Chapter 27: Kindness

No Rest for the Wicked by Lykke Li

You Found Me by The Fray

Elara blinked heavily, her eyesight struggling to adjust in the dark. She felt someone's hands on her, felt borrowed fear coursing through her.

"Is she dead?" A female voice said.

"I don't think so, she looks young," A deep male voice.

"Should we call the police?" The woman asked.

"I reckon we'd better, she looks-

Elara groaned, placing her palms flat against the stone beneath her and pushing herself up to all fours. "Uncle Ted?" She said, blinking rapidly.

"You're here alone, dear. Do you have someone we can ring for you?" The woman asked.

Elara looked up and saw the concerned look of a young woman, maybe thirty years old. She had shoulder length mousy brown hair and large brown eyes. A kind smile fell over her face and Elara noticed the small cleft in her chin. "No," Elara said. "No, I was with my uncle. We were attacked."

"Do you know what they looked like?" The man said. He was tall and broad with deeply tanned skin and thick black hair that was styled in that 'i just rolled out of bed' way.

Elara shook her head, instantly regretting her actions as it caused a spot behind her eyes to throb. "No," She breathed. "No, I don't. Do you know what time it is?"

"Half nine," The girl said.

"I've been out for over six hours…" Elara whispered to herself, "Merlin, where's Ted?"

"Six hours? Darling, how did you not freeze to death out here?" The man asked.

Elara stood up and swayed dangerously on her feet, stumbling into the woman. "I have to go," She said, tears building up in her eyes as the weight of what happened began to settle over her. "I have to go."

"Where do you need to go? Can we take you somewhere? Get you a cab?" The man asked.

"No, no. My wand… Where's my…" She trailed off, remembering that the snatchers took her wand from her. A sob pulled from deep in her chest, as tears began to cut through the dirt on her face. "They took it. They took my wand."

"Your… Your wand?" The woman asked.

"I need to get back to the Leaky, I can Floo from there," Elara mumbled, stumbling down the alley.

"You aren't making any sense, love. Let us help you!" The man said, putting an arm around her as she stumbled.

Elara shoved him off of her. "No! You can't help! Don't you see?! You're just muggles! You can't do anything! If they come, they'll just kill you too!"

"Muggles? I don't know what that means," The man said. "But you're hurt. Who was killed? Who killed someone?"

"It doesn't matter," Elara cried, continuing down the alley. "They killed him to get me, and they'll kill you too. Please, just leave me alone. I don't want anyone else to get hurt."

"We don't either. Please, you must be frozen. At least let us give you a bit of money. Some cash so you can get a cab, okay?" The woman said.

Elara sobbed, her shoulders shaking. "I have a tent, I'll be fine. Thank you. You're very kind, I wish they knew how kind your people were. I'm sorry. Thank you."

Before Elara could turn away, she felt paper being pressed into her hand. She looked down and saw several colorful notes pressed into her palm. The woman smiled at her when she looked up, her brows pulled together in confusion.

"If you won't let us take you home, at least let us make sure you can get there. Or get a meal. Or a motel room. My telephone number is on that card, okay? If you need anything, please ring me."

Elara looked at the card on the top of all the notes and saw the numbers written on it in impossibly neat print with the words "Rebecca O'Connell: Hair Artist."

"Thank you," Elara said, sniffling.

Rebecca O'Connell smiled at her again, watching her as she turned away and walked down the alley.

Elara wandered around Muggle London for two hours before she saw anything that looked vaguely familiar. Her head was pounding and she knew she must look mental, judging by the incredulous stares she got from the muggles as she passed them by. She wandered down a strip of shops and pubs and found one that looked dingy and small, not as crowded as the rest of them, but not empty either.

She needed to think, to figure out what to do. Without her wand on her person, apparition was out of the question. Elara grasped the handle to the pub and pulled it open, not even bothering to look at the name. She entered and looked around, locating the signs for the restrooms and making her way back toward them.

When she entered the loo, Elara locked the main door behind her and looked in the mirror. The right side of her face and neck was covered in sticky, dried blood. Her face bruised from the force of hitting the stone. She turned the faucet on and pumped some foamy soap into her hands and washed her face, wincing as she scrubbed the dirt and blood from it.

After ten minutes of scrubbing, Elara dug through her bag, locating a pain relief potion and a healing salve. She downed the phial of potion and dabbed at the gash on her forehead and cheek with the thick ointment. She then dug a new jumper from the bag and discarded the one she was wearing in the rubbish bin. It was covered in blood and she didn't have her wand to scourgify it, even if she wanted to.

