We have another chapter everyone! Number 10!
Shout out to my reviewers of Chapter 9!
Buddybuddy96 - Your last 2 reviews have made me so happy! Thank you! BTW that owl is just the best. I would want an owl like that!
LillsBills - You made me snort! LOL. I hope this is worth the wait.
Ditte3 – Thank you for your review! The answers will all come out eventually!
SLYNNR - Hmmmm… (puts on thinking cap, scratches chin)
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"Place him on the bed and release the spells." Ginny had gone into healer mode.
After the war, she chose to become a healer with Hermione. Molly Weasley had been vehemently against her only daughter being a professional quidditch player. It wasn't a lifelong career she had said, so Ginny had agreed to do something that she had done her whole life at the outcome of the twins' pranks. But where Hermione stayed at St Mungo's and the Emergency Department, Ginny had followed her love of quidditch to the Holyhead Harpies Medical Team. Being a healer suited the witch well, and her still working with quidditch pissed off Mrs. Weasley. At the same time the separation was the downfall to their friendship. Since Hermione was often in the Emergency Room when the Aurors would come in, she was usually the requested Healer. Usually these Aurors were escorted by their superiors, including Harry. It caused a rift when the girl felt that Harry was spending too much time with Hermione instead of her, regardless that half of the time was within the walls of St. Mungos. Add in that her relationship with Ron was a couple sandwiches short of a picnic, Hermione stopped trying to change the girl's way of thinking. However, even with their relationship being tentative at best, there was no one else she trusted, that had direct access to the healing potions she knew were needed.
As Hermione was getting the wizard settled on the makeshift bed, making sure to keep him steady to limit the possibility of exasperating the injuries further, she couldn't help but look him over. She would be the first to admit she didn't know what to expect from him missing. Part of her thought that he was just relaxing somewhere, behind some unplottable wards, avoiding the ministry. Maybe he thought he was too good for parole. It would fit into the personality she known so well. But never, in her wildest dreams, would she have thought he would have been the object of a brutal assault. Her heart broke looking at him.
Laying on his left side, almost entirely face down, she started with his head first. What once was one of his most identifiable traits, had taken a brunt of injuries. Matted with dirt and blood, his hair was no longer brilliantly blonde. Chunks of hair were missing and patches of his scalp were raw and scabbed. There was some undeniable swelling along the back of his head.
His shoulders and back had a lattice work of scars. Highlighting the branding that was carved into his back, in large letters, about 4 inches high. Death Eater. The scarring was thick and irritated. It looked as if it had been carved into his skin several times. A thought that was confirmed by the mass of small lines that made up each letter. His alabaster skin was peppered with an assortment of bruises, some old, some brand new. Some were small, while others were definitely made by a larger object. Angry red burns could be seen along his legs, under what was left of his torn, frayed slacks. His ankles swollen so large, there had to be broken bones. His feet, faring no better, were bare and bloodied, the skin scratched off.
The rope burns around his wrists had been rubbed so raw, she was positive she was looking at muscle. His right pointer and pinky fingers were twisted at odd angles. The left hand hadn't faired any better. The top bones of both his ring and pinky finger were missing, taking his fingernails as well. His middle finger had definitely atrophied. The broken bone between the palm and knuckle, clearly overlapping itself, rendering the entire finger useless.
Taped to his left arm was a piece of parchment that read "A present for you", in a scratchy, untidy handwriting. The parchment was only partially covering what looked to be a smattering of fresh and healed over cigarette burns. He was curled in on himself, halfway in the fetal position. Whether on purpose or that's how he dropped unconsciously, she could only imagine the state of his front if his back was any comparison.
It was during her assessment of the heart wrenching sight before her that Ginny began waving her wand in a series of complicated movements and incantations to anyone not familiar with them. It took longer than anticipated, as she had to cast each one several times over his body. When she was done, she broke through Hermione's appraisal to give her prognosis.
"Several broken bones; nose, right cheekbone, fingers, wrists, 9th and 10th rib, right side, fibula, right ankle joint, talus, left ankle joint. Fracturing to the back of the skull and thoracic vertebrae 11 and 12, lumbar vertebrae 1. Major internal bleeding in the abdomen - most organs, severe concussion. As well as the visible injuries, malnutrition, and severe dehydration. I have potions to handle a good portion of these, but we will need more." Ginny looked upon the wizard with resignation. This was definitely not what she saw every day.
