Peripheral characters were created by me, but all recognizable names and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling. A few historical figures also appear; they obviously belong to themselves.

Chapter Eight: The Promise of an Adventure

There were 218 large white tiles and 36 small black tiles on the floor of the small waiting room of St. Mungo's. Albus knew, because he had counted them over and over after they had whisked Mireille away. Hagrid sat next to him, morose and hiccuping occasionally. Albus had sent him out briefly to dispatch an owl to Fitzherbert; returning, Hagrid had collapsed his huge bulk into a small green chair next to Albus and waited with him, not speaking.

They had Apparated into the Emergency department of St. Mungo's. The wizarding doctors in their white robes had taken one look at Mireille, white and unconscious, an ominous stain beginning to spread over the lower half of her charred robe, and shooed Albus and Hagrid away. Another doctor, a young intern, asked Albus some questions about what had happened and wrote the answers on a chart. After much nagging on her part, he had finally let her clean the blood from his nose and leg and give him a new robe to wear. She wanted to reset his broken nose, but he refused to let her--nor would he let her repair the wound on his leg.

"But it will leave a terrible scar!" she protested.

"Let it," he answered in so dangerous a tone that she dared not push the issue any further.

Since then he had sat, motionless, praying and counting tiles in the little waiting room, for what seemed all eternity.

Finally a doctor came in and motioned Albus out into the hallway. Hagrid made as if to rise, but the doctor shook his head, and Hagrid settled back forlornly into the chair.

Out in the hall, Albus clutched the doctor's white robe. "How is she?"

"About as well as one could expect, given how much blood loss and trauma's she suffered. We've done everything we can do for her, at least for now." He sounded tired and hoarse; some distant part of Albus's mind wondered how many people he had had to deliver bad news to in the course of his career. "If she makes it through the night, she'll probably be fine."

Albus's mind clutched the phrase like a lifeline. She'll be fine, she'll be fine, she's going to be fine, he thought over and over with immense relief. Then he remembered the dark stain on her robe. "And the baby?" he asked in a whisper.

The doctor shook his head. "The baby's gone," he said in a flat voice. Albus shut his eyes and grieved. The other man put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said. "But you should come in now and see her for a bit."

Albus nodded. "I'd like that." The doctor led him to a small room. He pushed open the door and held it for Albus, then walked back to the nurses' station.

***

She lay in an iron-frame bed, looking out the window at the night sky, her face as white as the pillowcase under her dark hair. As Albus approached, she turned her head and gave him a tired smile. He sat down on the bed and took her small hand in his own.

"My love," he said, lifting her hand to his lips and kissing the callused palm. She gave his hand a brief squeeze, then dropped her limp arm back onto the bed. She turned her head to gaze out of the window again.

"We lost the baby," she said in a low, choked voice.

"I know." He reached out and stroked her hair. She continued to gaze out at the stars, but reached up and took his hand. She brushed it with her lips, then lowered it over her heart, covering it with both her hands.

"This is going to be very hard on my parents, you know."

"I know, my love. They were looking forward to the baby so much. But we'll make them another. It'll be all right."

She met his eyes then, and what he saw in their dark depths disturbed him.

"No, not losing the baby. Losing me."

His eyebrows met in consternation, and he shook his head in confusion. His free hand came up to stroke her cheek. It was cold and waxen.

"No, no, my love. You're going to be fine. The doctor said so."

"I'm sure he said no such thing, Albus." Her eyes were stern. "You heard what you wanted to hear instead of what he said."

What had the doctor said? He couldn't even remember now, other than the phrase she'll probably be fine. Something else tried to creep in around the edges of that echo, but he pushed it away hard, refusing it.

"Mireille, really, you're going to be fine," he smiled. A cold dread was caressing the back of his neck.

"Albus." Her tone was sober. He closed his eyes and shook his head, smiling idiotically. She repeated his name, and this time he heard irritation. "Albus! Remember what you promised me in the station? No more lies--to me or to yourself. Open your eyes and look at me."

He opened his eyes--it felt as though ten-pounds weights were attached to the lids--and when he looked at her, he knew that it was true. He didn't understand why the universe would play such an inconceivable joke on him, letting him discover at Aldwych that she was alive, and then gleefully snatching the miracle out of his reach here at the hospital--but it was true. How foolish he had been to ever believe in any goodness or benevolence in the world. There was none; it was all a cruel joke, masterminded by a God who was nothing more than a schoolyard bully. He shut his eyes again. It was too hard to see that deadly pallor on the face he loved so much.