Once put together, she dug the money out of her pocket that Rebecca O'Connell had given her. There were four pieces with a 10 on them and four with a 5. Elara realized she had no idea if that was a lot of money, or enough to do anything with but she was hoping it would at least be enough to get her some food and maybe a butterbeer.

Elara shoved the notes back into her pocket and shouldered her bag, she unlocked the door and stepped into the pub. Her eyes scanned the space again, trying to see if anyone looked out of place, if anyone looked like they could have followed her. When she felt sure that she was the only witch in the building, she took a seat at a booth that was in the center of the pub. Close enough to the door to escape, but far enough away that she could see anyone coming in.

"What can I get you?"

Elara jumped when the older woman, who looked and sounded bored, spoke. She looked expectantly at Elara. "Oh erm- a butterbeer, please. And a erm.. A basket of chips?"

"Chips I can do, but we don't have whatever butterbeer is. You're the second one tonight to ask for it. Is that some new drink you kids are on now?"

"The second one?" Elara asked, feeling more confused by that than the fact that muggles don't have butterbeer. "Who else?"

The waitress cocked an eyebrow at her but then pointed at a booth adjacent from hers, "Ginger bloke over there. You want something else instead?"

"Cider?"

"Cider we have.."

"Thank you," Elara said.

The woman hummed and walked away, jotting down Elara's order on a pad. Elara felt her heart speed up as she sat up straight, craning her neck to see into the booth across the aisle and up a few. She stared so long, her eyesight went blurry. Finally, she saw him. A flash of red-orange over the top of the seat as the person shifted in the booth.

In a flash, Elara jumped to her feet and marched over to the booth, when she stopped in front of it, her heart clenched and she nearly sobbed. The waitress had said a "ginger bloke" which could have been any of them. Any of the Weasley men would have been a welcome sight. But it was only when she saw him, sitting with his back to her and shoving a handful of chips into his mouth, did she decide that it was exactly who she needed to see in this moment.

"RON!" She gasped.

"OI!" Ron jumped, choking on his chip as he spun in his seat, his wand instantly drawn and pressed against her chest.

Elara shoved the wand aside and flung herself at him, sobbing into his chest and ignoring the confusion rolling off him in waves. Finally, after what felt like hours, he wrapped his arms around her and held her to him, squeezing her tightly.

"Ellie?" He asked, "Oh my… Bloody hell, Ellie, what are you doing here?!"

She couldn't answer, her breath coming in heavy sobs as her fingers twisted into the worn flannel he was wearing. He was confused and worried and terrified and he sat stoic beside her, his arms holding her to his chest as she continued to wet his clothes with tears.

It was too much. It was all so much. Ted was gone, killed. She had watched her uncle, a man she had gotten so close to in such a short amount of time, who had learned so much about her, who had asked questions no one but Harry cared to ask about her life, who had made her feel safe while they were on the run for their lives… He was gone. In the blink of an eye, two vicious words and a jet of green light, gone.

Finally, Elara calmed. Her sobs quieted to hiccups and sniffles as she rubbed at her raw, burning eyes. Ron handed her a paper napkin to wipe her face with and stared at her, his face torn somewhere between incredulous confusion and absolute concern.

The waitress stepped to the side of the table, looking down on them with surveying eyes. Suspicion. "Everything okay over here?" She asked, dropping the basked of chips on the table and a pint of cider in front of Elara.

"Yeah, we're all right. Thanks," Ron mumbled.

The waitresses eyes lingered on Elara for a long moment before she gave a slight shrug and turned around, heading back toward the swinging doors of what Elara thought must be the kitchen.

"Is Harry and Hermione with you?" Elara croaked out, the sinking feeling in her gut told her she already knew the answer to the question before she asked it.

Ron shook his head. Guilt. Regret. Sadness. "No,no. I'm erm… I'm alone."

Elara nodded, shifting in the seat and straightening her back against the booth. She reached for the basket of chips and pushed one into her mouth. Slowly, she chewed, staring at a small gouge in the wood of the table. It felt wrong to be sitting here with a pint of cider and a basket of chips. To be eating in a pub felt too normal for what had happened today.

She felt almost delirious. As if the months of hardly any sleep and lack of food had crashed down on her all at once. The anger and hurt from Fred, the understanding disappointment from George. The look of rage and terror from Tonks, of acceptance from Andy and Remus the night Elara and Ted left. The nightmares, the worry and fear for Harry, Ron, and Hermione. The sickening feeling of pushing her own brother from her head to focus on any other feeling but terror for him. The realizations about Snape and the things he told her, the look in Dumbledore's eye just before he died… It wasn't just the last few months on the run that was crashing over her. It was the last two years.

