HELLO!
I know this chapter is really short. This is the last chapter that deals with them being at St. Mungo's, and there will also be a bit of a time skip after this. Just thought I'd let you know in advance. Hopefully you all like this chapter!
THANK YOU for all your reviews, seriously, they are so lovely.
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Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.
As always for Sable and Lais xxx
Waiting.
Waiting.
Waiting.
An eon comes and goes, time sluggishly dragging its feet, stretching out these terrible, anxiety ridden moments.
Hermione gnaws on her bottom lip, tasting blood—her lips are chapped and dry and she's chewed them raw.
Waiting.
Waiting.
Waiting.
It's eerily quiet.
Dorea is standing—still as a statue—with her forehead and hands pressed against James's door. At first she had paced back and forth, but worrying has robbed her all of her energy so she settled on being as close to James as she could possibly be.
Hermione hears hurried and quick footfalls from her right, and her head snaps in their direction. Her eyebrows questioningly shoot towards her hairline.
Three healers are hastily scurrying down the corridor, eyes wide with fear; right behind them is a frightening looking Sirius Black. Hermione can only blink blankly when Sirius snaps his fingers and points directly at Remus's room.
They nod jerkily—scared witless—and they filter into the room one after one, the door closing with a firm click behind them; they enter so swiftly that Hermione can't even catch a glance of what's happening inside .
It's only as Hermione turns back to look at Sirius that she sees a forlorn Lily trailing behind him—she's loosely grasping onto the edge of his leather jacket.
Sirius sighs heavily when he reaches her and Dorea—who immediately perks up upon seeing Lily, and strides over to the girl before fiercely gathering her up into her arms.
Sirius stops beside Hermione and all the anger has evaporated from his features. The worry is wearing him thin, his eyes look devoid of any emotion; he's utterly spent and it shows.
Hermione sniffs and steps into his side, clinging to him desperately. His pain seeps through her skin and travels straight into her bloodstream.
Time wears on slowly, the group of wix seeking comfort amongst themselves. Charlus arrives and envelops Dorea in his arms, tears silently streaming down his cheeks—Dorea sniffs hard, once, her fingers digging into him.
Hermione has no idea what time it is when a small, weary Healer emerges from Remus's room. She blinks at them in surprise, as if she wasn't expecting anyone to be there.
Hermione squeezes Lily's hand—so tightly she is probably cutting off the circulation to her fingers.
"He's going to live," the Healer says quietly. She is a mess, covered in dried rust coloured blood, some of her hair escaped her high ponytail and is now framing her face, and her face looks slightly gaunt, her eyes sunken into their sockets from exhaustion.
Hermione reaches out and pulls the Healer into a half-hug, "thank you. Thank you." She whispers the thanks, the worry and fear beginning to unravel in the pit of her stomach.
Hermione pulls away from the Healer, only managing to partially turn back to Lily before her knees give out. She grasps at Lily's leg with her free hand, needing to hold onto something, anything in that moment.
"Thank Merlin," Dorea murmurs softly, letting hope shine in her tone for a moment before she sniffs loudly once more.
Hermione peers up at her friend and the rest of her companions, the dread comes back full force as she sees all of their torn faces. Their joy at hearing about Remus is weighed down, brutally dragged back into the black depths of fear and uncertainty—choking them, stealing away all the goodness and light that they had been blessed with for one glorious moment.
James. They still have no idea how he's doing, and from what they had managed to pry from Ron, his injury was extensive.
More waiting.
Eventually Ron softly announces that he can't stand around, waiting for what feels like the other shoe to drop. He needs to be figuring out what went wrong. Who was at fault for this. Right before he left, he placed a chaste kiss to Hermione's forehead and tacked on that he would go and update Harry on the state of things.
Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but she found she just didn't have it in her. She can see how antsy Ron is, how he feels trapped and like he should be helping.
When he leaves, what little calm she has wrangled up shifts, unsettling itself and fleeing swiftly. She's on edge, and if Sirius wasn't sitting cross-legged on the floor beside her, stroking her hair and murmuring comforting things she would probably be hyperventilating and losing all of her composure.
The waiting never seems to end.
Waiting.
Waiting.
Waiting.
Then, the door opens and the waiting is over.
"Was it you?" Ron asks calmly, blue eyes flashing dangerously as he leans against the wall beside the window in the stifling hot room—swaddled in shadow and night.
"Pardon?" The other wizard asks groggily, rubbing absently at one of his eyes as he emerges from his chambers. He is donned in thin periwinkle sleeping robes, his feet shoved into a pair of matching slippers—that are a touch too small.
"Are you the one that sold us out?" Ron elaborates, pushing up off of the wall and striding towards the older wizard with ire and unbridled fury. His frightening presence towering over the other man, who shrank back at the animosity radiating off of the ginger man.
He straightens himself up, pushing his shoulders back and staring Ron directly in his eyes, "no."
"Are you sure? A bit of revenge after what happened with Dorea? You sure you weren't a touch bitter after you couldn't get your way? After you couldn't send Remus off to live in the werewolf packs?" Ron hisses lowly. "You're the one who sent us on the bloody mission after all."
"My dear boy, I would never." Dumbledore says in utter confusion, one hand moving to rest on Ron's shoulder—Ron stiffens.
Dumbledore continues, "of course I was thrown off-kilter by the whole experience, but I can assure you that I have no ill will towards any of you."
"Bollocks."
"I swear it," Dumbledore says.
"If it wasn't you that betrayed us...then who did?"