"Stop feeling sorry for yourself," she said sharply. "You're not the only one who's lost someone he loved. There's a war going on, in case you hadn't noticed. How many Muggles do you know who haven't lost someone to it?" It seemed that even Death itself could not curb that acid tongue of hers. All it could do was turn the volume down to a hoarse whisper.

Tears fell onto the sheets from beneath his closed lids, and he put a hand to his mouth quickly to stifle a sob.

"Albus." Her tone was gentle now, patient and loving. "I don't have much time, so please listen."

His head jerked up and his eyes flew open in alarm. "Should I get the doctors?"

"No, no." Her face wrinkled in distaste. "They couldn't do anything anyway, and they'd only send you back out into the hall again. And I want you here with me, not a bunch of strangers poking and prodding me with their wands."

He nodded, accepting it. He cleared his throat. "Does it hurt?" That was his only concern now.

The corners of her wide mouth pulled up into an almost-smile. "No, it doesn't hurt. It's a bit like floating, like when you're sitting on your broomstick and just sort of bobbing in the wind, you know?" Her voice was dreamy.

"Do you need a blanket? Are you cold?"

"No; quite nice and warm, really."

What else could he do for her? "Do you need a drink of water or anything?" He knew it sounded ridiculous the moment it was out of his mouth.

"No. What I need is for you to listen to me." She was whispering now, and he had to bend close to her face to hear her. Her eyes were enormous in the whiteness of her face.

"I'm listening, my love."

"First, you're not to second-guess yourself about what you did back in the tunnel."

He couldn't help it; he shook his head. He still felt too guilty for putting her in danger in the first place.

"No, it's true. It was the only thing you could do, and I'm glad you did it, Albus. I'd never have forgiven you if you hadn't."

He lifted her hands in his and kissed each one. "You're the one who was brave, my love. Not many people would have sacrificed themselves that way." Sacrifice the queen and win the game, he thought again, bitterly.

She made a side-to-side motion with her head, barely perceptible. "Ted did it." Her shoulders lifted in a dismissive, no-big-deal shrug. "You do what you have to do...anyway, somebody had to get rid of that crazy knob-end."

Albus laughed despite himself. "True," he said, kissing her hands again.

"Anyway, you're not to think for a second that you should have done anything else. All right?" She looked at him searchingly.

"All right," he lied. Then he caught himself. No more of that. "I'll try," he promised. It was the best he could offer.

She smiled.

"But I'll never forgive myself for putting you in danger in the first place by lying to you," he said.

"Yes well, that was bloody stupid, wasn't it?" She smiled her teasing-Albus smile, one corner of her mouth up, the other down, her eyes still mischievous.

He nodded. There was no arguing with that. "Anything else, my darling?"

She looked out the window again for a long moment. The rise and fall of her chest was getting slower and shallower, he saw with dismay. Then she spoke again.

"We come back, you know." She faced him again. "Back there in the tunnel, there was a second when I saw everything."

He frowned, not understanding. "What do you mean?"

"I remember you diving for the umbrella, but nothing else till I woke up here. Except for just a tiny flash--I was on the floor of the tunnel, and I looked up and saw a light and I thought there was a train coming towards me. And then I remembered there weren't any tracks in that tunnel." Her voice was barely audible now, and he strained to hear her.

"Anyway, this light came at me, and somehow I was being pulled into it. I saw Ted, smiling at me. I asked him where our grandma was--I don't know why I asked him that--and he said she'd already come back. He said our baby would be coming back, too, only to different parents." Her dark eyes were wistful, then she went on. "Then he told me that death was just the next great adventure, and that he would see me soon and show me everything. Then he disappeared, and I felt myself being pulled backward. Everything went black after that."

Albus felt a chill run down his back. He cast about for something to say, anything--but could find nothing at all.

"So I also wanted to tell you--whenever there's a kid at the school who's been up to mischief, you know, go easy on him. He might have been ours if things had been--" She stopped. "Just promise to go easy on the kids. Be nice to them, always." She squeezed his hand again lightly.

He nodded. "I promise," he whispered. He thought he might start crying again, so he tried to make a joke. "And if a real trouble-maker and smart-mouth shows up, I should go extra-easy, because that will be you?"

A ghost of her old grin lit up her ashen face, but she shook her head. "No," she rasped. "I won't be coming back for a long time."

"And why not?" he asked, smiling.

"Because--I'll be waiting for you. And when you get there, I'll show you everything." She tightened her grasp on his hand. Unable to speak, he nodded and squeezed her hand in return. She turned her head to the window again and looked out at the stars; Albus did the same. How long they remained that way he did not know, but after a time her hand went slack within his, and she was gone.