"I will make what we need." She told the red head without taking her eyes off of her new houseguest. Harry had moved in closer to remove the note that was taped to Malfoy's arm. Somewhere in the deep recess of Hermione's mind, she knew that the fact that the perpetrator used cello tape was worth noting.
"Tansy." Hermione called to the elf. Tansy did not answer. It was then that Hermione looked over to the elf to see undeniable grief on the poor creature's face. She was silently crying in earnest and twisting her ears in a way that could only be considered painful.
"Tansy." She said again, gently, but with more conviction. The elf finally looked at Hermione. "Tansy, in my second bedroom, there is a potions lab. First, I need you to bring the burn cream and scar reducing potions to us. Secondly, can you please prepare two stations, one to brew a nutrient potion and one for stomach soother? I promise, we will take good care of him. Please, Tansy, can you do that for me?" Tansy nodded hesitantly before popping away.
"Since there are no broken bones that could cause paralysis, we can straighten him out after giving him a sedative potion. I only have a mild. Hermione, what do you think about stunning him as well? This will not be pleasant." Ginny asked less calmly than she looked. She acknowledged Hermione's nodding before grabbing the first of several vials. She coaxed his jaw open just slightly more than it already was. Pouring the contents of the vial into his mouth, she started stroking the throat just below the jaw to get him to swallow. Quickly, she stood up and she and Harry took a minor step back.
Hermione reached out her hands, placing one on his shoulder and the other on his right temple, she stupefied Malfoy as gently as possible, without so much as a twitch from him.
Carefully as possible, they physically rotated the battered wizard on to his back and as Hermione has presumed, his front fared no better. Among the vast injuries, the evidence of a brutal beating stood out in his lower abdomen.
"Looks like Dudley's Smelting's stick." Harry whispered. His face full of sympathy and his eyes, haunted.
On top of the long, large shaped bruises, he had angry burns. Some were, again, cigarette burns and others looked to be the work of hot oil. Connecting the evidence between his torso and legs suggested the oil was thrown on his chest and ran down his legs. Looking further up, another word stood out. SCUM. Nipple to nipple, this cut was relatively fresh. The dried blood trails lead downward. His inner arms had more cigarette burns and what appeared to be pinch bruises.
While Harry kept documenting the injuries on Malfoy, Hermione had taken the burn paste and scar cream from Tansy when she had apparated back to the living room, setting the latter in her lap and opening the former. Ginny had collected what Hermione recognized to be blood replenishing potion, an internal healing potion and a pain relief potion from her response satchel. Careful not to irritate his already abused skin, Hermione lathered on the paste over every fresh-looking burn as softly as possible. This gave her the chance to slow down and really take in how beaten the man in front of her was. She had seen cases come through St. Mungo's but nothing like this. Never someone she knew. This was almost personal. The tingling in her chest and nose indicated the tears forming in her eyes. She may not like the boy he used to be, but she saw the changes in him, mostly during the final battle. Malfoy had apologized to her at his trial and he seemed genuine. The man at the trial had shown remorse for his youth and had told her that blood status hadn't crossed his mind since that horrific day in the manor.
After everything the war stood for, everything they had fought for, she couldn't help but feel saddened at the fact that prejudice was still wholly present in their culture. After being acquitted by the Wizengamot, someone still felt the need to do this to him, someone who had repented and apologized. She understood that to some, that may not have been enough, but he went above and beyond paying his hefty fine to War Repartitions and donated a seldomly used property to house a Children of the War Orphanage. It is not easy to forget what was said and done, but what needed to happen was to evolve from the past and for growth of acceptance and equality. With her mind going crazy on the severity of these heinous crimes, and the motive behind them, she hardly heard Harry speak to her.
"Hermione, do you know who could have done this? Do you recognize the handwriting? Who has the ability to get past your wards?"
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Happy Birthday to our FAVORITE fandom twins, Fred and George Weasley!
Whoohoo! We are starting to get into it. Each and every one of you lovely readers make me happy. My reviewers though, they motivate me to write more and post faster!
Please drop a review and let me know what you think!
Always,
Clara
P.S. Day 17 of working from home! I am still sane.