It took several minutes before she realized that Ron was talking to her, asking her a question she hadn't heard as her finger clutched the table, turning white. She felt his hand wrap around hers, loosening her grip on the table and slowly, Elara turned to look at him.

He looked exhausted. Dark purple rings under his eyes clashed against his pale, freckled face. His hair was dirty, sticking up in several directions in the back, his face and hands littered with an array of bruises, varying in shades of yellow, purple, and green. His bottom lip was split on one side, a fresh wound that looked as if it had happened earlier in the day.

"You look like shit," Elara whispered, putting no thought into the choice of words.

Because, really, what was the point? What did it matter if she used crass language or not? The world was collapsing around her, her uncle was dead and Harry was… somewhere and her brother was probably being tortured on a daily basis. Why did it matter what words she used? It seemed pretentious to worry about it anymore, it felt like it didn't fit her. As if the obsession of using better language was the last bit of her old self she was clinging to, and it had been dissolved by a snatcher with purple feathers in his hair and her wand in his hand.

Ron however, blanched at her use of a swear word and laughed, an almost too loud laugh. "Yeah," He said. "Yeah, I reckon I do. You're not looking much better though."

And suddenly, Elara was laughing as well. A loud, boisterous laugh that sounded foreign to her. A laugh that made her stomach ache and her sides burn as her lungs tried to reach for air. She could hear Ron beside her, cackling in his own fit of unhinged guffaws. She could see, through her clouded eyes, the patrons in the pub staring at them with distaste.

Annoyance. Confusion. Irritation. Intrigue. Anger. Amusement.

The emotions of the muggles around her swam in and out of her focus as her laughter fell back into sobs and she fleetingly wondered if she had always been this barmy or if the events in the last two years had driven her to madness.

"We should go," Ron said, once they had finally calmed down. He wiped his face on the back of his hand, he had apparently been crying as well.

Elara nodded, adjusting the straps of her bag on her shoulders. "I have a tent," She whispered.

"I've got some muggle money," Ron answered. "It's Christmas Eve. Let's sleep in a bed, yeah?"

Elara crammed her hand into her pocket and pulled out the crinkled notes. "I do too," She handed Ron the wad of cash. "I don't know how any of it works, but here."

Ron's eyes went wide for a moment and pulled one of the notes marked with a 10 and laid it on the table, gently pushing her from the booth.

It didn't take long for them to find a seedy, muggle motel. A room they could afford with a shower and a bed. The rooms were in a building above a small shop that sold oddities, whatever that meant. Entering the room, Elara got the impression they were not in a decent part of town, not that it mattered.

The room was dank and could barely pass as clean. Ron wrinkled his nose as they looked around the room. He pulled his wand from his trousers and cast a scourgify over every surface and did it twice over the bed. It wasn't perfect, but at least they wouldn't catch a strange disease from touching the table tops.

Silence lingered over them. Elara knew they needed to talk, to discuss everything they had both been through. She knew Ron had questions, she had questions! But there seemed to be an unspoken agreement that it could wait a while. At least long enough for them to both shower and settle onto the single queen size mattress.

Elara sat against the headboard, her knees drawn up to her chest and her arms wrapped around her legs. She rested the top of her chin on her knees and looked at Ron. His hair was still wet, dripping onto the lumpy duvet as he sat across from her, one leg dangling off the side of the bed.

"Why aren't you with Harry?" Elara asked, "Did you get separated when I did, too?"

Guilt. Shame. Remorse. Ron shook his head. "I left."

"You… left?" The words came out slow, drawing out every letter as she repeated them.

Ron sighed, "I fucked up. The minute I apparated away from camp I knew I fucked up. I went back, a few days later, tried to find them… They were gone already. Or had adjusted the wards, I don't really know. Either way, I couldn't find them."

"Where did you go?"

"Bill and Fleur's place, Shell Cottage," he said. "Left there a few days ago. Been on the run ever since."

"What happened before you left camp?" Elara asked, "Did you find anything? Did you destroy the locket?"

He shook his head, "No. The night I left, though, Hermione figured out why Dumbledore left Godric Gryffindor's sword to Harry."

Elara quirked an eyebrow at him, silently urging him to continue.

