment, he took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders.
"Alright," he murmured. "I'll leave my phone on. Call me -"
"As soon as I know anything," Theo confirmed. Draco shared one last, long look with his friend. Then he turned and left, much quieter than he'd arrived. The administrative witch at the desk outside gave Theo a questioning glance and Theo managed to give her his usual, nonchalant glance.
"I have to set up a last-minute appointment this morning," he told her and she nodded.
"I'll let your nine o'clock know you'll be a few minutes longer. Your ten o'clock cancelled today, anyway," she replied softly, then went about her business as efficiently as ever, opening the door to the waiting room and calling to a patient beyond. All signs of being flustered earlier were quite gone.
Theo thanked his lucky stars for his office staff. He wondered briefly about his cancelled ten o'clock and made a mental note to get in touch with the man after he'd dealt with his other morning obligations. Then he quietly drew back into his office, shut the door, and looked up one Ginevra Weasley's contact information.
Astoria Greengrass listened to Penelope Clearwater prattle on about Ronald Weasley for the fifth time that day; and for the fifth time that day, she wondered why on earth she'd thought getting a job at the Ministry would be a good idea. She wasn't cut out for boring office work. Sure, she was good enough at it, but it was so...well, boring. On top of that, no one had thought to warn her that the woman she'd be an under-secretary for had a thing for that gangly, ginger-haired barnacle that grew out of the side of Harry Potter's Auror robes; and now she'd had to listen to a perfectly capable, averagely pretty, somewhat talented witch positively mope over him five times.
And it was only her first day.
She sighed noisily and attempted to project her displeasure at Penelope, who did not catch the hint.
"I just know he must be suffering so terribly," Penelope whispered, almost to herself. Almost. Astoria thought the witch knew perfectly well that everyone in the office could hear her, especially as she was standing at another witch's desk, reviewing her work. Unable to take the quiet, morose mumbling any longer, Astoria stood up at her desk and pointed one perfectly manicured finger at her superior.
"Clearwater, if you have it that bad for him, why don't you just tell him and be done with it?"
The office went deadly silent and Penelope's face went three shades lighter than a sugar beet.
"I - what?" she gasped. "What in Mordor gives you the right to even think you should suggest such a thing?"
"What gives me the right is having to sit here and listen to you mope about sodding Ronald Weasley, of all wizards, when I'm just trying to do my work! And if you're going to get your knickers in a twist and fire me just because I'm voicing what I'm sure everyone in this office is thinking, then fine. I don't need this job anyway. I only took it because my mother thinks it will make me look better to potential suitors. Can you believe?" She rolled her eyes to the ceiling, as if to say, like I need any help getting a boyfriend. Unspoken was the understanding with her mother that one Draco Malfoy might like her the better for it. Not that she'd ever want him back, the tosser.
Penelope Clearwater's face went from sugar beet to plain-old-beet in seconds and for a moment, the other secretaries and specialists in the office wondered if she would just fire Astoria on the spot. Then a sputtering noise left her lips and for a brief moment Astoria worried she was choking, before she realized it was disbelieving, slightly hysterical laughter. The laughter stopped abruptly with a sharp retort and then Penelope carefully ran a hand over her cheeks and straightened up. She gestured towards the door of her office and spoke in perfectly controlled tones.
"Thanks for pointing out the obvious, Astoria. If you don't mind, I'd like to have a word with you."
The rest of the staff collectively held their breath as Astoria sized up the older witch, then nodded smartly and collected her pocketbook from the robes draped over the back of her chair. She elected to ignore Penelope's choice of location.
"Fine. Shall we discuss things over brunch? My treat."
Penelope's eyes crinkled slightly at the corners from unvoiced amusement or complete ire, Astoria couldn't tell which and didn't care, though it became obvious by her next words.
"Nice try, but no, thanks. In my office. Now."
Astoria tried to stare down her superior, failed, and finally rolled her eyes before dropping her items back onto her chair and passing swiftly and regally through the other desks and on, into Penelope's office. The door closed behind her with a smart bang.
All was quiet for a beat before the office erupted into a flurry of heated whispers.
AN: If you're still with me...thanks. Be safe out there.