NOTES:

            Happy late Valentine's Day! Hope you enjoyed it, everyone! Of course, predictably, just when there are things to be uploaded, fanfiction.net is being a bitch. Blah… this is rather late. But it's here! See? Be happy!

            Mmm… I'm going to have to make a note on all my fics from now on. Starting with this. I do NOT take requests!! DO NOT TELL ME TO WRITE A FIC FOR YOU! DO NOT TELL ME TO PUT YOU IN A FIC AND HOOK YOU UP WITH [INSERT MALE HOTTIE OF CHOICE]!! DO NOT TELL ME TO WRITE FICS OF CERTAIN SHIPS OR CHARACTERS BECAUSE YOU FAVOR THEM!!

            Mrmph… I've been bombarded with people asking me to write fics for them, who say that I supposedly write better than them, so I should write for them. I am not being paid. I do not write for anyone but myself. Isn't that the way it's supposed to be? D00ds, if you don't write it yourself, no matter how bad you think you write, no one's going to write it.

DEDICATION:

            As always, this couldn't have been possible without my awesome fellow SOBettes backing me up!

DISCLAIMER:

            Fallon is mine. Warrington is Fallon's. The Slytherin Quidditch Team is Rowling's. The world is illogical.

~*~ War Wounds ~*~

            There was one solitary fireplace in the Healer's camp. It was an open fire, almost like a Muggle bonfire, except for the fact that it had rather odd structure of rocks over it. The fire was too small for convenient traveling, and so, anyone who wished to enter the camp had to Apparate, but for purposes of communication, it was very convenient and necessary.

            Now was one of those times.

            The fire was, of course, not located in any of the tents. Fallon had set up the fireplace carefully, placing a charmed bell over the fireplace that would chime whenever the flames flared to life. This way, no matter where she was, she could hear it if there was a floo message coming through, and find out what it was that she needed to know.

            The bell had jingled as she was in the middle of checking Warrington's wound. After the incident that had culminated in her immobilizing him after he had persistently and insolently made one suggestive comment after another, she had been rather sullen around him, keeping her silence, and certainly very abrupt when she perfunctorily tended to his injuries.

            She had taken to placing a Nullpinnae Charm upon her own ears, quite deliberately and exaggeratedly, every time the comments started. And the charm would prevent any of it from reaching her ears.

            After three days of unrelenting silence and lack of response from her, he had scowled and stopped. And so now, as she dressed his wound, he was quite sulkily silent.

            But the signal bell of the floo network cut that short. Fallon sprang up, and quickly tossed her washcloth back into the basin of healing potion, and darted out of the tent to find out the news.

            Ravyn's face, her eyes the same color as the green flames surrounding her head, was full of worry and frustration when she approached, and Fallon knew then that the news was not good. "Ravyn. What happened?"

            The Auror gave a ragged sigh, and her voice was rather hollow. "Attack. Muggle diner. About twenty cursed… the mild ones we had brought to Muggle hospitals, but the more severe ones… I don't think that Muggle hospitals would know how to treat them… and St. Mungo's is already full…"

            "Shit," Fallon's monosyllabic reply was toneless and grim.

            "I was thinking more along the lines of 'bloody detestable Merlin-forsaken fucking hell', but whatever works," Ravyn sighed, her voice extremely cynical, "I'll have them brought over to you… there's going to be about ten or so… you'd better make some room for them."

            "Right," Fallon groaned, "I'll see what I can do. Smeg…"

            "They won't be there to stay… only just get them to the point that a Muggle hospital can possibly deal with it, then we'll take them off your hands."

            "Yes… yes," Fallon muttered, "Someone needs to do something about these blasted attacks on Muggle establishments… why don't bloody Seers predict these things rather than inane tripe like what type of man some silly bint is going to fall in love with?"

            "I… see… a … tall, dark and handsome… man… in your future, Fallon Anderson," Ravyn mocked in a misty voice, then smirked, "Well, the falling in love is important too… but I agree that something needs to be done about these attacks on Muggle establishments… do they know how bloody inconvenient it is for me to have to explain to a panicking Muggle what the devil happened and what that blasted green light was that nearly hit him or her in the arse?"

*          *          *

            "What a mess."

            "Indeed…" the woman sighed, and turned to her friend. "Xanne, I'm so glad that you're going to do this from now on. We really need a go-between with all these Death Eater attacks… someone who knows magic and lives among the Muggles. Putting up the wards… they should have hired you long ago."

            "Well, what has to be done… has to be done. This should be a load of laughs…"

            "Well, you know how Muggles live, which is better than I can say for a lot of us."

            Xanne shrugged, "I suppose. It would be rather odd to ­not know how they live after spending the first eleven years of my life not knowing any other way of life…"

            Morrigun surveyed the scene with a frown, "What a mess… the Muggles are all going to be on edge now. I foresee lots of memory charms being cast…"

            "You never took Divination," Xanne smirked.

            "Whatever… you know what I meant," Morrigun smirked right back, before rolling her eyes slightly, "I… must go and interview these people. And hopefully be able to glean some information for the Prophet."

            "Well… see what you can get, I guess," Xanne said with a shrug, "At least… at least don't know what we are. That certainly wouldn't sit well with them after all that's happened here."