"Well, I don't really remember all of it," He admitted. "I was wearing the locket all day, and that thing makes you mental. But Hermione said something about it being Goblin made, and because Harry killed a Basilisk with it-

"Of course!" Elara said, shutting her eyes momentarily in anger at herself for missing it before. "I am so stupid! Basilisk venom! Harry destroyed the diary with it! Of course the sword would be full of the stuff! Merlin! How did we not think of that before?!"

"That seemed to be Hermione's sentiment, as well." Ron said, "Doesn't matter though. We still didn't have it. Dunno if they've found it or not."

A heavy silence lingered over them as Elara worked through the information in her mind, mentally kicking herself for not thinking to look into the sword and the reason why it had been left. They had all been so fixated on the items they had in hand, that the sword was rarely brought into conversation.

It was Goblin made, however, which meant if it was missing, there was a good chance a Goblin knew where it was… Which posed an entirely new set of problems. Goblins weren't exactly known for their generosity toward the Wizarding community. Not that it was unwarranted, but if it was Goblin possession, there was little they would be able to do to obtain it.

"What about you? What happened after you got separated?" Ron finally spoke, breaking Elara from her thoughts. "Merlin, we were worried. Thought maybe you'd been hurt."

Elara sighed and without a modicum of modesty, she pulled her jumper over her head and showed Ron the gnarled, mangled scar. "Splinched myself," She said.

Ron chuckled, pulling his own jumper over his head to reveal a nasty scar, though not as grotesque as her own. "Me too," He said.

They both pulled their jumpers back down and she sighed, clearing her throat as she told him the events that had taken place over the last few months. He cringed when she told him how she sewed her own arm back together, called her 'brilliant' when she explained the portkey. She talked about Fred and George and told Ron everything she knew about the remaining Order members, about his family and their safety.

They talked through the night, going over every single detail either of them could think to talk about. She cried again, as she told Ron what happened with Ted. His face fell, eyes wide as he listened, scooting closer to lean against the headboard and pull her into his side.

An hour of silence had passed, when the air was thick with the information they had talked about. Elara could see the exhaustion on Ron's face, the early morning light from the sun just beginning to break through the window, illuminating the dark room with a dusty, yellow glow.

Elara and Ron laid in the bed, facing one another, hands clasped together as they tried to comfort one another to sleep that never came.

"It's strange, isn't it?" Ron whispered, "Not knowing if they're okay."

She knew who he was talking about, she knew he was terrified for Hermione and Harry, too. "They're okay," Elara said. "I know they are. It's Harry and Hermione, they have to be okay."

Ron shook his head, half his face hidden by the pillow. "You don't understand," He said. "When you got separated from us, it broke something in him. In all of us, really. But for Harry… He's my best mate, my brother. I know him better than I know myself most of the time, Ellie. And I have never seen him like that before. Like he was empty."

Elara's chest ached at the words and she sighed, "I'm sorry."

Ron's brows furrowed together. "Sorry? What for?"

"For taking his focus away? For getting in the way of things and making a mess of everything?"

"No," Ron said, propping himself up on his elbow. "No. You misunderstand me."

"Ron…?"

He huffed and twisted his mouth to side, clearly trying to work through the thoughts in his head before speaking. "When you got separated, it hurt him. It hurt all of us, but Ellie, don't you see it? You aren't taking his focus away. You are his focus. He's hurt, scared because he doesn't know if you're okay. But he won't stop until he knows that you are."

"He'll burn the city to the ground," She whispered.

Ron nodded, "He isn't going to defeat you-know-who for vengeance or some skewed version of self-righteousness like everyone thinks. He's going to do it because it will give you your family back. It will make sure that you stay safe. The rest of the world doesn't matter anymore."

Elara's eyes burned again, the tears stinging her still-red eyes. "I love him, Ron. I really, really love him."

Ron's lips quirked up and he yawned, "I know," He said. "He knows it too."

Draco had been unprepared for his return to the Manor for the Christmas Holidays. When he had stepped through the threshold of the home he grew up in, heard the shrieking cackles of his insane aunt, he felt sick. Out of place. As if the structure he had known his entire life was completely foreign to him now.

And when he entered the Drawing Room to announce his arrival, his stomach lurched at the sight of Luna Lovegood on the floor. Writhing in pain as she bit through her lip, stifling the screams that Bellatrix was desperately trying to pull from her throat.

He couldn't move, he couldn't look away. And the only thought in his mind was it's not Ginny. Thank Merlin, it's not Ginny.

"You print lies, slandering the Dark Lord!" Bellatrix screamed at Luna, practically foaming at the mouth. "You want to support Potter?! You see what your support gets you, you filthy blood-traitor!"

Luna held strong, stifling her pain, her impossibly enormous blue eyes shut tight. Draco was impressed at the strength of the small, almost fairy-like, girl on the floor. Before this year, he would have never expected her to be so strong, so resilient. He knew better now. Knew they had chosen the wrong girl to pluck from King's Cross. Luna would not break. Luna would not give them any information.

"Draco!"

Draco's head snapped up, Bellatrix's voice ringing in his ears as she snapped at him to get his attention. A sick, sharp-toothed smile pulled her chapped lips apart as a malicious glee fell onto her face.

"Aunt Bella," Draco drawled, pulling an eyebrow up his forehead. He adjusted the straps of his bag on his shoulder, gripping it tightly with one hand. "Where are my parents?"

"Cissy is in bed. Your father," She spat the word, as if it burned her mouth to say it. "Is in the Great Room with The Dark Lord."

Draco felt his head bob, watching as Bellatrix landed a swift kick to Luna's side. "Take her to the cellar, with the rest of them."

He waited until Bellatrix passed him, her long black cloak slapping against his ankles as she marched through the doorway. Her heeled boots echoing against the marble, fading into the west wing of the Manor. When he was sure she was gone, when there was no chance of anyone returning anytime soon, Draco raced to Luna's side.

Draco dropped to his knees and slid his hands under her back, pulling her up into a sitting position. He shrugged his bag off his shoulder, nearly busting the clasps with the rushed force of opening it. With nimble fingers, he felt for the phials within, pulling two small glass tubes from the depths and pulling the corks off of them.

"Lovegood, are you okay?" He whispered, realizing she still hadn't said anything yet.

Luna's head turned to the side, her eyes widening a fraction of an inch as if she had just realized he was there. The dreamy expression that usually donned her features was replaced with something darker, something haunting. "I've never been crucioed before," Her light voice said. "I don't think it's something I'd like to repeat."

Draco huffed a laugh, tipping the phials in quick succession, against her lips. "Swallow," He said. "I have to take you down there. You know that, don't you? I'm sorry, Lovegood, fuck I'm so sorry. But I- I have to."

Her small hand came up to rest against his cheek, a wistful smile on her lips. "As long as they have me, they don't have my father. I am okay with that knowledge."

"I'm sorry," He apologized again, over and over the words fell from his lips as he helped her to her feet. "I'm so sorry, Luna. Fuck. I don't know what to do. I don't know what else I can do. They'll kill me if they think I've defected. I can't… I'm sorry, Luna, I'm sorry…"

"I know you, Draco Malfoy." Luna's voice was incredibly soft, lyrical in the way she spoke. Unfitting for the state of her, bleeding and bruised, hair mussed and eyes swollen. "You're forgiven."

The next apology died in his throat as it clenched around the words. Forgiven.

He did not deserve her forgiveness, didn't deserve Ginny's or Neville's or even Blaise's. Draco clenched his jaw as he felt his stomach turn over again, his throat bobbing as he tried to swallow back everything bubbling inside of him. It was no longer just Ellie he had to do this for. It was all of them. All of the people he had wronged by fixing that stupid fucking cabinet. All of the people he had hurt and put in danger for something he knew he didn't believe in. For an ancient cause he was sure his parents didn't even believe any more.

When he opened the door to the dark, dank stairs that led into the cellar- the dungeon, he felt something twisting in his chest. Something that felt dangerously close to determination, a promise. A promise to himself, to Luna, and Neville, and Blaise, and Theo, and Pansy and even bloody Seamus. A promise to Ginny. To Ellie. He would take whatever punishment was given to him, take whatever torture or curses or kicks to the ribs… He would not be the reason Potter doesn't succeed. He would not stand-by and watch more people he knew, people he cared about, be hurt.

As Draco locked the cellar door behind him, making his way to his bedroom, he chose his side. Without the fear of death driving him, without the absolute disregard for his own life, without fear of his family and what may happen afterward.

But instead, with Ginny Weasley's words ringing in his ears, "You aren't a villain."

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a/n: As promised, an extra chapter this week! I felt terrible killing Ted off, ya'll. So I wanted to ease that pain and give you a few familiar faces. I hope yuo liked the chapter, please review and let me know what you thought! I've updated the spotify playlist, if you join my FB group, the link is posted there!

Mimifreed Writing

Next update will of course be on Sunday! I'm going to try and get more consistent with the time of day I update. I know its been all over the place. So, as soon as I figure out a time that works best for me, I'll try and stick to it!

Thank you for reading! You guys are the best!

xo

mimi