            "I still say that robes are better than these… very odd trousers," Morrigun picked at a loose thread on the pair of blue jeans she wore. Xanne merely grinned as footsteps approached them.

            "I'm sure you'll change your mind… turn around."

            Morrigun did so, and her green eyes widened. Photographer Alexander Montague, looking quite the thing in Muggle jeans and a blue shirt, walked towards the two women, brandishing his camera.

            "I feel rather out of place," he remarked, looking at Morrigun with a rather rueful expression, "I look a right fool in this, don't I?"

            Morrigun smiled widely and shook her head, "You look smashing… now let's go and interview some Muggles."

            Xanne looked at her friend the journalist in amusement, and shook her head rather wryly, "Told you you would change your mind about the trousers…"

*          *          *

            As Xanne Malloy was establishing herself as a Ward-builder at the boundary between Hogsmeade and the neighboring Muggle establishment were the attack on the diner had taken place, Fallon Anderson was being flooded with patients.

            Frowning at her rapidly-decreasing supply of healing draughts and potions, Fallon sent an owl for the nearest apothecary for mandrake roots, and started to prioritize; the most severe patients had to be treated first, and preferably with as little magical activity as possible.

            Several of the injured she had taken to treating in a Muggle way, except with using potions rather than Muggle compounds, and charming things such as bandages. The ones that she absolutely had to use obvious magic on, she would give them a sleeping draught before doing the spell.

            Some of them had been hit by things… curses that required constant attention. And so, the three days that she had had to take charge of them, were passed in a blur. Patient after patient after patient, keeping silent and discreet, nights spent brewing up increasing amounts of potions for various ailments and injuries. Unlike previous days, where she had spent most of her time tending to Cassius Warrington, now he was only allotted twenty minutes of her limited and very valuable time a day, and she was often snappish and abrupt when they talked at all.

            Warrington spent most of the time watching her.

            He was getting better. Stronger, healthier… and he knew it. She was a good healer; knowledgeable and efficient and quick-witted. Her sharp mind had saved more than one of the Muggle patients from death.

            Idly, he wondered who it was responsible for the Death Eater attack…

            It could have been him… had… things not panned out the way they did. He was not a Death Eater, but…

            "Yes, I swear it…"

            "Good, my boy…you make me proud…"

            Avery…

            Demetrius Avery was his father's brother-in-law. After Portia Warrington had died, a year following the death of her husband Horatius, their ten-year-old son Cassius had been left all alone. Horatius' sister Lavinia had taken the helm. Lavinia Warrington had brought up Cassius like her own son, and when she married Demetrius Avery, the latter had been much the father figure for Cassius all through Hogwarts. Demetrius had been kind, in his own way… and Cassius had lived in decent comfort.

            And then, after he'd left school, Cassius had been introduced to the world that Demetrius Avery was a part of… the secret world… where acts of great evil and horror took place without any consideration. But… it wasn't as if Dem wanted him to become a Death Eater. He wouldn't be participating in that…

            Demetrius had only asked that he keep a lookout. That he swear loyalty… so that in the very very unlikely chance that something might happen, he would be on the side of the uncle who brought him up.

            Not too much to ask, really…

            So he had agreed.

            Fallon sunk down into the chair by his bed, her dark hair coming messily out of the functional bun that she'd pinned it up in. Her face was weary, and her eyelids were drooping. She had been awake for two whole days now, and had not eating anything for the past seven hours. But the hands that dipped the washcloth into the healing potion were steady and certain, and she carefully cleansed his wound as always, before once again sponging his body off in herbal water. He was more mobile now, and she did not have to turn him over herself. He opened his mouth to speak, and she shook her head.

            "Not a word. Not now. Too tired to fight with you."

            Having finished cleaning him, she sat back down in the chair, tossing the washcloth back into the basin. And her beautiful dark eyes were shut almost before she had even sat down. She had fallen asleep from pure exhaustion, and from the looks of it, would not wake up until the morning.

            Giving a light shrug, he closed his own eyes.

*          *          *

            In the middle of the night, he awoke, somewhat chilled. There was the sound of a brisk wind blowing outside, and though all the tents were kept with warming charms, the air was still rather cold. Opening his eyes, he turned and looked around, vision adjusting to the darkness.

            Fallon was still huddled in the chair, fast asleep. Her lithe form was shivering slightly, but she was too deep in sleep to notice.

            He frowned somewhat, pondering something to himself. And then, he smirked, and pulled himself into a sitting position. Reaching over, he put both arms around her, and pulled.

            She was in his bed. Still fast asleep. In his arms.

            He took her hands in his, rubbing and blowing on the fingers until their warmth returned, and carefully unpinned her hair completely. The dark, satiny mass fell almost to her thighs, flowing like water and feathers over his body. She was cold, but after he'd held her close to him for a while, grew warm and pliant, and he lay her down on the bed with him, her head on the same pillow, her slender but muscular form enclosed in the circle of his arms.

            She was completely peaceful when she slept. But then, she was exhausted.

            He smirked slightly as he pulled the covers up over both of them, her head tucked under his chin.

            He could get used to this.

~*~ End Chapter Four ~*~

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